I raised my chin. “Michael Smith?”
“It sounds like an alias,” Galen conceded sheepishly. “What makes it worse is I don’t remember meeting him.” He glanced at Booker. “Do you remember him?”
Booker shook his head. “And I’m with you on this one. There were stories about Michael Smith. Supposedly he was a badass, but I don’t know anyone who actually met him.”
“Which means he was likely never here,” Aurora surmised. “The stories were spread by the DDA because they knew he wasn’t here.”
“Declan likely owned the bar up until eight years ago. Then whoever is managing his business sold it.”
“And we think that’s the same guy managing his house?” I asked.
“It makes sense,” Galen confirmed. “I’ve placed a few calls trying to get Mosley on the line. He has yet to return a single call.”
“Which means we should probably track him down after this,” Booker said.
Galen bobbed his head. “As for Blaine Gordon, he is … what is the word I’m looking for?”
“A tool,” Aurora replied.
“That’s a bit simplistic, but you’re not wrong.” Galen’s mouth was a flat line. “He’s misogynistic, sexist, crude, and I think he might be the sort of guy to steal from a cemetery.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Two years ago I caught him trying to break in. Someone called about movement near the wall and I went out there. People are worried the zombies will get out, even though we’ve assured them that’s not possible.”
On a magical island where things could — and often did — go wrong, I understood their worry. “It wasn’t zombies you found out there.”
“It was Blaine. He had a crowbar and was trying to get through the door. He seemed frustrated but also as if he didn’t realize magic was blocking him.”
“He’s not paranormal?” I asked.
“Not to my knowledge. When I questioned him about what he was doing, he said he just wanted to look around. He refused to make eye contact.”
“Maybe he wanted to let the zombies out to cause mayhem,” I replied.
“He would have been in danger. I think he was looking to steal something. He struck me as an opportunist, not someone who wanted to die for a cause.”
“He still could have died in the cemetery,” Booker argued.
“Maybe, but I’ve learned the hard way that people don’t think that far ahead. Especially if they’re not paranormal.”
I considered it. “You’re warning me that he’s going to say sexist stuff and to not take it personally,” I deduced.
“We’re all going to take it personally. We need to try to hold it together until we get our questions answered.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions.” He slid it in there as if he wasn’t going alpha, like it was an accepted fact.
“Why can’t I ask questions?” I challenged.
“He won’t respect you.”
“Because I have a vagina?”
Galen made a face. “Why do you always put it out there like that?”
“Vagina is not a dirty word.”
