“No.” I shook my head. “No. It’s just…you’re different. Both of you. I’d have to be blind not to notice. Maybe it’s because I’m touched already that it’s so obvious to me—I don’t know. But I don’t care. If magic can help us in this situation, I’m all for it.”
Pepper tapped Axel’s shoulder. “It’s his magic that you’ll be wanting. Mine is pretty hit-or-miss.”
I inspected Axel. “Great. Not that I think magic will help much when it comes to ghosts, but we could sure use it if it’ll help us get inside that house.”
Axel scrubbed his hand over his stubbly chin. “It’ll help. I’ll get us in.”
I steeled myself to walk past the camera crews. “Great. Are y’all ready?”
Pepper winked mischievously. “As we’ll ever be.”
I had no idea how this was going to work out. Reporters shouted at us as we approached the home.
“Do you know who’s inside?” Axel said.
“A man.”
“That doesn’t help us.”
“It helps because I’ll be calling him ‘sir.’”
My gaze flickered to the house. It was an old brick structure with a round doorway and pale gray bricks trimming the arch. Like a lot of the houses on this block, it needed some upkeep, but if you were old, you had other things to worry about besides washing the outside of your house. Like breathing, for one. I imagined when I got old, I’d be more worried that I was still breathing than anything else.
Oh, and probably arthritis, as Fannie had so kindly pointed out.
Reporters shouted at us as we crossed the lawn. I hoped they’d shut up before we knocked. If last night’s news footage was any inclination at the sort of welcome we would receive, I didn’t hold any hope that we’d be greeted with open arms.
Axel knocked.
“Go away!” shot back from inside.
Axel knocked again.
“Didn’t you hear me? Go away!”
I pressed my mouth near the door. “Mr. Menzel, we’d like a few minutes of your time.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to no reporters.”
“We’re not reporters.” Axel sliced his hand through the air. “The reporters are gone.”
“Huh?”
Axel smiled at Pepper.
Shuffling steps neared the door. A chain slid from its barrel, followed by a snap that suggested the bolt had been flipped. The door opened a sliver. A gnarled and knotted nose peeked out.
“Who are you?” he barked.
Clearly this guy was pleased to see us.
“Mr. Menzel,” Axel said, “we know this is a hard time for you, but we were wondering if you could spare us a few moments?”
Mr. Menzel raised an eyebrow that resembled a hedge. His face was buried beneath years of untrimmed brows and whiskers.
“What do you know about this being a hard time?” he sneered.
“My name’s Axel Reign, and I’m a private investigator. I’d like to help. Help figure out who killed your daughter.”
