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“Haven’t had time to look.”

“Aren’t you curious why his body was left in that room for you to find?”

I hadn’t been, but now I was. “You think it was personal?”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know. Zee said some things about . . . uh . . . personal preferences some people have that might circumvent the wards.”

“La mort d’amour?”

And of course, he went straight to the death-sex explanation. “Self-inflicted, yes.”

“But no murder weapon. Suggesting someone was there with him when he died.”

“I’m guessing you’re kind of an expert in killing people, huh?”

“Despite the rumors, I’m rather an expert in keeping people alive. There’s little use in killing my food source.”

I hadn’t considered that. Humans were walking blood bags, that replenished themselves if rested. It didn’t make sense to kill your food source. Viruses evolved not to kill their hosts, and vampirism was more like a virus that infected its host than anything mystical or religious.

“You think Mr. Reese was a gift for me?” I asked.

“An unwelcome one.” Reynard studied our overgrown garden surroundings. “Do you have many enemies, Adam?”

A strained laugh fell out of me. “Enemies? No. Who would want to hurt me?”

“Indeed. But as amiable as you are, most people do not want Lost Ones congregating in their neighborhood.”

“You think it’s about the hotel?”

“I think the death was about you and the hotel. Who would have cause to disrupt what you’re trying to do here?”

My list of enemies was as numerous as those stars. “Most everyone.” I shrugged.

“Anyone in particular? A name that comes to you first, someone who might make all this personal. Someone capable of⁠—”

“Murder?” There was someone. Someone who really, really did not want my hotel to succeed. Someone who had already tried to disrupt what we’d built here, and had sent a journalist who knew all about the missing protestor before the police did. “Gideon Cain.”

Reynard’s eyes gleamed. “The man you cuckolded.”

“I cock-what’d?”

“That is to say, you got one over on him.”

Well, that was a nice way of saying it. Zee would have definitely had a more colorful selection of words for how we’d secured the hotel out from under Gideon Cain, despite his inflated offers.

I turned and gazed back down the path, up at the hotel. At night, its windows glowed, and the faded paint and broken soffits didn’t show. The hotel was a beacon in the dark, a sanctuary for all, a safe haven, a home to those who had none. “He does have an interest in seeing us fail.”

“A few million is more than enough to kill a man, and Gideon Cain has already proven money to be no obstacle.”

Of course, Reynard would know how much a murder cost. But how could I get close to Gideon Cain to ask him, and what would I say? I couldn’t accuse him of murder when as far as anyone knew, Mr. Reese was alive and well.

Could Gideon Cain have stolen Claymore? Was all this messiness the property developer’s doing? The more I considered it, the more irritated the notion made me. He had no right to interfere. Who did he think he was? And if he’d murdered the protestor and dumped the body in Reynard’s room? Well, that was uncalled for.

“We should meet with him,” Reynard suggested.

“We?” Uh oh.