Date: October 24, 1951

  Bayshore Grocery and Spirits was light on the groceries and heavy on the spirits. Dusty pre-packaged foods and rotting produce filled the aisles, but the sturdy shelves boasted an impressive array of liquor—especially the ice chests packed with beer.

  Mickey’s gaze lingered longingly on a case filled with Schlitz, Hamm’s, and Falstaff as Adan Burnam shrugged.

  “I apologize, but that’s all I can recall. I wish it were more, but there you are.”

  “We’re very sorry, Agent McFinn,” added Lamar Burnam.

  With matching taupe skin, large milk chocolate–colored eyes, and chubby builds, the family resemblance between the Pakistani co-owners was unmistakable.

  “But you must understand, it’s hard enough to remember what one had for dinner six days ago, let alone details from six weeks ago. I have trouble keeping track of my keys, let alone our customers.”

  Fighting the urge to reach across the counter and bash their heads together like cymbals, Mickey contorted her face into a polite smile.

  “I understand, Mr. Burnam. I’m the same way. Lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about Rose, the person? Did she ever come in with anyone else or buy supplies for more than one?”

  Lamar mirrored his son’s earlier shrug.

  Mickey hated that shrug.

  “As we said, it’s hard to say. She was—uh, is—hopefully,” he added with a strained chuckle, “just one of many customers we see daily. You’d have better luck asking people familiar with her.”

  Mickey heaved a sigh.

  “You’re probably right,” she said, ignoring their not-so-subtle glances as she scanned the store.

  What was supposed to be a simple hunt had become three and a half days of chasing dead ends. Denials stacked on top of denials. Every witness, every gods-damned one, swore they hadn’t seen, didn’t know, or couldn’t recall anything useful.

  She glanced back at the Burnams, noting how neither man met her gaze.

  Good.

  According to Grady’s report, both Burnams had been at the store the night Rose Buffet went missing. Their statements to the sheriff had been minimal. They’d seen nothing.

  The report had even more nothing. No follow-ups. No additional notes.

  Needless to say, Mickey had questions.

  Lots of them.

  But like everyone else she’d interviewed, the Burnams hid behind polite smiles and vague answers. It didn’t take a master detective to smell something fishy.

  And she was done playing nice.

  “We’ve been at this for over an hour,” Adan muttered in rapid Urdu, his tone cheerful despite the words. “Why hasn’t she left yet? This woman’s denser than granite.”

  “Careful,” Lamar replied in the same language, his tight smile never wavering. “She’s still a federal agent. You’ll give her something else to ask about.”

  They’d assumed she was FBI; no doubt thanks to the forged ID she’d shown them.

  Adan scoffed. “I could call her a cow with big floppy udders, and as long as I’m smiling, she’ll smile back like the fool she is.”

  On cue, Mickey looked up from pretending to read her notes and gave the men another polite smile.

  Most investigators wouldn’t allow side conversations—especially in another language—but the Burnams didn’t know that.

  They also didn’t know she understood every word.

  Even in a world filled with magical capabilities, a xenogloss—someone who could understand any language—remained rare enough that most people were unaware they existed.

  She tilted her head.

  “Hmm?” she asked. “I didn’t catch that last part, Mr. Burnam.”

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  Adan sighed.

  “Just asking my father if he needs to sit down. It’s hard for him to stand so long.”

  Mickey nodded, plastering on an apologetic smile.

  “I understand it’s tedious,” she said. “But they drilled it into us at the academy. Repetition triggers memories you’d otherwise miss. Thanks for hanging in there.”

  Like the tide wearing down cliffs, she’d been eroding their composure. Cracks were starting to show.

  “Now,” she continued, “can you tell me again about the night Ms. Buffet went missing? Did she seem nervous or upset?”

  Adan sighed again.

  “Like I said, Agent McFinn. I stood at the register. My father remained in the back, going over the ledger for next month’s orders. Ms. Buffet came in, made a purchase, and left. Nothing unusual. She was just another customer.”

  Mickey nodded, jotting down more gibberish.

  “Okay,” she said, voice light. “So Rose left. When did you suspect something was wrong? You’re the one who called the sheriff, right?”

  A vein pulsed at Adan’s temple, but he nodded.

  “We’d closed up and were leaving when we noticed a car in the lot. I didn’t recognize it until I saw her bag on the ground. I thought it was odd, so I called the sheriff. They came the next day, took my statement, and left. Someone eventually towed her car away. That’s it.”

  “Interesting,” Mickey lied, doodling an unflattering caricature of Adan before glancing at Lamar. “And you’re certain neither of you saw anything else? One moment she was there. The next, she wasn’t?”

  Lamar shook his head.

  “The parking lot’s on the far side of the building, and it was an exceptionally foggy night, Agent McFinn. We noticed nothing was amiss. I wish we had, but regretfully, we did not.”

  “Of course,” Mickey said, letting the silence stretch as she added a pig nose and curly tail to her sketch.

  Adan clenched his fists.

  “Calm down,” Lamar insisted in sing-song Urdu, his smile still locked in place. “She suspects something. Why else would she still be here?”

  Adan sounded like a tea kettle letting off steam. “If they see how long we’ve been talking to her, they’ll get suspicious. I’ve told enough. She needs to leave.”

  Mickey’s pulse quickened.

  They?

  Who were they?

  Keeping her expression neutral, she asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Our apologies, Agent McFinn,” Lamar said quickly. “The whole incident has left us shaken. We only wish we could be more helpful.”

  Mickey nodded.

  “Then you won’t mind a few more questions?” she asked, her smile as sunny as ever.

  Lamar looked like he’d swallowed a toad, but managed a stiff nod.

  “Of course not.”

  “Thank you,” she said, turning back to Adan. “So, Mr. Burnam, you contacted the sheriffs. They came, they asked questions, and they left. What happened after that?”

  Adan’s jaw tightened so hard she heard his teeth grind.

  “That is it.”

  “Huh. Okay. I think I’m getting it,” she said, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook. “Let’s go through it one more time. From the beginning.”

  Adan sucked in a sharp breath, his smile stretched so tight it looked painful. His next words, even if she hadn’t understood them, left little doubt about their meaning.

  “We need to make her leave, Father. If she stays any longer, they’ll think we talked, and it won’t matter! The deputy made it clear: ‘Don’t talk to anyone.’ They’re going to take the store!”

  Mickey’s smile shifted from polite to predatory.

  “Ah. The sheriffs put you up to this.”

  Lamar’s eyebrows shot up so high she figured they’d have to collect them from the ceiling later.

  “Wh-what do you mean?” he stammered, but she didn’t look away from Adan.

  “I asked you a question, Mr. Burnam,” she said coolly.

  “I—I told you the sheriffs only—”

  “Said, ‘Don’t talk to anyone,’” Mickey finished in perfect Urdu.

  Adan flinched like he’d been slapped.

  Lamar groaned and put his face in his hands.

  “Y-you speak Urdu?”

  Mickey gave him a flat look.

  “Moo.”

  Lamar found his voice first.

  “P-Please! We were told not to say anything!”

  “You know interfering with a federal investigation’s a one-way ticket to jail, right? That’s for citizens. Immigrants? It’s worse. Standard procedure is to seize everything. Odds are, you won’t be setting foot in this place again.”

  Mickey, of course, didn’t have the authority to order a pizza in the name of the federal government, let alone seize property.

  But they didn’t know that.

  Adan stared, dumbstruck.

  “I…” He glanced at his father.

  Mickey snapped her fingers, drawing his eyes back to her.

  “He can’t help you right now,” she said, her voice like ice.

  Adan spoke like someone waking from a bad dream.

  “The deputy warned us. If we talked, they’d cancel our loan. And now you’re saying we’ll lose everything anyway? How is that justice?”

  Mickey relished the chance to give her own noncommittal shrug.

  “If you don’t have the decency to help a regular here—a neighbor—then I don’t give a damn about you or your shop.”

  She let the silence stretch until he started to fidget under her glare.

  “Give me something useful, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  She tucked her notepad into her purse.

  “Or don’t.”

  And she turned for the door.

  “Wait!”

  Mickey stopped and, smothering a victorious grin, raised a brow as she turned back.

  “Like I said,” Adan admitted, shifting uneasily, “I saw nothing—the fog was thick, and you can’t see the lot unless you’re at the doorway.” He glanced at Lamar. “But I heard something.”

  Mickey’s eyes narrowed.

  “What did you hear?”

  “After the woman—”

  “Rose Buffet,” Mickey interjected hard enough to make Adan flinch.

  “Ms. Buffet,” he corrected, “left, I heard motorcycles pull in. A few minutes later, they left. Later, I noticed her car was still there. I checked, saw her purchase spilled on the ground, and called the sheriff.”

  “And you told this to the sheriffs?”

  “Yes. I told them everything,” Adan said. “Then, two days ago, a deputy came in and told us not to say anything if someone asked questions. He didn’t say that person would be a federal agent.”

  Mickey drummed her fingers against her purse.

  Hearing motorcycles isn’t much. But then, why hide it?

  “This deputy,” she said. “Big Native kid?”

  Adan blinked.

  “How did—?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t care.”

  Lamar placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “This store is all we have, Agent McFinn. Adan’s told you everything. Now please, leave.”

  Mickey studied them for a moment.

  A small part of her sympathized.

  They weren’t wicked men—just scared. Scared of losing what they’d worked so hard to build.

  But fear didn’t excuse being an obstacle.

  She turned for the door, then paused.

  “One more thing,” she said, pulling out her wallet.

  Her reflection in the cooler door met her gaze—hard, steady, and a little tired.

  She had her first lead.

  Now she just needed to decide how to chase it.