Page 38 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Did the person call again?”

“Not yet,” I replied cheerfully.

“You sound happy. What are you doing?”

“Talking about Halloween.”

He immediately hung up.

I laughed.

The next morning, I arrived at my appointment with Desmond Crane fifteen minutes early. He sounded like the kind of guy to slam the door in your face if you were one second late, so it paid to be prompt.

His offices were near Balton Square, part of a renovated old building with a real estate firm occupying the first floor. The small reception area was clean and accessorized in warm beiges and off-whites. It reminded me of a doctor’s office rather than an accountant’s.

Not that I had much to compare it with, having never needed an accountant before now.

To my surprise, I was ushered into his office at ten thirty on the dot. I’d expected to be left hanging around for ten to twenty extra minutes as a show of power. A kind of I’m the only paranormal accountant in town, so what you gonna do, huh?

Desmond Crane was a short, stocky guy wearing a cream-colored suit and a severe expression on his wide face. He rose to give my hand the fastest, jerkiest shake in the world, then immediately grabbed a wet wipe and wiped his fingers.

I wanted to point out that if he simply didn’t offer to shake hands, he’d save a lot of money in wipes, but I kept my mouth shut. Maybe he was making a point.

“What can I do for you?” he asked in a curt tone that told me he had better things to do than stand here at his place of work and interact with his clients.

“As you know, I’ve taken over Ms. Bagley’s shop.”

“Everyone knows that, yes.”

“I understand you were her accountant?”

“I’m everyone’s accountant.”

Not mine. Again, I kept my mouth shut. Except Crane simply stared at me, growing irritated at the lack of words coming out of my mouth, so I opened it again.

“I was wondering if I could have her bank information? There seems to be a discrepancy.”

“Are you a family member?”

For a second, I genuinely considered lying and saying I was. It’d make things so much easier for everyone involved, including me. Ultimately, though, this man could probably see through any fake identification I had Key’s guy make. “No. But the accounts involving the business are of importance to the Council and the continuing business of the shop, and if she funneled any of the profits toward any private account, that falls under the purview of… Of…” I raked my brain, searching for any other official-sounding words to add to my diatribe. “Of me as the new owner of the Tea Cauldron.”

There. Perfect. My chest puffed up with pride.

“Have the Council contact me with a court order. My client’s information is private.”

“But Ms. Bagley’s dead.”

“And you are not her next of kin.”

My gaze drifted to the rest of his office. No filing cabinets full of folders I could search, no tantalizing hints of boxes chock-full of account details. The room was small, immaculate, and with nothing but an open shelf, the desk and chairs, and a few framed diplomas on the wall.

In short, nothing that warranted a possible break-in and search. Maybe they kept the paper files in another room?

It wasn’t as if the Council would pressure Crane without proof, and the only thing I got was that all my dark magic clients were paying somewhere, and that somewhere wasn’t my bank.

Not the kind of thing the Council would approve of.

“Are you taking on new clients?” I asked.

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