Henry shook his head immediately. ?No, that?s not why I?m here. I want you to find Piper MacCrimmon.? Seeing my blank look, he went on. ?Alex?s girlfriend. She disappeared a few days after they were killed.?

?And you think she had something to do with it?? It seemed like the obvious conclusion.

The old man looked nervous. ?I?I don?t really want to think so, Mr. Diya. She?s a lovely girl, very sweet and kind. But?,? he stopped, cleared his throat, then continued. ?Edward left everything he had to Alex. Alex, in turn, had a will naming Piper as his sole inheritor. Taken together, their two estates represent a not inconsiderable sum of money and property.? He was retreating into formal language to cover his unease.

?So you think maybe she hired someone to do in Ed and Alex so she could get the inheritance.? The idea that some woman had had my friends killed for gold had me getting a little steamed. Still, it was part of the murder case, and something I should really stay away from. ?This is still a case for the Watch, though. Are they looking for her??

?No. We haven?t mentioned her disappearance to the Watch. They?hmm?lack subtlety sometimes. We?re afraid that if we go to the Watch, it will become publicly known that she?s missing, and reduce our chances of finding her. Will you look for her, Mr. Diya??

I didn?t say anything right away, thinking things over. If this Piper girl had really had my friends killed, it might be dangerous to go looking for her.

Henry mistook my hesitation for denial, added, ?Edward?s will named you one of the executors. I am the other. The law allows executors to draw up to ten percent of the value of an estate to recompense themselves and to cover their expenses. His estate is valued at over a hundred thousand gold.?

That was something to make me stop and think. Five thousand gold would cover rent for a year and more. ?If you really think this Piper had Ed and Alex killed, this is going to be dangerous,? I said. I was folding, though. They were my friends?and it was a lot of money. I?d been living on the edge of bankruptcy for long enough that the thought of a big score was more than a little tempting.

?Mr. Diya, I?m an old man. I?ve lost two of my few remaining relatives. I have no need for more money. I?ll leave you my side of the executors fees. That?s over ten thousand gold. I need to find this woman and learn if she had my nephew and his son killed. I?ll pay your expenses out of my own pocket. Will you help me??

I should have known better. Sands, I did know better. Hadn?t I just been saying so? But it was a lot of money. A whole lot. More than I was likely to see in the next five years. And I owed Ed. Owed him big time. He would have gone looking for my killer if our situations were reversed. I sighed, nodded. ?You?ve got a deal, Henry. I?m going to need everything you?ve got on this Piper, and I?ll want to go to Alex?s house, too. Oh yeah, and I?ll need some money up front, to get this thing moving. Say a thousand gold.? I knew he?d agree. He was desperate.

After Henry left, I sat down at my desk and stared at nothing for a while. Ed and Alex dead. Murdered. Maybe by this missing girl, Piper. Maybe not. I didn?t have enough information yet to go making assumptions. I spent a few minutes reminiscing about the adventures Ed and I had together. He was a good guy, and a good teacher. He?d shown me how to take the things I?d learned growing up on a desert world and apply them to an urban setting. He?d treated me like part of his family. When I was alone and lost on a world nothing like the one I?d lived my whole life in, he took me in, gave me a home. I owed it to him to find out the truth about his death. Even if I wasn?t going to be paid a whole lot of money for it, I?d still owe it to him. The money helped, though.

I got up and grabbed my jacket from the peg on the wall. When Ed had convinced me that desert robes weren?t a very good choice for someone who was supposed to remain inconspicuous, I?d gotten this jacket. It was leather, worn and scruffy looking, just the thing for a private detective, or so Ed had said. Beat up as it was, the jacket had a surprise lurking within its unassuming exterior: I?d lined the interior with ironthorn-treated fabric from my desert robes. The fabric itself is tough, light, and flexible. Ironthorn is a plant native to the deserts of my home. It has extremely tough tissues to prevent water loss. The extract of the plant is used to harden delicate things, make them waterproof, and stiffen clothing to provide extra protection. With leather on top and ironthorn-treated fabric below, the jacket could turn a blade just about as well as chain mail without being blatantly obvious or weighing half a ton. After wearing it for a couple years, the jacket felt like a second skin to me. I didn?t like going out without having it on. I didn?t think I?d need the longsword for a trip to the MacLachlan place, but grabbed a pair of daggers and slid them into a thigh sheath. That ought to be enough, along with wits and a bit of magic, to keep me safe. To complete my ensemble for the day, I slipped a leather wallet containing my set of lock picks and a few other useful tools into a deep pocket.


It wasn?t a long trip out to Ed and Alex?s place, but it was in an area of town I didn?t get up to very often. It was quiet up there, not much going on that required the presence of a recovery specialist. I remembered when Ed had bought the lot he?d had his house built on. I?d commented at the time that the lot seemed awfully big for the small house he was planning to build. Ed had said he was leaving his options open. When I reached the edge of his lot a little later that morning, I stopped in shock, suddenly realizing what he?d meant. The little house he?d built had become a rather substantial manor, and there was second place, almost as large, about a hundred feet away. Where the hell had Ed gotten the money to build all this? I hadn?t really taken the time to wonder about the estate Henry had been talking about earlier, but now, staring in the face of this obvious luxury, I couldn?t help but wonder. When Ed had retired, he?d had, as far as I knew, a moderate sum saved up from years of detective work?enough to buy the lot and build the small house on it, and not much else. Somehow, in less than a year, Ed had gone from middle class to?this. To my eye, it looked like Henry had been conservative in his estimate of Ed?s estate. I had a sudden suspicion that the means by which Ed had acquired his money would have a big impact on this case. There was even a gate, with a real, live gatekeeper. Said gatekeeper was in the process of giving me the fisheye as I stood and stared at the estate.

?I?m N?Yaz Diya,? I said, shaking off my surprise and yokel-like stare, ?One of the executors of Edward?s estate. I?m supposed to be meeting Henry MacLachlan here.? For some reason, the gatekeeper didn?t seem to believe me. It was probably the jacket. I guess the stare hadn?t helped, either. I dug out my investigator?s license, complete with the obligatory bad photo of me on it, and after a lot of squinting and side-by-side comparison, the man grudgingly pulled the gate open and allowed me to set foot on his hallowed ground.

Henry met me at the front entrance to the smaller of the two houses, although small wasn?t really a word that could be applied to the structure. The foyer was bigger than my apartment and office combined. I glanced over at Old Man MacLachlan. ?Where the hell did Ed get the money for this place, Henry??

Henry didn?t comment on my use of his first name; I guess he was willing to allow some liberties now that I?d taken the case. ?That?s part of what I?d like you to look into, Mr. Diya,? he said obliquely, not meeting my eyes. Hmm. When people were reluctant to tell you where money had come from, it was usually because the source was illegal, unethical, or both. It didn?t seem like Ed?s style to get money illegally, though. He wasn?t that kind of guy. Or at least, he hadn?t been. I guess people could change, even in six months. I didn?t want to think that Ed had gotten himself involved in something illegal, though. It would be like finding out that your father was having an affair with your school teacher.

Henry took me into a sitting room and told me to have a seat while he gathered up the information he had on Piper, and, apparently, Ed?s money. An honest-to-goodness butler came in and asked me if I?d like some refreshments. I couldn?t say no to refreshments. The butler came back with tea and scones on a silver platter. Yes, a real silver platter. What had Ed done in six months to get him this kind of lifestyle. It was a whole different world from the one I lived in; the one he used to live in. People in this world didn?t worry about things like rent or where the next meal was coming from. I drank the tea and ate the scones. Judging by the look from the butler, I did it without the proper scone-eating etiquette, too. Pity.

Henry came back a little while later, with a stack of papers and some photos. ?This is everything I could dig up on my own about Piper MacCrimmon, as well as Edward?s financial records.? I thanked him politely while inwardly groaning at the size of the stack. Henry left to do something or other, and I settled down to start reading. This was going to take a while.

It was cloudy and cold when I got outside. Coming in, I?d been too preoccupied with memories of Ed and Alex to notice, but my mind was a bit clearer now. I?d have preferred it the other way, honestly. I hate being cold, even if I am pretty used to it. Most people don?t realize how cold a desert can get at night. It?s not all scorching sun and desiccating winds. Nights in some parts of the deep desert can get cold enough to freeze water. It?s because of the extremely low humidity. Dry desert air can?t block sunlight during the day or trap heat during the night. So you get big temperature swings between day and night. Until I became Hunt Master and went on my vigil, I?d spent many a chill night huddled in a blanket and shivering. After my latent magical abilities had awakened, I?d gained an incredibly useful spell that protected me from all but the most extreme temperatures. I was seriously considering using that spell right now, though I didn?t like to give in like that. Made me feel less manly, hiding from a little cold like that. Yeah, I know, who was I trying to kid? I muttered a few magical syllables and waved my hand. An immediate sensation of warmth flowed through me as the spell countered the cold in the air. I relaxed and grinned. Much better.

It was late enough in the morning that the Marketplace was bustling now, gearing up for the lunch time rush. I greeted a few merchants and regular customers who knew me by sight, or whom I?d done some work for. The latter group was a much smaller one, but the greetings were a little friendlier. You find a person?s missing kid or something, they tend to remember it. As I walked by a fruits and vegetables stall the owner tossed me an orange, and I paused to exchange a few pleasantries with him before passing on. He was a nice guy. Frank was his name. I?d found his birth parents for him almost a year ago, and he?d given me free produce ever since. The job had its perks. Some might say the satisfaction of knowing you?d done a good deed was reward enough on its own, but you couldn?t eat a warm, fuzzy feeling, even if it was nice to get one.

A few minutes after I?d left Frank?s stall, I was standing in front of Piper?s place. It was bigger than I?d expected. Guess she was doing okay for herself. I could see lights on in the house through several of the windows. I went up to one of the windows and peeked inside. Looked like a dining room?or it had looked like one, before a localized tornado came through. The table was overturned, chairs scattered around the room, some of them broken. I raised a brow at my reflection in the window, but he wasn?t impressed. Everyone?s a critic.

The front door was locked, I discovered. I glanced up and down the street, then grabbed my wallet and slid out one of the lock picks in it. It was a pretty good lock, but pretty good just won?t cut it when you basically make a living getting into places someone doesn?t want you to get into. Less than a minute later, I slipped inside Piper MacCrimmon?s house.

Since this room hadn?t been torn apart by whoever?d done the rest of the house, I had the perfect opportunity to use another of my little tricks. I went over and lightly touched the well-used pestle, mumbled a few mystic syllables, and closed my eyes. Like someone had just hoisted a giant sign, I suddenly knew the direction and distance from myself to the last person who?d touched the pestle. It was a very handy bit of magic when you?re in the people-finding business, but I had to be careful to find something that had last been touched by my target. It was a bit of a gamble, especially since I could only use the spell once a day. If I was following the wrong person, it could spell disaster, for me or the target. The spell was telling me that the last person to touch this pestle, hopefully Piper, was several miles southwest of here. I groaned softly. That put her in the WestEnd, or the Docks. Neither were places I enjoyed visiting. Too many chances that someone would get the urge to show me my own internal organs. If I was going to be heading into that end of town, I?d need to bring some help. Luckily, I knew just the guy, and where to find him, too.

I took a last look around Piper?s house, just in case I?d missed something obvious, like bloodstains, or a convenient note. No such luck, of course. Then I let myself out the same way I?d come in. I even locked the door behind me. I turned to start walking down the street towards the Marketplace proper, stopped dead as a sudden realization hit me like a club to the face. ?Sometimes, Yaz,? I told myself, ?you don?t have the brains of sand-flea.? I?d been missing the most obvious inconsistency in the whole ?Piper has Ed and Alex killed and flees with inheritance? theory. Piper didn?t have the money yet. Why would she go into hiding before getting the money? She wouldn?t, of course. In order to actually get the money, she had to be present when the will was officially read. She would have to meet with Henry, and presumably me, before she could inherit. Disappearing now would mean she?d get nothing. I couldn?t imagine anyone doing that voluntarily. Who would turn their backs on a quarter-million plus?

When I realized I was standing stock-still in front of a house I?d just finished breaking into, I hurriedly started moving. While I?d always maintained a semi-cordial relationship with the Watch, having to explain illegal breaking-and-entering might strain things a bit.

Back in the Marketplace, things were as busy as ever. I nodded my hellos to the usual suspects, but I didn?t stop to chat this time. Time is a lot more critical in a kidnapping case than it is when the target is intentionally hiding. I double-timed it through the stalls and throngs, reaching my destination a few minutes later. The building was small, only two stories high, and made of red brick. There was a sign hanging over the front door that depicted a steaming pastry of some kind, and above that, the word ?Rochester?s?. That?s right, it was a bakery.

The bell inside the door tinkled merrily when I pushed my way through. A few patrons were inside, mostly stuffing their faces with breads and pastries. They all stopped and stared at me as I stepped over the threshold. I waved like they were a pack of adoring fans. They showed their adoration by going back to their baked goods without comment. Well, most of them. At a corner table, a massive lump of a man raised a paw in greeting. I recognized the homely features of Kettle, strong-arm specialist. He?s called Kettle because his head?s roughly the same size and consistency as one. Less charitable people would note that he?s about as bright as a cast-iron pot, too. We?re not exactly friends, but I?ve worked with him in the past when I needed extra muscle and we always parted amicably. I changed course, heading over to his table. ?Hey Kettle,? I said, ?How?s business?? He?s not especially fond of the nickname, but definitely prefers it over his real name, which a reliable source tells me is Francis. Can?t blame him for not wanting to go by Francis. Who?d take him seriously?

?Yaz,? Kettle grunted around a mouthful of bear claw. He swallowed, wiped his hand on his pants and stuck it out in my direction. I shook his hand a bit gingerly, checking to make sure all of my fingers still worked afterwards. ?Ain?t seen you in a while,? he continued. ?Got a case going?? Kettle?s voice is kind of hoarse and a lot higher-pitched than you?d expect from such a huge guy. My theory is that all the muscle in his neck is strangling his voice box. He sounded hopeful; business must be slow for him. I thought about it for a second. I?d been coming to see if Rochester was willing to tag along, but another body couldn?t hurt, right? Especially one as big as Kettle?s.

?Yeah,? I replied, nodding. ?Looks like a kidnapping. I was going to see if Rochester was interested. You want to come along, too??

We decided it would be easiest for everyone to meet at my place when they were ready. Rochester headed off to go round up the Lily twins, and Kettle went home to get his working gear together. There wasn?t much else for me to do except go home, too. Besides, I had to get some of my own equipment. A pair of daggers wasn?t going to cut it for the WestEnd.

The walk home was as uneventful and dull as I could hope for, but that changed when I reached my building. My office is one of several in a building that might once have been elegant and sophisticated, but had long since degenerated into shabby and decidedly low-class. Even so, there was always someone behind the receptionist?s desk, even in the middle of the night. It was something that we tenants paid for. The businesses that operated here, including mine, were the kind that didn?t close when the sun went down. Even though it made for some sleepless nights, it paid to be willing to take on a client during the wee hours. And if someone who needed my services showed up at two in the morning, it was important that there was someone waiting in the lobby to make sure that he didn?t end up in, say, Madam Rosmerta?s Domination and Dentistry. His world would never be the same again. (Would you, after being strapped down and getting a tooth pulled by a woman in black leather, who was all the while telling you what a naughty boy you?d been for not flossing? Yeah, I thought not.)

The lobby was empty and when I walked back in. No one behind the desk. No prospective clients perusing the signboard that listed the businesses in the building. It was mid-afternoon, and the place was silent as a tomb. A little warning bell went off in the back of my mind. I didn?t like the looks of this one bit. I reached down and slid one of the daggers out of its sheath, then silently crept to the edge of the staircase that led up to the second floor, where my office was located. I looked up along its length, senses straining for some sign of what was going on. Nothing. Slowly, I started up the stairs, using all the stealth and care I?d learned in my years of desert tracking. Near the top, I lowered myself until I was practically hugging the stairs, and carefully edged my head out along the floor to peer down the hall. Why did I stick my head out along the floor? Well, because it was a whole lot less noticeable down there. If I stuck my strikingly handsome face around the corner at head level, even the most dim-witted observer was likely to notice the sudden change in the line of the wall. Sliding it slowly out along the floor, however, especially in a shabby place like this where the management was too cheap to spring for more than a couple of weak bulbs to illuminate the hall, made it a lot harder to spot. Fortunately, the stairs were at the end of the hall so I only had one direction to worry about.

No one was visible in the hallway, so I straightened up and moved away from the stairs. My office was the first door on the right, and it looked from here like the door to it was open. Since I hadn?t left it that way, my highly trained investigative mind immediately guessed that someone uninvited was in my office. I crept silently down the hall towards my door, dagger in hand. When I was a few feet from the door, I heard an unfamiliar man?s voice coming from inside my office. ?Where the hell is he? We been waiting here all day.? A second voice hissed ?Shut up, you idiot.? The first man wasn?t very good at following orders, though, since he promptly continued to talk. ?Why you always tellin? me to shut up? You ain?t the boss of me. I don?t have?,? the voice was cut off by a sound extremely reminiscent of someone being smacked in the back of the head. ?Both of you shut up,? a third voice said quietly. Silence descended.

So. At least three people were waiting in my office. Going by the emptiness of the building, and the fact that they?d broken into my place, it didn?t seem too likely that they were here to hire me. I had a couple of choices, here. I could turn around and leave, wait out front until Rochester and Kettle showed up and then go in with backup. I could walk boldly in and demand to know why they were in my office. I could sit right where I was and listen to see if they?d talk about what they were doing here. Option number two sounded like a bad idea to me. The first idea was definitely the safest route. The third choice was significantly more risky than the first, but not as dumb as the second. An intelligent, rational person would go with leaving and getting help. I wasn?t either of those, apparently, since I chose to sit and listen to see if they said anything useful.