Page 3 of Shake Your Boo Thang

Mimi runs a hand down her face. “I figured as much.”

I lean back in my seat and contemplate what she’s told me. “Since activity only seems to happen at night, I’ll come back this evening when no one’s around to do some recon on my own.”

Mimi frowns. “You don’t want me to join you?”

I shake my head. “I can’t ensure your safety if you do.” I flash her a smile filled with DI-level confidence. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“Fair enough. That’s honestly a bit of a relief.” She shivers and rubs her arms. “Being here at night is too creepy these days.” She tilts her head and bites her bottom lip. “How long do you think this will take? The investigation, I mean.”

I close my notebook and return it and my pen to my jacket pocket.

“That’s hard to say right now. I should have a better idea what we’re dealing with after tonight.”

I’m bullshitting on that one, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She wrings her hands. “I understand. But if you can get this wrapped up within the next two weeks, I’ll be more than willing to pay a bonus. Once I get on my feet financially again, I mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Right now, I’d like to take a look around and interview some of your employees.”

“Of course,” Mimi agrees, and takes me on a quick tour.

As I wander through Salon de Spin, nothing seems out of the ordinary. In fact, the building appears to be pretty contemporary, making me wonder just how old it is. The electrical all looks up to code, and the handful of employees I talk to are just as on edge as Mimi. Most inform me that they refuse to do any of the night classes after what happened to Tate.

This place is posh and geared toward a certain type of clientele, but it doesn’t carry any vibes that tug at my instincts. After years at the Met, I’ve developed a highly reliable radar for danger, and nothing’s pinging me here.

But I’ve also learned that, when it comes to the supernatural, time of day can make a huge difference. Coming back tonight will be critical.

I meet up with Mimi again to take a look at some of the studio’s security footage for the entrances. Like a lot of businesses these days, Salon de Spin has CCTV monitoring the front and back doors, but these don’t show anything out of the ordinary on the dates of the incidents she mentioned.

We say our goodbyes around noon, and I head out into a brisk October day, the sky gray and dreary. I make my way back to my flat, and when I unlock the door, my cat, Poirot, greets me with immediate leg rubs, clearly hoping for some food.

“The vet says you need to lose weight, chum.”

Poirot gives me a dirty look and ambles off, tail flicking with irritation.

Sitting at my kitchen bar, I make a quick call.

“Thank you for calling ExorSquad, where all your hauntings go to die.”

I cringe. “Hiya, Ted. Is Gerald around? Need to update him on my visit to Salon de Spin.”

My boss’s assistant puts me on hold and I listen to the tinny Muzak for a couple of minutes.

“What’ve you got for me, Callum?” Gerald suddenly says into the line.

From the puffing noise he makes while talking, I’m guessing he’s smoking again, despite indoor regulations.

I don’t waste time and give him a quick recap.

Gerald grunts when I finish. “You’ve got your equipment ready for tonight?”

Damn him and the bloody equipment. Most of it seems about as useful as a dousing rod in the Sahara Desert.

“Sure,” I hedge.

“If you encounter any technical issues, you’re on your own. We don’t have any tech support at the moment.”

I frown. “What happened to Hollis?”