then squeezed their way through the packed little room to the far corner. Casey took the side against the wall, looking out toward the door.
“Told you it was a hole in the wall,” Dylan said, grinning.
“Yeah.” Death stood behind Dylan with crossed arms. “No room for a third.”
The waiter brought a basket of warm, freshly fried tortilla chips, and Casey smiled at Death, who could smell them, but not eat them. She found that once they were in front of her, she actually was hungry, and dug right in.
“Dylan,” she said around a mouthful. “You know Tamille?”
He choked on a chip, and grabbed his water glass. When he’d recovered, he set down the glass and took another chip, like nothing had happened. “Uh, yeah.”
“I talked to her. She promised not to devour you.”
He blinked several times. “Really?”
“Really. You’re safe. Even if I’m not around to protect you.”
He made a show of wiping his forehead with his napkin. “Whew. I will sleep better tonight.”
Casey laughed.
She had shoved another whole chip, complete with a large dollop of salsa, into her mouth when Death gave her a brief wave and disappeared in a puff of mist. She had just enough time to wonder what had happened before her phone rang in her pocket. She grabbed it, expecting Binns, but was surprised at what she saw on the display.
“Dylan,” she said with her mouth full. “You’re calling me.”
He lit up. “Someone found my phone!”
She swallowed. “Hello?”
A stream of hysterical Spanish assaulted her ears, a mixture of wailing and screaming. She held the phone away, her head ringing. “Do you know Spanish?”
Dylan shook his head. “French all through high school. Japanese in college.”
“Really? Japanese?”
“It makes sense, business-wise.”
The voice was still shrieking. Casey waved down her waiter and thrust the phone at him. “Can you tell me what this person is saying, please?”
He made a face at the noise, then took the phone and held it gingerly at his ear. He looked shocked at first, then spoke something that must have been calming, because Casey could no longer hear the waves of distress. The waiter’s face went completely serious, his dark brows lowering over his eyes.
“She says there is a house that has been…things have been damaged.”
“What? Who is it?”
“She says her name is Rosa. She’s afraid. The people from the house are missing.”
Rosa? From the Flamingo?
“Has she called 911?”
He went back onto the phone, patting the air as if he were consoling the caller. He turned to Casey. “She wants you to come.”
Casey looked at Dylan, who sat with his mouth open. “I’m sorry, Dylan.”
“It’s okay. Let’s go.”
“I don’t know if—”
“I’m not sending you off to face some home invasion by yourself.”
Casey asked the waiter to get an address. He scribbled it on his order pad and ripped it off, also handing her phone, which was still on.
“Thank you,” Casey said. “Gracias.”
He nodded, and Casey and Dylan ran out the door.
Chapter Twenty-nine
They clambered into Dylan’s car.
“Address?” Dylan said.
She gave it to him.
“That’s on this side of town, which makes sense, since she’s speaking Spanish. I think that road is…” His voice trailed off as he concentrated on pulling out into traffic.
“We’re coming,” Casey said into the phone. “We’re coming, okay?”
Dylan turned around a corner at high speed and skidded to a stop at the curb in front of a small stucco house with rust-colored shutters. “We’re there.”
“Already?” Casey jumped out of the car.
Dylan ran around beside her.
“You stay here,” Casey said.
“But you need me to—”
“Dylan,” Casey said. “You are young and strong. But if anyone will need protecting, it’s you. It will be better if you just stay out here, okay?”
“Daisy—”
“Stay.”
His shoulders slumped, but he nodded.
Casey moved briskly up the walk, listening and watching for any movement. “Hello?”
No response.
She detoured off the path and stood sideways by one of the front windows, tilting just far enough she could peek in. Everything looked dark and quiet. She went back to the front door and tried the knob. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open with her foot. “Hello?”
Again, nothing. She stepped into the front room, which was filled with sofas and chairs and the usual living room furniture. Books and papers lay scattered across the floor, but the furniture was all still lined up, as if nothing violent had happened. Casey could see no one hiding there. “Hello? It’s me. Daisy. You called me.”
A rush of Spanish filled the air, and Rosa, the maid from the Flamingo, barged around the corner. She grabbed Casey’s