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people she saw were Gus’s old cohorts already at the bar. Bootsie, Dirk and Aldous.
    They had teacups in front of them but she knew the tea had been spiked with whiskey—Gus’s favorite drink and cure-all.
    They swung their stools around to greet her, all raising their cups. “Abby!”
    She felt oddly as if they were saluting a monarch. Maybe they were afraid she’d oust them from their seats at the bar.
    “Hey, guys,” she said.
    Aldous reached for something and came over to her. She noted the way his bald head shimmered in the tavern’s lights. His blue eyes seemed gray, sad, solemn.
    He’d collected another cup from the bar. “We had it ready for you,” he said. “We thought we’d have a private toast before you got caught up in all the craziness. Gus was one of a kind. A lot of people loved him. But I think we’re going to miss him the most, the four of us.”
    “Thanks, Aldous,” she said, taking the cup from him. She lifted it. “To Gus!”
    “To Gus! Long may his legend live!” Bootsie said.
    She gave Aldous a kiss on the cheek and walked over to do the same with Bootsie and Dirk. “You guys all okay, workwise?” She looked specifically at Dirk. His “pirate” ship went out every day. Dirk loved to play the pirate master of ceremonies and he was very good at it.
    “It’s handled. I have the crew taking care of everything. No way I wouldn’t honor Gus,” Dirk told her.
    Macy came striding over to her. “Abby, the mayor wants to convey his condolences and the chief of police is here.” She glanced at the men. “If I can steal you away for a minute.”
    “See you in a bit, guys,” she said as she accompanied Macy.
    And so continued what already felt like a long day.
    She was cordial to the chief, despite the fact that she wasn’t feeling especially fond of the local police at the moment. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. Her insistence that something was wrong with the circumstances of an old man’s death couldn’t compare with some of the very real and obvious crimes they were facing.
    And the autopsy did conclude that Gus had died of a heart attack, not surprising for someone of his age who wanted to crawl around in historic tunnels as if he were a young man.
    But that was the point they weren’t getting. Gus didn’t crawl around in tunnels!
    Fine. There was very little she could do about their lack of interest in the tunnels. She’d contacted the officer in charge of her assignment at Quantico, who didn’t seem to have much understanding of her situation. An old man had died. It happened; that was life. But, of course, she should take whatever time she needed and report in as soon as possible, let them know when she’d be returning.
    And she’d probably be in a boatload of trouble when she did return for an assignment. Because she’d gone over her supervisor’s head to contact another FBI unit leader.
    Jackson Crow.
    Crow was in charge of a special section of the agency; he and his people were based in a field office of their own in Arlington, Virginia. From there, they were sent across the country.
    At the regular offices, they were referred to as the “ghost busters.” Despite that reference, they were held in awe by most of the other agents. They had a spectacular record of solving cases. She knew about Jackson Crow because he was a legend at the agency; he’d solved cases with various units before being asked to form a special one dedicated to situations that were...out of the ordinary.
    They were officially known as the Krewe of Hunters. She assumed that was because the first assignment as a new unit had been in New Orleans, when the wife of a U.S. senator had mysteriously died.
    Abby didn’t want any ghosts “busted.” She wanted someone to believe that her grandfather had been onto something, that he’d needed to speak with her for a very real reason. And from what she understood, while there were rumors about the Krewe agents having “special”