Chapter 16

Marigold, our firm’s private investigator, is the exact opposite of her name. Instead of shining like her namesake, she’s a sixty-plus woman who’s as thoroughly gray as the cloud that arises from her endless loop of chain-smoking. Fueled only by cigarettes and general disdain, she’s wiry with a perpetual hungry hollow to her cheeks.

Nevertheless, she’s the best at what she does.

Which is why I appreciate her—even if she does talk down to me like I’m a drunk relative trying to rope her into a pyramid scheme.

I contacted her before I visited Lauren, the DFO agent. I gave her instructions to sail out to Zagreus Hart’s headquarters and take as many photos as possible. I sent her the picture of Grant at the docks and told her to focus on him.

She told me that she doesn’t do boyfriend stalking. When I told her he wasn’t my boyfriend, she looked me over and said that makes sense. She also told me that trespassing on a scary skull island would cost extra.

The amount she named made me balk. Hopefully, this time loop reverses all credit card charges.

As I wait for her in a parking lot near the docks, I’m grateful that it’s not raining like it was last night, especially since I gave away my umbrella. Also, with that much rain, there’s a chance Marigold’s cigarette would go out. I do not want to face her without her nicotine.

Sure enough, when she pulls up on her motorcycle, she’s got a cigarette in her mouth, the ash flying back at her. Not that she seems to care. She’s got a Clint Eastwood stare, practically daring the debris to do their worst.

She walks over to me in the dim light of the parking lot with her motorcycle helmet under one arm and her phone in her other.

“Did you get the pictures?”

She glares at me. “Yeah, I got the fucking pictures. Although, I don’t see why you wanted to go all Peeping Tammy on pretty boy when there’s that tall guy with the scar. You want my advice, girly, go for a man who’s been cut up a little.”

I most certainly do not want her dating advice.

“Like I said, this is for a case.”

Marigold throws down her cigarette and lights up another one, staring at me all the while. A smile plays on her lips. “Sure. Let me guess, you already have a boyfriend?”

For fuck’s sake, is she mocking my love life? Marigold?

“Do you?” I counter. I’m not about to let Marigold get the upper hand in this conversation. Always be the one asking the questions.

“Three.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke into my face. I usually have a pretty good read on people, and everything indicates that she’s telling the truth.

Well then.

“Are you going to show me the pictures or not?”

“The polite thing to do would be to ask me a bit about my boyfriends,” she rasps as she pulls out her phone. Damn it all, but she’s right. Dr. Debbie has two chapters about how to engage in polite conversation. Asking questions when people reveal new information is her key advice.

“Okay… what are their names?”

She tilts her phone away from me as she enters in her passcode. “None of your fucking business.”

Silently, I remind myself that she’s good at what she does. I also remind myself that murder is wrong.

Even in a time loop.

“What’d you find?”

“He wasn’t with another girl, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Is murder really so wrong if she’s going to come back to life in a couple hours?

Eventually, I dismiss the idea. Marigold may be over sixty, maybe even pushing seventy, but I’m not entirely sure I could take her. There’s a good chance she has a shiv somewhere under her leathers.

“Any idea what type of work he does there?”

“Want to make sure he’s the real deal before you go gold digging?”

My eye twitches. “I told you that this is for work,” I snap.

Staring steel nails into my very soul, Marigold eyes me over. “I’ll tell you what, if you can honestly tell me that that man has never helped you hitch a ride to O-city, I will promise to treat you with nothing but respect for the rest of our interactions.” She pauses, unmoving except for her rhythmic smoking.

I pause because, well, she’s got me there.

And she knows it.

How is it that I can face down the biggest and baddest lawyers in the country, but I crumble under Marigold?

“You didn’t happen to be a lawyer before you started doing this, did you?”

She smiles a little half quirk smile, blowing smoke up through the side of her mouth. “In a past life, little girl, I was the motherfucking executioner.”

“Just show me the pictures.”

Still smirking, Marigold turns her phone towards me. She’s got hundreds of pictures of Grant. Outside, through the windows on various levels, even in the offices that sit in the eyes. Without a doubt, those are the main offices. The head honcho offices.

“Seems to me like your boy is a pretty important guy to have that much clearance. He was all over that creepy skull.” She throws down her cigarette and lights another one.

I don’t answer her. I swipe through the pictures, enlarging his face whenever possible. I squint my eyes this way and that, hoping that maybe I’ll realize there’s been a mistake and these aren’t pictures of Grant.

But Marigold doesn’t make mistakes.

Every single one is of him.

Especially the money shot. In one of the pictures, he stands in front of the window that makes up the right eye. Behind him, is an office larger than my apartment. He stands in front of the glass, with his arms folded behind his back, staring out at the ocean—like he’s a king surveying his kingdom.

“Marigold,” I hedge, still staring at the picture. Like all the other pictures, much of it, including his clothes are shadowed. His face, though, is perfectly clear in the sliver of light that peeks through. “You didn’t happen to get any pictures of Zagreus Hart, did you?”

Marigold sputters in surprise. It quickly turns into a hacking cough. When, she’s done coughing, she stares at me. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, little girl. You should know that no one knows what he looks like. Pretty boy here could be Zagreus Hart for all I know.”

Like the time loop resetting, that thought continues to come back around. No one knows what Zagreus Hart looks like.

“If you’re done daydreaming, I’m going to get going.” Marigold pops on her helmet and slips her cigarette through the open visor. “I’ve got a date and it’s getting late.”

That it is.

The sky darkens at an alarming rate. Pretty soon, it will be midnight. Let’s see if the day resets. If I find myself being rescued by a man I know nothing about.

A superhero.

Or, a supervillain.

Time will tell.