“Yes. I need to speak to him about my fines.”
Abrams nodded and leaned closer, lowering his tone. “He’s a stickler when it comes to the law, but I’m surprised he came down so hard on you. Others would have turned a blind eye.”
“You don’t say?” Irritation shot up my spine. What was it about me that made Derrick so prickly? I’d never met anyone who ran as hot and cold as he did. One minute, he was laying on the charm, and the next, he was accusing me of being a charlatan.
Abrams grew serious and furrowed his brow. “About last night… I shouldn’t have revealed as much as I did. It’s not a good trait for an aspiring detective. I’d appreciate if you didn’t let Detective Chambers know. He’ll have my head.”
A flush colored the tips of his ears, a mixture of embarrassment and the cold. I realized we were both a little intimidated by the man. Lucky for him, I needed every ally I could get, and if keeping secrets from Derrick was our common ground, I’d take it.
“Your secret is safe with me. We wouldn’t want to darken his mood any more than it already is.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that.” Abrams chuckled and pushed open the gate, making the iron bars whine in protest. He gestured for me to go first.
I swallowed my nerves and climbed the stone staircase. Inside, a narrow hallway opened into a waiting area. The room teemed with people. Shouts competing for control echoed into the rafters as a pair of angry merchants fought over stolen merchandise. Their fingers jabbed the air, inches from a street urchin’s smirking face. The kid polished an apple on his threadbare jacket, then crunched his jagged teeth through the fruit. It was a defiant gesture, one that sent the merchants lunging for the pilfered apple.
Abrams nudged me past the commotion toward a wide desk that served as the entry point to the back offices. A silver-haired woman glanced up from a ledger. Her stern features broke into a grin when she spotted Abrams, and her eyes crinkled around the edges.
“Morning, Estelle.” Abrams leaned an elbow on her desk and returned a flirtatious smile. “And how is my favorite gatekeeper today? Keeping the riffraff in line?”
Estelle preened and smoothed a lock of hair that had slipped from her bun. “I do what I can.”
I glanced at the alluded riffraff, none of whom were in line.
Abrams feigned ignorance, unconcerned by the chaos. “Is Detective Chambers in his office?”
“He’s finishing up a meeting. You can go back and wait.”
He flashed her another smile, then ushered me down the hallway. We passed doors on both sides with muffled sounds leaking from beneath the frames. I walked slowly, each step twisting the knot in my stomach. My plan sifted in my mind, becoming less appealing by the second. What if he did have me committed? I ground to a halt, but it was too late. Abrams had stopped and was holding open an office door.
I peered inside, unsurprised by the clean, utilitarian atmosphere. A massive desk sat along one wall, its surface void of personal effects. Instead, papers were stacked and ordered in strict lines, and a tin plate disclosing Derrick’s prestigious title had been polished to a glistening sheen. I inspected his bookcase, running my index finger along the shelf as he had done to mine. It came away clean. Not a speck of dust.
“Detective Chambers certainly likes order,” I mused, frowning when I noticed the titles had been shelved alphabetically. I’d never sorted anything alphabetically in my life. The stark difference in our personalities was on full display. Maybe it wasn’t a good strategy to tell a man who was such a pragmatist that I could see his murder victim’s ghost. I might as well put the straitjacket on myself.
Abrams scratched the morning stubble covering his jaw. “He likes things a certain way. Function and discipline are key.” He paused, but whatever memory clouded his features vanished at the sound of a scuffle from the hallway. Someone grunted, followed by the dense thud of a fist meeting flesh.
“Wait here.” He indicated a chair in front of Derrick’s desk.
I obeyed as Abrams slipped from the office, closing the door behind him. The disturbance escalated, and slurred voices echoed in the hall before going quiet.
A minute passed, then two. My gaze darted over the desk, and my hands folded neatly in my lap. The urge to snoop intensified. If we were keeping score, Derrick had snooped through my things first. He might have had the tedious fact of probable cause on his side, but I had a reason too. Curiosity.
I checked the door, making certain it was firmly closed, then scooted closer to the desk. Numerous cases formed the stacked piles—robberies, assaults, and a handful of missing people—but nothing on Ella’s investigation. I thumbed through the papers just to be sure.
A door slammed in the hall. The jarring sound made me knock a stack of folders onto the floor. Cursing, I slid to my knees and scooped up the scattered documents. They were out of order, but figuring out Derrick’s filing system looked impossible. I arranged them as best I could, then noticed one I’d missed. Pushing his chair aside, I crawled under the desk, stretching my fingers to snag the corner of the file.
“Agh!”
My forehead smacked a blunt object protruding from the desk. I hissed in a breath and reached for the evil contraption, running my fingers along its dull edges. No buttons. No holes. Whatever was inside was self-contained.
I was about to pull away when I felt a small groove where the wood met the desktop. Wrapping my fingers around the narrow chamber, I slid it forward. Something cold and metal dropped into my palm.
A key.
Looked like I wasn’t the only one with secrets. I wriggled out and held up the small bronze key. It had to fit something in his office. My gaze wandered the room.
If I were a smug detective, where would I hide something important?
His desk drawers weren’t locked, and I didn’t see any trunks or strongboxes lying around. Finally settling on what looked like a closet on the other side of the room, I climbed to my feet and held my breath to listen for movement in the hallway. Enough time had passed, and Derrick or Abrams could return at any moment. Still, I had time to put the key back and pretend I’d never discovered it. It was the right thing to do.
I laughed. Who was I kidding? Derrick hadn’t wasted a second storming my basement and using what he’d found to leverage fines against me. It was only fair I returned the favor.
With a final glance over my shoulder, I slid the key into the lock and turned it until the tumblers disengaged. The door opened, and I swung it wide on silent hinges, revealing a dark, windowless room. It was impossible to see inside, so I searched Derrick’s desk for a candle, finding one near the inkwell.
Balling my fist, I murmured a spell and splayed my fingers, sending a spark of magic over the wick. The flame caught and wavered as I brought the candle toward the entrance of the room. Its light cast a glow over a long table, illuminating a cyclone of papers and case files. The methodical order in the other room didn’t transcend into this chamber. It was as if a different person occupied both spaces, one rigorous, the other erratic.
Worn journals were stacked along the edge of the table, their covers coated in a layer of dust. I picked one up and flipped through its musty pages, noting the elegant handwriting inside. Returning it carefully, I lifted the light to examine a row of boxes against the wall. Beside them was a cot with a single pillow. A melted candle and more folders sat on a small table, which I moved closer to, running my hand over a wool blanket. An image of Derrick poring over case files deep into the night flashed through my mind. How many nights had he spent here? Judging by the tangled blanket and well-read files, more than a few.
On the other side of the room was a long board affixed to the wall. Notes were push-pinned into the surface. I held the candle higher and moved down the length, slowing as I reached the end, where a trio of roses hung upside down, suspended by their stems. I brushed my fingers over the dry, brittle petals. The scent had long since dissipated, and all but one had turned brown with age. A slip of paper
with a handwritten name had been tacked next to each flower.
The third rose was fresh, its stem a wealth of green thorns. They’d found Ella with a rose tucked between her fingers. I read the names pinned near each stem: Sophie, Jane, and Ella. My hand trembled, and a bead of wax dripped onto my wrist. I barely felt the burn.
“You can’t be in here.”
Startled, I dropped the candle. Its flame sputtered as it hit the floor, plunging the room into darkness.
Derrick’s large frame loomed in the doorway. I reached for the wall, hoping to orient myself, but I misjudged the distance, and my hip slammed the edge of the table. The stack of journals toppled, sending up a cloud of dust. I sneezed, and my foot rolled over the fallen candle, making me lurch and brace for impact.
Before I could hit the hard floor, hands wrapped around my waist. Derrick adjusted his hold, and I landed against the firm wall of his chest, his palm cupping the back of my head.
“Relax. I’ve got you.”
Easier said than done. The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver snaking through my body. How was I supposed to relax with every inch of him pressed against me? A tingling tickled my nose, but I wasn’t quick enough to pull away and sneezed twice in rapid-fire into his shirt. The third sneeze rammed my nose into his sternum. Horrified, I prayed for death.
Derrick’s chest rumbled. Was he laughing? This wasn’t even remotely funny. I’d almost broken my nose, not to mention my neck, and to make matters worse, I was enjoying the way his fingers sifted through my hair. The gentle pressure felt wonderful against my scalp. Did he realize he was doing it? I was afraid to ask because he might stop.
His arms tightened around me, and he backed us slowly out of the room. Bright light flooded my vision as his office came into focus. With a tilt of my head, our eyes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved. All traces of laughter vanished from his face, replaced by an intensity that heated my skin. I’d expected anger, not this breathless tension that hung thick in the air.
He blinked, and the moment evaporated. Derrick’s hands loosened around my waist, and his lips formed a grim line. The anger I’d expected had finally appeared.
“That’s twice I’ve caught you breaking into something.”
I held up my finger. “To be fair, the first time, I didn’t actually break anything. You startled me before I could. So, technically, this is the second time you’ve startled me.”
His eyes narrowed, but I stood my ground under his impressive glare. I was starting to think it was mostly for show and beneath his gruff exterior was something else entirely. There was only one way to find out.
“We need to talk, Detective.”
“About how I caught you going through my locked evidence room? I could have you arrested.”
His threats had no effect. I moved closer, smoothing his shoulders and straightening the lapels of his expensive jacket. His pupils were wide as they followed my bold exploration. I curbed a grin at his comical expression. Apparently, he was used to people cowering beneath his glare, not ruffling his feathers.
“That all sounds very familiar, but no. We need to talk about whether anyone else knows.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, putting a muscled barrier between him and my wandering fingers. “Does anyone else know what, Miss Daniels?”
I leaned in and whispered, “About the roses the killer leaves behind. I counted three. Ella wasn’t the first victim.”
Chapter 8
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?” I scoffed and held up three fingers. “Three roses. Three dead girls. It’s exactly what I think. They all have the same killer, one who leaves a calling card.”
Derrick scrubbed a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted. Beneath his tailored jacket, his linen shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top. It seemed out of character for him, the same way the table in his evidence room overflowed with papers and files, a chaotic distraction to the perfect shell of his outer office. Maybe he wasn’t one-sided after all.
He walked around his desk straightening the folders I’d knocked over. “They’re just roses, Miss Daniels. A potential lead, nothing more.” Reaching underneath, he found where I’d taken the key and held out his hand. “I’d like my key back.”
It was still in the door. I moved to retrieve it.
“You don’t believe that, or you wouldn’t have those flowers tacked up like killer trophies. Who are the other girls? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
A condescending smile curved his lips. He studied me in a way that felt familiar, always searching, waiting for a tell.
“A promise from a witch? Is that any good?”
Ouch. His barb hit, leaving its mark on my ego where other scars lived.
“You don’t trust witches?”
“Would you trust someone who can spin an illusion with a wave of her hand?”
Resting my knuckles on his desk, I leaned forward and held his gaze. “No, but I wouldn’t trust someone so quick to judge either. A cynic who only sees what he wants to see.” I ran my finger over his nameplate and spun it around to face him. “Like this man.”
The confident smile leached from his face. He moved the nameplate out of my reach.
“Miss Daniels, let’s be clear—”
“Call me Tessa. If we’re going to work together, there’s no need to be formal.”
His hand froze mid-air. He might have stopped breathing. Had I shocked him into an early grave? Working with me wasn’t that inconceivable.
“Miss Dan—”
“Tessa.”
His eyes closed while he gathered his patience. I had time. Pulling a chair closer, I sat down and arranged my skirts, then hooked my ankle around the leg of his desk. I wasn’t going anywhere on my own. When he opened his eyes, I blinked up at him, the picture of innocence.
“Miss Daniels, I don’t know what you think is happening here, but we’re not working together. Settle your fines and go. Forget what you saw in the evidence room, and if you don’t, and I hear you shared a single shred of information about the case, I will have you locked up where no amount of magic will set you free. For real this time.”
Seriously? What was with this man and his jailhouse threats?
“About my fines.” I picked a phantom piece of lint from my skirt and flicked it into the air. “I’m short on funds and can’t pay them, which is why I’d like to offer you a proposal.”
His face was easy to read. He regretted confiscating my potions. Hell, he might even regret visiting my shop altogether. Too bad for him.
“I’m offering to help with Ella’s case in exchange for clearing my fines.”
“No.”
“I think you’re being short-sighted because of your dislike for me.”
“My dislike for you?” He sank into the chair behind his desk and ran a hand over his face. His exhaustion seemed to increase, as if whatever lurked in his mind weighed heavily on him. “Tessa, that’s not…” His voice faded when he realized he’d used my given name. The victory was small, but it was mine.
“See, was that so hard? As I was saying, Derr—” His gaze shot to mine, darkening, daring me to finish that sentence. “I mean, Detective. Your dislike for me aside, I have information that can help find Ella’s killer, and unless your intent is to continue hanging roses on your evidence board, I suggest you hear me out.”
“You have information you didn’t divulge during our meeting the other day?” He pinned me to the seat with an accusatory glare.
“It’s new information, and I’m not sure I would call what we shared the other day a meeting. It felt more like an interrogation.”
“You’re observant, I’ll give you that.” He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand with cool indifference. “All right, Miss Daniels, I’ll humor you. What makes you think I’d let you anywhere near this case?”
And we were back to surnames. So much for small victories.
I pushed out of the ch
air and paced the room. Now that I had his attention, I was reluctant to start. Should I lead with Ella’s ghost, or ease into it? I glanced at the door. Maybe I should make a run for it instead. It might be a coward’s exit, but it held a certain appeal.
I cleared my throat and smoothed my damp palms over my skirt. “Are you aware that some people can see things others can’t?”
“Miss Daniels,” he warned.
“Answer the question.”
“Do you mean, spirits?”
“Yes.”
Derrick rolled his eyes as he rounded the desk. Not the reaction I’d hoped for.
“Time’s up.”
“What? You won’t let me explain?” I scooted to the other end of the room. If I had to make him chase me around the office, I would.
“I’m not interested in ghost stories. If you insist, Abrams will take your statement then escort you home.”
I stamped my foot, anger at his curt dismissal running through my veins. “I don’t need an escort home. I need you to listen. Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The world is filled with unexplainable things. If you would only open your eyes, you’d see them. And then, maybe, you’d have a shot at solving this case.”
He stalked closer. I backed up, bumping into the bookcase.
“You don’t listen, do you? This is a murder case. You may have built your living around tricking people into believing you have some mystical ability, but magic? Ghosts? There’s no place for them in this investigation, and there’s no place for you.”
“You’re wrong, Detective.” I jabbed my finger into his chest. This had become about so much more than eliminating my fines and claiming a reward. Principles were involved now. My reputation as a witch, and this damned desire to make him see me as something other than a con artist who dabbled in potions. “I can help solve this case because I have a link to the victim. A link no one in your investigation has. You need me.”
“Hardly.”
My patience spent, I blurted out my reasoning. “Ella’s ghost visited me last night, and I can prove it.
Spellbound After Midnight (Ever Dark, Ever Deadly Book 1) Page 6
