Something Sinister This Way Comes: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Wishes Book 2)

by R K Dreaming

  Charming had kept his eyes open for her in case she had been skulking around outside the hotel when he had arrived, but there had been no sign of her. Clearly, she had not taken his warning about Polliver seriously.

  He did not know where she had taken herself off to in such a hurry this morning, but it gave him a grim satisfaction to know that she was safely out of the way.

  “Well?” snapped Polliver. “Did you get anywhere with Sigourney Maltei’s alibi for the murder?”

  Charming wracked his brain, trying to think of something to persuade Polliver to give up on Sigourney, but Bordey beat him to it.

  “Sorry, chief,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing yet. Nobody in town recalls seeing her on Wednesday, or for days before that. Nobody knows where she was staying. She could have been anywhere.”

  “That’s good,” said Polliver, looking satisfied, much to Charming’s disgust. “She has no alibis. Very good. Keep on it.”

  And what about your alibi, Polliver? thought Charming furiously. Where were you on Wednesday night?

  He needed a discreet way to bring the topic of conversation around to it.

  “What else have you two found out?” said Polliver.

  Charming glanced at the ever-capable Bordey, hoping she would speak up.

  She obliged. “I managed to speak to one of the local police officers, chief. She let slip that their forensics team found Garrett Clooney’s fingerprints all over that cat statue that was used to bludgeon Rodan Hale to death. But apparently Garrett claims that he gifted Marilyn that statue as a housewarming gift.”

  Polliver, who had helped himself to a gloopy chocolate donut from the box in front of him, gave Bordey a scathing look. “Then it’s hardly worth mentioning, is it?”

  Bordey eyed the donots hungrily, but Polliver did not offer her one. Charming reached over and snagged himself one covered with lemon frosting, ignoring Polliver’s scowl. He nudged the box in Bordey’s direction.

  “But sir,” said Bordey, “Garrett Clooney’s alibi might not stack up. I managed to get hold of the director’s assistant, who said that Garrett might not have been at the set like he said he was. He doesn’t remember seeing him for most of Wednesday and half of Thursday. He said Garrett had had a blazing row with Noah, and gone off in a huff.”

  Charming listened with interest. This was the first he was hearing about the cousins arguing.

  Charming had made several calls yesterday evening, trying to get hold of the people on set too, including Jenny James, but everyone had determinedly refused to pick up their phones. Closing ranks, he had thought in frustration.

  “That doesn’t mean Garrett wasn’t there,” said Polliver dismissively. “Sets are busy places. You need to talk to more than one person, Bordey, before you fling accusations around.”

  “Of course. It’s just that they’ve been hard to get hold of on the phone. I’ll keep chasing. And about the murder weapon—”

  “We’ve already spoken about that,” said Polliver impatiently. “Noah Clooney only picked it up because he was confused when he found the body.”

  “Yes chief,” she said. “I only wanted to say that I spoke with some people on Garrett’s vampire hunter movie. The props handler said the axe definitely didn’t come from the film set, and they do actually have some real axes there. But do you think the killer wanted to stage the murder to make it look like Garrett did it?”

  Polliver snorted. “You mean that The Reaper wanted to imply that Garrett Clooney might be The Reaper? The Reaper may be many things, but he’s not stupid. A Humble like Garrett could never be The Reaper. He’s killed vampires, succubae, you name it. A Humble do that?” Polliver threw back his head and laughed.

  “So, do you think that The Reaper might be a sentinel?” said Charming, throwing caution to the wind.

  That stopped Polliver’s laugh dead in its tracks. The man gaped at Charming. “One of us?” he gasped.

  Charming shrugged. “Sure, why not? I mean, we were in town that night, weren’t we? Investigating Mockingbird’s murder. Imagine if the local police got it into their heads that it was one of us.”

  Charming said it casually, as if his heart wasn’t thumping angrily.

  Polliver’s face had gone puce. “Then it was a good job that we were all up late scouring the Mockingbird crime scene that night, isn’t it?” he snapped.

  Charming felt a rush of disappointment. If Polliver had been at the crime scene, then he couldn’t be the murderer.

  Bordey had given Polliver a sharp look. “You weren’t, sir,” she said. “You disappeared for a while.”

  Charming perked up.

  “To make some phone calls!” said Polliver, looking thunderous. “What are you implying, Bordey?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing sir,” she said quickly, but she gave Charming a meaningful look.

  She continued, “So, we looked into Noah’s alibi too. It turns out, after the argument with Garrett, Noah went to stay in a cottage with the actress Jenny James. Antoine, you said you were going to call her…?” She looked at Charming expectantly.

  Charming had no idea what Jenny James may have said, having failed to get hold of her on the phone himself.

  “She didn’t pick up,” he said. “I left messages. I’ll keep chasing her.”

  “Oh okay,” said Bordey. “I did manage to get hold of her assistant Becca Smitherson, who confirmed she had a forty minute video call with Jenny at 8:00 pm on Wednesday night, the evening before the murder. She saw Jenny walking all around the beach cottage during the call, so there’s no doubt that Jenny was there. That takes Jenny out of the frame for the murder, because there were no flights that would have got her to Brimstone Bay in time. But Becca doesn’t recall seeing Noah anywhere in the video during that call, even though Jenny walked between both the lounge and the bedroom.”

  Charming nodded. This matched what Oberon had showed him in that Instagram video. Jenny had been walking around the cottage, talking to her fans, but there had been no sign of Noah on the video. But Charming had not thought that surprising. She wouldn’t want her fans to see her shacked up with a married man.

  Polliver scowled. “I thought we had agreed that no one imitated The Reaper, Bordey? It was The Reaper who killed Marilyn Hepburn.”

  “But sir, I just think that it was worth thinking about.”

  “I don’t pay you to think. I’m here to do the thinking. What did you imagine? That sweet little Jenny Jones was so jealous Noah Clooney had married another woman that she flew to Brimstone Bay to murder Marilyn and stage it to look like The Reaper? She’s a Humble, Bordey!”

  “Humbles aren’t helpless, sir,” said Bordey.

  “It is not your job to go around throwing accusations.” Polliver stuffed half another chocolate donut in his gob and spoke with his mouth full. “And I hardly think Noah Clooney would have managed to fly here and do it either.”

  Bits of donut came flying out of his mouth at her and Bordey scooted her chair back a little.

  “I suppose we just need Jenny to definitely confirm that Noah was with her, and we can rule him out.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. You’ll focus on Rodan Hale and Sigourney Maltei, like I said. One of them is the culprit. My instincts are never wrong. And where the hell is my stunbommer? Haven’t you found it yet?”

  Charming had to stifle a smirk. He had filched Polliver’s stunbommer while serving him his drinks at the restaurant yesterday. Served the buffoon right for leaving a valuable weapon lying carelessly on the table, especially one that could do so much damage if it fell into the wrong hands.

  Charming had put it into Sigourney’s jacket pocket, but not got a chance to tell her about it, since she had walked out so suddenly this morning. After working for the sentinels for so long, she had to know how to use it. It made him feel better knowing that she had it.

  “Sorry, chief, I haven’t seen it,” said Bordey.

  “Then I’ll just have to take yours,” said Polliv
er. “Hand it over.”

  Bordey looked at him in astonishment.

  Charming unhooked the stunbommer from his own belt and slid it over. “You can have mine.” He didn’t like the thought of Bordey hunting killers without a weapon.

  “Now get back to work,” said Polliver, flapping his hands at Charming and Bordey.

  They left him finishing off his donuts and coffee.

  Outside, Charming turned to Bordey and said, “So what were you saying about Polliver not being at the Mockingbird crime scene on Wednesday night? How long was he gone for?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were the one who was complaining about his skiving off work!”

  “Yeah, but I can’t really remember how long.”

  She snorted in laugher. “Oh please, you haven’t really got it into your head that the chief is The Reaper!”

  When he didn’t respond immediately, she gave him an incredulous look.

  Charming shrugged. “I was just wondering what we would say if the local police asked us for our alibis.”

  She frowned. “We’d say the three of us were working together, is what we would say. Aren’t you the one who is always telling me to pick my battles? Polliver would have your head if he thought you were stirring trouble for him.”

  “Yeah, but how long was he gone for?” Charming insisted.

  “Never mind that,” she said, glancing back towards the office door as if worried Polliver might overhear.

  She grabbed Charming’s elbow and hustled him away down the corridor.

  “Between you and me,” she said, “that cop I spoke to was reviewing the logs of Noah and Garrett Clooney’s calls the week of the murder. Noah’s were as expected. He spoke to Marilyn every day while he was away, except after they argued. Just like he said.”

  She opened up her phone and showed him a photo she had snapped of the call logs.

  “But see here? These are Garrett Clooney’s calls. He also called Marilyn every day during the Ireland trip. Every single day. Which is weird, right? But most interestingly, he called her six times on the day of the murder, all brief calls lasting less than a minute. Then this last call was around 10:00 pm, an hour before the murder window. Then nothing after that. Nothing at all. It’s almost as if he knew she was dead.”

  Charming frowned. “You think Garrett was the baby’s father?”

  “You tell me,” she said. “All I know is that it’s weird to call your cousin’s wife every day. And something is definitely off about those two Clooney cousins. I just can’t put my finger on it. Trouble is that Polliver won’t hear a word against them.” She chewed her lip in frustration.

  “It is weird,” admitted Charming. “And odd that Garrett was staying in Noah’s guest cottage when he has his own big family house with his wife and kids just twenty minutes away. He said he stayed there for Noah’s sake, but he doesn’t strike me as the sort of man to inconvenience himself for anyone, let alone his assistant.”

  “You mean like he wanted to stay there to keep his eye on Noah?”

  Charming nodded.

  Could Noah have done it and Garrett suspected something, but was reluctant to so obviously drop his cousin into trouble?

  Or could Garrett have done it and want to keep Noah close to ensure the younger man did not let anything incriminating slip?

  Either way, no one had been able to confirm either cousin’s alibi yet.

  Bordey looked excited. “And it was Garrett who purposefully nudged us towards Noah’s dodgy alibi, knowing full well Noah made the better suspect!” she said angrily. “The sneaky git! You reckon they’re in on it together? And now he’s trying to shift the blame to Noah?”

  Charming frowned. “You really think this murder wasn’t done by The Reaper? That it was a copycat?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” she whispered, as a passing member of hotel staff eyed them up curiously. “But I think we need to find who did it quick, because the boss seems pretty fixated on Sigourney Maltei. Weird, isn’t it?”

  It was more than weird, thought Charming grimly. It was downright menacing. The sooner this murder was solved, the better.

  Charming had hoped for Sigourney’s sake that the killer really was The Reaper so that they could finally end his reign of terror. So that Sigourney could finally have some peace, be reunited with her daughter. Be safe.

  Charming couldn’t give her any of the happiness she wanted. He couldn’t afford to dwell on their kiss, which had played on his mind more than he wanted.

  But he had pretended it did not matter, squashed his feelings away.

  Because when Charming found Amelie’s killer, then Charming prayed he would find the one thing he had wanted for centuries. To finally be free of that lamp. He knew Sigourney thought that meant that he would be mortal again, free to live his life. But Charming knew better.

  There was no life beyond the lamp. Charming would finally be free to go to the final resting place, the peace beyond life that had been so long denied to him. No one deserved to live forever, and he was so very tired.

  It was time to go to where he could see his mother again. See his son. And everyone he had ever loved who was gone.

  But first, Charming had to find which one of the Clooney cousins had killed Amelie. And he had to do it before Sigourney.

  Chapter 20

  SIGOURNEY

  I had spent the whole day discreetly following Bridgit Corkmony, and was now beginning to feel dejected.

  She had spent the morning in her office with clients, and then taken an extended lunch break, during which she’d gone to some of the most exclusive boutiques in Brimstone Bay, and tried on one ballgown after another, before discarding them all.

  She’d prattled on about the Mayor’s Ball that evening to various shop assistants, saying that she wasn’t quite satisfied with her choice of gown, and that her boyfriend Tiberius was very particular about these sorts of things.

  It was such a frivolous concern. Which made me worry that I’d simply persuaded myself that she knew something relevant and was keeping an important secret, when she was doing nothing of the sort.

  Would a woman burdened by the murder of her friend and business partner be so worried about making a good impression on her boyfriend’s arm at the Mayor’s Ball?

  The boyfriend Ossias sounded like a piece of work from what I had overheard her saying. He was not only demanding of what she wore, but had insisted she must accompany him tonight, even though she’d wanted to stay at home. Rodan’s murder had exhausted her, she’d said to several of the assistants. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. And his young clients had all been so upset about it, stopping by the office at all hours, needing help about things he had been handling. And that she didn’t even know where to begin.

  On and on she had nervously prattled, working herself up to the verge of tears on one occasion, until the shop assistant had brought her a cup of hot tea to soothe her nerves.

  So here was I wasting my day, while Charming was fixating on Polliver. Both of us wasting our time, while the real killer might be getting away.

  My stomach tightened at this thought. I could not let that happen, because Charming’s chance to be free would be gone.

  The thought of him being trapped forever in that lamp was intolerable. The thought that I would have to make my final wish and then hide him away in some deep dark corner and never see him again was one that I felt would haunt me forever if it came to pass.

  I wanted him to be free to live his life.

  A tiny voice at the back of my mind whispered that maybe I even hoped to be a part of that life.

  But first we had to find this killer.

  After the shopping trip, in which Bridgit had mulled over and discarded what felt like a thousand ballgowns and their matching shoes and accessories, but returned to her office empty-handed, I had taken up my post at the café opposite her office–house. I was still there as evening approached, and beginning to lament the uselessness of t
his endeavour.

  I could not help worrying about Rodan’s daughter Dianthe, wherever she was in the world. And wondering if it might have been her who had killed her own father, and whether Marilyn had just been collateral damage.

  And yet here was I, obsessively refusing to leave Bridgit, who had a solid alibi.

  I wondered if I should just go and knock on her door and openly ask her what she was hiding. Imply that I knew it. See if she would spill the beans.

  But something told me that Bridgit Corkmony, with her uptilted nose and her soft breathy voice and her fluttering eyelashes, had more steel in her spine than she appeared to have. That she had already told us all she was prepared too. Heck, she had even spilled about her illegal activities with smuggling those water sprites to safety. People trafficking, in essence.

  Whatever secret she was still guarding was too important to her to spill.

  By the time the café I was in was preparing to close at six o’clock, I had realised that I had run out of leads. I was going to have to make Bridgit talk. Could her secret be protecting her powerful lover, Tiberius Ossias? Did he have something to do with it, and was she scared of him?

  Unfortunately for me, as I got out of the café, a rolls royce with tinted windows had pulled up to her house and swept her away. Bridgit was on her way to the ball with Tiberius Ossias.

  “Darn it,” I muttered to myself, watching the car drive away.

  I dug into my bag for my phone and got the shock of my life when my hand met something fuzzy that bit it.

  “Squeak, you little monster! What in heavens are you doing in there!”

  I could not believe it. Squeak was nestled into the bottom of my bag and had made an awful mess in there.

  Having been caught, she proceeded to flap out and make a huge fuss. I had the feeling she was accusing me of starving her.

  “Darn it! This is the last thing I need.”

  I found my phone and called my brother Oberon.

  He answered rather eagerly. “Do you need my help?”