(FADE IN:)
EXT. – SONNICKER HOUSE – NIGHT
Footsteps echoed softly on the asphalt, muffled as they crossed over on the dew-wet grass. The neighborhood stood quiet, sleepy in the middle of the night. Someone’s cat squealed its protest, skirting the edge of the house with a hiss, but the footsteps didn’t pause or slow.
A soft breeze ruffled the giant maple in the front yard, shivering its leaves toward the peaked roof of the two-story. They waved as though in greeting to the black clad visitor who kept to the shadows, circling the thick, manicured shrubs to the backyard.
The faintest sound, muffled and thick through the walls of the house, drifted down from the second floor. The upper left window faced the small, neat backyard. The footsteps finally paused, silent, a hooded head turned up toward the window. The flicker of candlelight from the other side of the partially pulled curtains, the litany of a chant, in the voice of a man and a woman in perfect harmony, came clear a moment before the wind died and carried the words away.
The back door lock gave easily under the pressure of the small pry bar, swinging inward to the touch of a black leather glove. The sound of chanting was louder inside. The stairs beckoned, boots making soft sounds on the hardwood floor, hooded head turning side to side, stride slowing. The gloved hand traced up the hand rail of the stairs, ascending to the sound of voices growing louder. The dark hall was almost black, the faintest illumination from the streetlights outside reaching thin fingers through the windows, casting long, bright strands to flicker over legs and gloves and hood.
Boots paused on the landing, pivoting toward the door at the far end of the hall, toward the back of the house. The master suite’s double entry was closed. Faint, flickering light shone beneath the door, making the wood floor appear to be on fire. The chanting felt heavy here. It carried weight and strength, the words undecipherable and nothing close to English, older than any civilization on this continent.
A gloved hand reached for the knob, tightened around it. Turned it to the swelling sound of chanting.
Outside, a small, black cat skirted the back yard as the wind picked up again. Ears twitching, she froze, looked up, still and tense. The candle light extinguished the moment a woman’s scream tore open the quiet darkness.
The cat ran.
***
Episode Three: Stolen
(Smashwords Edition)
Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen
Purely Paranormal Press
Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/
Sign up for new releases http://bit.ly/pattilarsenemail
***
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Director Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com
Production Designer Valerie Bellamy www.dog-earbookdesign.com
Editor Jessica Bufkin
Producer Anne Chaconas www.badassmktg.com
Series Created and Written by Patti Larsen
***
EXT. to INT. – SONNICKER HOUSE – MORNING
Kinsey slipped out of her open car door, balancing a box of donuts in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other, her keys dangling from the side of her purse. She shuffled the ungainly box in an attempt to hook the paper bag of treats sitting on her seat, just nabbing it with questing fingers.
She grinned to herself as she kicked her door shut and headed for the front of the house. The quiet, suburban neighborhood felt like something out of a TV show. She’d grown up in a mansion back in Boston with her grandmother and rarely had the opportunity to visit with friends she made in school. Who was she kidding? Margot DanAllart kept such a tight rein on her all those years ago, Kinsey was lucky she was allowed to talk to other kids, let alone go to school or visit their homes.
Her sandals slipped a bit on the curb as she climbed the two steps to the walkway toward the front door. Two uniformed officers dodged past her, but didn’t give her a hard time, except to smile and wave a little. They were getting to know her face, it seemed. Kinsey wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. This would be her third official time assisting her friend, Detective Geraldine Meyers, on a case, and Kinsey had to admit to herself as she drew a happy breath of fresh, suburban air, it was a good thing. Not that someone died, but that she finally felt like all the years she spent in school, on digs around the world, was worth something besides passing that same education on to others.
She wouldn’t think about her other research right now. Not when she was about to see Gerri, of all people. And though the truths she was uncovering on an almost daily basis in the private lab set up for her by Simone Paris wouldn’t be denied much longer, Kinsey chose to forget, for the time being. Gerri’s resistance to all things “weird” as she called them—paranormal, in Kinsey’s estimation—made it difficult to talk to her. Kinsey knew the time was coming they would have to have a conversation about the amazing things the anthropologist discovered. But not today.
Today was about murder.
Kinsey paused at the door, yellow tape bordering the walkway, and smiled her brightest at Officer Candice Mills. The young uniform grinned back, taking the box of donuts from Kinsey’s arm and handing it off to the three other officers in the front entry. Candice rolled her eyes at Kinsey, but she was still smiling when she spoke.
“And I thought the cop/donut thing was an urban myth,” she said. “Imagine my surprise, first day out of academy, when my partner makes sure my tour includes all the best donut shops.”
Kinsey laughed, shuffling her burdens into a more manageable grip, the bag of croissants and tray of coffee no longer threatening to crash to the floor. “I recommend more refined fare.” She handed the bag to Candice who peeked inside. And helped herself to a croissant. The scent of the still-warm buttery deliciousness made Kinsey’s mouth water.
“Thanks,” Candice took a big bite, rolling her eyes in delight. “Detective Meyers is upstairs waiting for you.” She made a face around her bite. “You might want to eat first. No, make that after.” She gulped and looked down at her croissant. “Or never again.”
Kinsey shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. Thanks, Candice.” The hallway was empty as she hurried forward, to the entry to the stairs, gaze sweeping over the living room and open concept kitchen. Nice place, a little dated, but certainly middle class. The stairs she took at a steady pace, platform sandals thudding on the carpet to the sound of her friend’s voice at the top, growing louder.
“—finish that canvas. I want to know what the neighbors heard.” Kinsey’s gaze cleared the edge of the railing, settling on the Amazonian redhead in the dark sport coat, hair flaming around her. Gerri’s green eyes flashed to Kinsey then back to the tall, handsome man she spoke to. When he turned to see what Gerri was looking at, Kinsey purposely looked away. Not because she cared what Detective Jackson Pierce thought of her. He’d made his dislike pretty clear in the few weeks he and Gerri had been partners. No, because she knew if she looked at him full on, she’d burst into laughter at his two black eyes and taped nose.
Gerri’s fist had excellent precision. And Jackson learned what hitting on his temperamental partner would get him. Sure did.
Jackson avoided Kinsey, too, stomping past her and down the stairs, feet thudding g
racelessly as he glared through the rail at his partner on his way down. Gerri ignored him, nabbing the first cup of coffee from the tray without even saying “hi” or “thank you”. Instead, she downed a giant gulp of her double-double while Kinsey smirked.
“Ruined it,” she said, “just for you.” How anyone could destroy perfectly good coffee with contaminants like milk and sugar…
“You’re a saint, Kinsey DanAllart.” Gerri’s green eyes sparkled. “Thanks for coming down.”
“You just wanted coffee.” Kinsey couldn’t help it. She peeked around the doorway beside her and into the bedroom beyond. There were too many bodies moving around in there for her to catch a clear look at anything. But she did see blood. Lots and lots of blood.
Suddenly, Candice’s advice to never eat again sounded pretty good.
Gerri took the bag from her, sniffed inside before helping herself to two buttery crescents. She had one in her mouth and was chewing with an evil grin on her face when one of the people in the room rose from a crouch and turned toward Kinsey. The “MEDICAL EXAMINER” block letters in white across the back of her jacket was enough of a giveaway Kinsey knew who it was before Ray turned around.
“Coffee.” Her British accent always took Kinsey a bit by surprise, despite their long-standing friendship. Dr. Rachel Hunter joined the pair of friends and removed her order from the tray, sipping more delicately than Gerri had, gloved hands cradling the cardboard cup like it held something precious.
Kinsey discarded the tray, setting it on the top of the railing, her own black coffee to her nose as she inhaled the brew. Coffee and death she could handle. Let the girls eat the croissants. Another glimpse inside at the giant stain of darkening crimson on the pale cream carpet and even her usual java vice wasn’t sitting well with Kinsey.
“Sorry to hear about Manny.” The poor night guard at the morgue was found dead of a heart attack. Ray offered a short nod, a sad smile.
“Thanks,” she said. “It was quick, from what I understand. Druit did the autopsy.” Ray’s tone of voice always had the same depth and faint air of disgust when she spoke of her fellow medical examiner. But Kinsey had no experience with Dr. Druit, so didn’t comment.
Ray, meanwhile, stripped her gloves and sniffed the pastry. “Messy in there.” She happily munched on her snack, latex dangling from her pockets.
Gerri shrugged, wicked gleam in her eyes fixed on Kinsey. “Seen worse.”
“Thanks, both of you, for your kindness and understanding while I, a newbie to death, learn to deal.” Kinsey meant it to come out with sharp sarcasm, but it was hard to do when she was grinning.
Gerri stepped forward, arm around Kinsey’s narrow shoulders, towering over her as she guided her into the room. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” she said. “Hang around me long enough, you will, sooner or later.”
Kinsey gulped, heart constricting as the two crime scene technicians in their dark blue jumpsuits stepped aside and she got her first good look at the reason she was there. Sooner. Definitely sooner.
Though, as Kinsey’s gaze took in the giant mass of blood, the gaping wound in the man’s throat, the way what was left of the woman’s right eye oozed around a thin, silver spike, her inquisitive mind picked up more than death. Her nose, on the other hand, almost outdid her, the stench of released bowels and bladders mingling with the heavy copper tang of spilled blood.
And yet, here was a mystery for her to unravel. After all, it wasn’t every day, she imagined, Gerri found people murdered in heavy, black velvet robes, surrounded by candles etched with ancient symbols and a giant, cast-iron cauldron between them.
Not to mention the pentagram created on the carpet in what looked like pink salt. The edge closest to Kinsey was damaged, broken, and she shivered before she could stop herself. Pentagrams were symbols of protection, a safe place to do magic, at least according to tradition. If someone destroyed the circle of safety while they were casting a spell of some kind…
She shook herself. Magic wasn’t real. Or was it? She and Ray and Gerri had all been witness to some weird things. Gerri might not take paranormal happenings seriously, but Kinsey was now certain she had proof there was more going on in the world than the ordinary person knew. From the research she was presently engaged in, it was possible all the creatures of fable and legend—including vampires, werewolves and witches—truly existed.
Not that Gerri would buy such a story. Even after Kinsey and Ray both admitted they thought they had something weird about them. Still, Kinsey had to find time to make Gerri listen.
Kind of fitting, though, whenever a “weird” case popped up, Gerri called Kinsey to "consult". Her specialty in anthropology was the occult, after all. But, it gave Kinsey hope Gerri would come around eventually, and listen to her.
She didn’t want to be alone in what she knew.
“Odd,” Gerri said, sipping her coffee, green eyes now serious as she stared down at the bodies. “What do you notice?” She turned to Kinsey, gaze quiet and closed.
A test? Kinsey shrugged, grateful for the distraction from her darkening thoughts and the artifacts Simone Paris kept under tight security. “Looks like some kind of Wicca ritual,” she said. “I don’t recognize all of the implements or the spell process, but some research should clear it up.” Kinsey was actually disappointed. As she continued to examine the scene, she realized the collection of items were an odd mishmash, as though the couple had no idea what they were doing. A small Buddha statue sat on the edge of the pentagram, another icon to the Egyptian goddess Bastet on the side table with a twig of incense long burned away. Whoever these people were, they clearly had no idea how magic was supposed to work.
Which meant the likelihood this really was a “weird” case had just gone down the toilet. Probably a pair of posers. Maybe even some kind of sex role play. But, as far as Kinsey could tell, not a scrap of focus.
“Feels like dabbling,” she said, disgust dusting her with arrogance. She’d spent most of her adult life studying ritual magic and the occult in multiple cultures. What she saw here triggered a snob response that startled her. “Not a scrap of anything remotely cohesive about it.”
“If this were ritual murder,” Ray said, voice soft, “both victims would have been killed in the same way, correct?”
Kinsey missed that, too focused on the surroundings. Which made her gorge rise all over again as she tuned in to the bodies themselves. The man was naked under his robe, but someone had at least draped a towel over his privates. The woman, on the other hand, might as well have been in a Goth porno, if it weren’t for the spike through her eye.
“May be a first timer,” Gerri said, “maybe robbery gone wrong, rather than motivated by any of this.” She gestured with her coffee. “Kins?”
She had to agree. “Looks like a night of freak-on was interrupted,” she said, suddenly bummed.
Gerri laughed. “Don’t be so disappointed,” she said. “I’m sure the dead people didn’t mean to offend you.”
Kinsey pulled out her camera from her purse, glaring with good nature at her friend. “I’ll check everything out anyway, just in case. But you might want to strike the Devil off your list of suspects.”
“Meyers.” Kinsey didn’t turn around, but she did tense. Jackson’s voice sounded close, and his sudden appearance gave her the creeps. She started taking pictures as Gerri turned to address him.
“Anything?” Gerri’s happy tone was gone, flat and cold.
“Still canvasing the neighborhood,” he said, matching her tone exactly. “But the lady across the street’s the only one who claims she heard something. I took her statement already, figured you wanted to talk to her, too.”
Kinsey didn’t need a translation to get the resentment in Jackson’s voice. Gerri’s cheery voice answered, a clear jab at her partner.
“I’ll do that. Anything else?”
So dismissive. Kinsey caught Ray’s grin out of the corner of her eye and turned her head ever so slightly to catch the brune
tte’s gaze. Gerri was playing a dangerous game with Jackson, but he started it. And that was her business.
Jackson didn’t get to respond to Gerri’s question. Someone was shouting downstairs, the sound of pounding feet loud on the steps. Kinsey turned in time to see Candice trying to restrain a young man, about twenty years old, his staring eyes huge, face contorted with grief as he came to a halt outside the doors to the bedroom.
“Mom! Dad!” With a wrenching sob, he collapsed to the floor. “No!”
***
INT. – SONNICKER HOUSE - MORNING
Compassion drove Kinsey to act. She beat Jackson to the young man, coffee cup set on the floor before she lurched to her feet, grasping his hand and helping Candice pull him to up off the cream carpet. Jackson glared at her as she guided the son out of the room and into the hall, sitting him down on the decorative settee near the landing. The air conditioning kicked in, cooling the space, filling it with the quiet hum of a breeze while the son wept softly with his free hand over his face.
“I’m sorry,” Candice said to Kinsey, face pink from exertion, clearly disappointed in herself, “I don’t know how he made it past me.” If she was anything like Kinsey, she’d beat herself up over his entrance until she was bloody and black and blue.
Kinsey waved off the young officer’s anxiety, knowing nothing she said would ease her guilt. Candice would have to learn to deal, as cruel as Kinsey felt that was. She knew better, of course. It was just part of the job. And yet, she couldn’t help but wish it didn’t have to be that way. But, there was a grieving young man who was just more important right now.
She sat next to the young man, taking his hand in hers. He continued to cry, wiping endless tears from his cheeks, whole body shaking. She draped her arm around his shoulders, rocking him as he sagged into her at last.
Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Page 1
