He fixed a second espresso and carried them both over, setting them on the coffee table. ‘You ask a lot of questions for a reporter on a small town paper,’ he said. ‘You know you’re only going to be writing about school fairs and the church choir’s latest fundraiser, right? And that’s if you get the job. This isn’t the big city, Miss Smith. There’s no major crime here. Today a woman died because she didn’t bother to ask if there were going to be nuts in her muesli. That’s right. I said muesli. Because that’s what Bathsheba had to eat. This is a silly, senseless death. But it’s not a murder.’
I picked up my coffee and sipped. Then I pushed it away, and decided that one sip would have to do. It wasn’t bad – quite the opposite. But if I was going to keep on disliking this man, then the last thing I needed was his delicious coffee in my hands to sway my decision. Just to make sure I drove the message completely home, I glanced at the photos. Because if there was anything that was going to turn me off a man, then it was the knowledge that he was already attached.
‘You can stop with the formality,’ I said. ‘Call me Ash. Oh, and you can stop with the obfuscations, too. You keep talking around me, swerving a hundred miles from the subject, not actually answering any of my questions. And by the way, I sat with Bathsheba in the dining car. She did not have any muesli.’
He knocked back his coffee and stood up, crossing the room and pulling on a pair of shoes that were sitting by some sliding doors. ‘Like I told you earlier on, I’ll include any information that the newspaper needs to know in my report. Now come on, I’m driving you home. There are no lights along the road back into town. I don’t know how you got here without falling into a ditch.’
I pulled my torch from my bag and waved it in the air. ‘I used this crazy new invention to find my way here, so I think I can use it again on the way back.’
His eyes seemed to be looking in far too much interest at my torch. Maybe the cutbacks in An Garda Síochána were even worse than I thought. The poor things weren’t even given torches these days, judging by the look of confusion on his face.
‘You … used a torch?’ he asked.
‘I did. And like I said, I’m perfectly capable of using it again. I mean don’t get me wrong, I was a little put out by the howls coming from that forest over yonder. But I can always stick my headphones on to drown them out.’ I gave him a tight smile, stood up, and prepared to leave. ‘I’ll look forward to your report, Detective Quinn. I’m sure it’ll be totally uninformative, just like every conversation we’ve had so far.’
I had just reached my hand towards the front door, when I felt his palm wrap around my wrist.
10. Can’t See the Woods for the Mist
‘What did you just say?’ he asked, his voice intense, his eyes blazing.
I shook his hand away. ‘I would have thought that a garda detective would be aware it’s not appropriate to go grabbing onto women out of the blue. And you heard perfectly well what I said.’
As I pulled open the door, he stood back in the shadows. ‘Please, Miss Smith. I apologise for grabbing onto your wrist. I just … I thought you said you saw the forest. Which forest? The one to the south of the church?’
‘No. The one to the north of here.’
The intense look still hadn’t left his eyes. ‘Maybe Arnold was right about one of you, at last. Wait a second, will you? Please. I want to show you something.’
I thought about it for a second or two. Sure, I hated this guy with a ridiculously deep loathing. But I did want answers, and whatever I’d said about the woods seemed to be cracking his exterior. ‘Fine. But hurry up. I want to get an early night.’
He rushed to the coat stand and pulled on a hooded sweater, wrapped s scarf around his face, slipped his hands into gloves, then popped on his sunglasses. ‘I … I think I’m coming down with a cold,’ he said. ‘You can never be too careful.’
‘Sure.’ I arched a brow. ‘A cold. I mean, if it weren’t for the sunglasses it might almost be convincing.’ I marched towards his car, and he opened the door with a button on his keyring. Quite right, too. I mean, it wasn’t as though I would have preferred him to open the door himself. This wasn’t the fifties. I mean, it sure seemed like the fifties in the Daily Riddler office, but you know what I mean.
The car turned out to have an automatic gearbox. My many short-lived relationships had told me that Irish guys preferred manual transmissions. But Detective Quinn wasn’t exactly the typical Irish guy. He sped a little past the lighthouse, then took the left turn that I’d seen him take earlier. By now, we were in a heavily wooded area, on a dirt road only wide enough for one car.
‘You still see the forest?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I do,’ I answered. As soon as I said it, though, I shook my head and took another look out the window. A second ago, tall trees had been everywhere. Now, all I could see was mist. ‘Um … revise my earlier statement,’ I said. ‘It’s gotten so misty now that I can’t see a thing.’
He stopped the car, right there in the middle of the dirt road. ‘You see mist? Right now?’ He scratched his chin. ‘No forest anymore?’
I looked away from him. The way he was acting made me fear I might be in the middle of a mental health intervention. But I knew what I’d seen before, and I knew what I saw right now. First, there was that far too familiar kaleidoscope-haze over this area. Then there was forest. Now there was mist.
‘And your torch?’ he pressed. ‘It didn’t … act up? Along the road to my house?’
I resisted the urge to turn to him and scream What the heck? Every word he uttered was proving to me that I wasn’t some paranoid conspiracy nut. And just as I felt surer of that fact than I ever had before, a buzzing sensation began to work its way through me. Something was going on in this town. Something big. Something that Detective Quinn knew all about.
I turned in my seat. ‘I think you know more about my torch than I do,’ I said. ‘I think you know more about everything than I do. So why not just spit it out, Detective?’
He let out a sigh. ‘I … the thing is … well … this is a trial, Miss Smith. It’s up to Arnold to tell you all of this if you get the job.’
‘Oh my God!’ I held my hands up, and a grunt of frustration escaped. ‘Look, if you’re not going to tell me where Gunnar is, then for the love of God, tell me what is up with the outfit.’ As I heard the words come out of my mouth, I had a sudden recollection of something Detective Quinn said when I arrived. ‘Wait a minute. When I got to your place, you said “For the love of the goddess.” I’ve heard that before. From you earlier, sure, but from other people, too. I was interviewing people about some murders in Dublin last summer. Weird murders. Murders that the gardaí in Dublin palmed off with some stupid excuse. A stupid excuse like the one you’re trying to get me to buy right now.’
I got the sense that, behind those sunglasses, he was blinking rapidly. ‘I don’t … I can’t … look, do you actually remember these weird murders? Do you remember people using phrases like “For the love of the goddess”?’
‘Of course I remember. A guy killed an old woman in St Stephen’s Green with a tennis racket, and a candle shop owner was murdered with a candlestick. Who wouldn’t remember a thing like that? Although I’m sure you’re the sort of sexist jerk who’d like to think all women have brains like sieves, we don’t.’
‘I’m not sexist. Why would you say I’m sexist?’
‘Oh, gee, I wonder now … would it be because you’ve been treating me like a great big dummy all day? Or calling me Miss Smith? Or refusing to answer a single question I’ve asked, because why should you have to answer the dumb blonde’s questions? Oh, or maybe it was because you thought it was perfectly okay to just cop a feel of me without even asking first?’
His mouth opened and closed a few times, with no words escaping. Eventually there was a strangled sound, followed by, ‘I did not cop a feel. If I was going to cop a feel, I can think of parts of your body a lot more interesting than your wrists.’
He scooted closer to his door and looked away. ‘Okay, that didn’t come out quite the way I meant. This is getting a bit out of hand. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself? Arnold said you grew up in the care system. Did you ever try to find your birth parents?’
I stared at him, feeling like I’d been kicked in the stomach. ‘Arnold told you personal things about me? How dare he? And come to think of it, how dare any of you? How dare any of you in this stupid town? You’re all treating me like some sort of idiot, and I’m getting a bit sick of it.’ I turned to open the door.
Beside me, I heard him curse beneath his breath. ‘Okay, so I want to grab your wrist and stop you from getting out of here right now. But I’m afraid you’ll throw another fit if I do. So can I just ask you in a not at all sexist way to please stay in the car?’
There was something akin to panic in his voice. Slightly nearer to us than I would have liked, I heard another howl. I leant forward and peeked out through the windscreen. ‘Somewhere up there beyond the mist,’ I said, ‘I have the feeling that there’s a full moon in the sky.’
He nodded. ‘You’re right about that. Tonight is, most definitely, a full moon.’
I turned to him. ‘I tell you what. Either you tell me everything, right now, or else I get out of this car and walk off into that mist. I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem, right? Because there’s nothing weird out there, is there? There’s nothing weird in this town at all.’
I heard a clunking sound. He had locked the doors of the car. ‘I can’t let you do that, Miss Smith. Not tonight.’ He sighed. ‘I’m going to reach across you now. There’s something in the glove box that I want to give you. Please don’t mistake my actions for trying to cop a feel.’
I pressed my body back against my seat, and he opened the glove box. Inside there was a flask, a pair of gloves, another pair of sunglasses, and a small, velvet-covered box. He pulled it out and opened it up. A ring was sitting there. It was gold with a green stone at its centre.
I grinned at him. ‘Well, it’s a bit soon, Detective Quinn. And I mean, we’re not even on a first name basis yet. But sure.’ I held my left hand out. ‘I’ll marry you.’
‘Put the ring on, Miss Smith,’ he said with a mirthless laugh. ‘When you do, we’ll see where we go from there.’
I slipped the ring on, talking as I did so. ‘Well, I don’t know where you want to go, but I’m thinking a tour of wedding venues will do the trick. And of course we’ll need to test all the menus within our budget. I’ll want your advice on the bridesmaids’ dresses too. And the …’ I let my voice trail off. Outside the window, the mist had lifted. Once again, I could see the woods. Not only could I see the woods, but I could see the enormous wolf crossing the road.
A wolf? In Ireland? We hadn’t had wolves for centuries.
I looked up at the moon and, as I did, something else caught my eye. There were lights through the trees. Lots of them. I sat forward and looked more carefully.
‘There’s a town over there,’ I said. I turned to look at him. At some stage whilst I’d been babbling, he’d slipped a bracelet around his gloved wrist. One with an identical green stone as the one in my ring. ‘I checked out the map of the local area before I came here,’ I went on. ‘There is no town close to Riddler’s Edge. Not for miles.’
He shrugged. ‘I think you’re learning by now that maps don’t tell the whole truth, Miss Smith. Arnold told me about the notebook you hide in your desk. The one with the list of non-existent place names. Lupin Lane? Luna Park? Eile Street? They all exist, Miss Smith. And so does that town. It’s called Riddler’s Cove.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Grace is going to have my guts for garters. But what the heck.’ He started up the engine. ‘Let’s go for a drink.’
11. Riddler’s Cove
No wonder I’d heard such a racket from this forest. It wasn’t just the wolves out tonight. We passed at least half a dozen groves where people were circling with their hands held, chanting words I couldn’t make out.
‘Aren’t they afraid of the wolves?’
Detective Quinn snorted. ‘They’re witches. A werewolf wouldn’t dare attack them.’
I turned in my seat. ‘So … you’re being serious here?’
He kept his eyes on the narrow road ahead. ‘You already know the answer to that, I suspect. A woman who’s been keeping a log of odd events all these years should hardly be surprised to find out there’s a whole other world. Yeah, those groups were witches, out for their full moon coven rituals. Those wolves were werewolves, also out enjoying the full moon. This town we’re about to arrive in is a witch enclave, but other supernaturals are welcome. Well, these days, anyway.’ He waved his wrist, nodding to the green-stoned bracelet. ‘As long as we wear some special jewellery, we can gain entry.’
‘Enclave?’ I asked. It seemed like the safest question.
‘It’s … it’s a sub-dimensional region. Kind of thing. Only supernaturals can see them – and like I said, this one is a witch enclave, so it’s even better hidden than most. I mean, you’d be better off asking Greg to explain it. Wizards know a lot more about this stuff than I do.’ He pulled into an empty parking space on the edge of the town. I couldn’t see any other cars around. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to Three Witches Brew if you promise not to gawk. You’re going to need a drink for all of this.’
He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just locked the car and began to walk towards the entranceway of a thatched-roof building.
The place was quiet inside, with just a few people sitting around drinking and chatting. I’m not sure what he thought I was going to gawk at, because everyone looked just as human as I did. Sure, there was a woman who seemed to be making a bottle of wine refill her glass without actually touching the bottle. If she was a witch then she was a show-off, too. How hard was it to lift a bottle?
‘She just got her power,’ Detective Quinn whispered as he took off his sunglasses and pulled down his hood. ‘It came a few days after her nineteenth birthday, so you can’t really blame her for celebrating. Twenty-one is the cut-off point for witches, and most get their power when they’re kids, so she was over the moon when hers finally arrived.’
The young woman waved at him and smiled, as did all of her female friends. ‘Hey, Detective Yummy!’ the girl called over as he made his way to the bar.
‘Hey, Chantelle,’ he called back. ‘Have a good evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
She giggled and turned back to her friends, who were all furiously whispering, giggling, and casting not-so-surreptitious glances in the detective’s direction.
‘Speaking of staying safe,’ he said, oblivious to the table of young women who were clearly enamoured with him, ‘I never drink and drive, so I’ll be having a soft drink tonight. But you should try a Superbrew.’
‘It can’t exactly make the night any weirder, so why not?’
The barman seemed to know him, and they chatted while our drinks were prepared. His hair was even blacker than the detective’s, a feat I hadn’t thought possible, and he had shining grey eyes that made him look friendly and alert. With my tankard of oddness in hand, I followed the detective to a booth at the back of the bar,
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I want to know why you arrested that kid. Gunnar. That’s what I really want to know. Did he murder Bathsheba?’
He gave me a funny smile. ‘You do realise most people would ask a million questions about this new and wonderful world they’ve just been admitted to? There’s a lot that I really should explain before we get into talking about the murder.’
I shrugged. ‘Sure, I want to know all that. But first I want to know about Gunnar.’
He sat back, sipping his cola. ‘Fine. You saw the tattoo on his neck? Vlad’s Boys? Well, to say that they’re elitists would be putting it mildly. They hate dayturning vampires. Which is why I arrested Gunnar. He had motive and opportunity.’
‘Wait … Bathsheba was a dayturni
ng vampire? What’s that when it’s at home?’
He rolled his eyes. He did that an awful lot around me, for some reason. ‘I told you I needed to explain the background first, but you wouldn’t listen. Bathsheba was a vampire for almost three hundred years, but she and her husband didn’t become vampires until they were in their eighties. Bathsheba had an incurable illness, and Donald couldn’t bear the thought of life without her. He became a vampire, and turned her into one, too.’
I gasped. ‘That’s so romantic!’
The detective rolled his eyes. ‘Romantic? Yeah, right. Death happens, Miss Smith. Donald and Bathsheba had already had decades together when they turned. They weren’t being romantic. They were being selfish.’
‘Gee, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you? Fine, let’s agree to disagree. I know what a vampire is – or I think I do, anyway. You still haven’t told me what a dayturning vampire is, though.’
A dark look passed over his face. It was clearly a sore subject for him. ‘A while ago, Bathsheba bought some blood from a bad batch and contracted the dayturner virus.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s a mutated form of the vampire virus. The darkness that vampires love so much becomes unbearable, giving the infected vampire a painful, incurable rash should they dare to venture out at night. Feeding at night is a no-go, too. Serious indigestion. So when morning comes, they’re crazy hungry. The virus supposedly originated by bad turning practices – not taking your first feed from the vampire who turned you – but it’s changing all the time. Tainted blood flooded the market a while back and … well … it’s becoming a bit of a problem.’
He was doing his best to avoid my eyes. ‘So that’s why Bathsheba was on the train wearing sunglasses and all the rest? Because it was still dark outside when she got on?’
A Little Bit Witchy (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #1) Page 7
