by Devon Monk
She shook her head.
“Okay. One more question, Etta, and then this will be over. Did you see or hear Sven’s death?”
Her pupils went wide until black nearly swallowed the thin ring of brown. Her nostrils went hard, her mouth tightened. “Yes,” she hissed.
I ignored the ice encasing my nerves and the very real instinct that was screaming danger, danger, run, run. “What did you see?”
“Hands of death. Blood of death. Eyes of fire.”
Old Rossi sipped in a quick breath. Those words didn’t mean a lot to me, but they meant something to him.
“Did you see who was there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his killer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who it was? Can you describe the killer?”
“Ryder Bailey. The last person Sven saw was Ryder Bailey.”
Well, crap.
Chapter 8
Keeping ice cream cold at the bottom of an active volcano would be easier than trying to make Old Rossi agree not to end Ryder’s life right then and there.
The only thing that made Rossi back off was the very real promise that I would throw him, and the entire Rossi clan, out of Ordinary if he killed Ryder before I had a chance to prove him guilty or innocent in the court of law.
Yes, I could throw all the vampires out.
No, some of the other creatures wouldn’t like it.
Yes, certain creatures, such as the Wolfes, actually would like it.
Maybe I could get most of the gods on my side to back me up.
But the threat of being exiled from town didn’t mean a lot to a furious vampire. A furious prime.
At least Rossi was old enough to know how to contain and control his fury.
Unfortunately he controlled it by making “deals” that were a lot more like “threats” and were just this close to being “preachy” and “condescending.”
“You do understand the terms?” he asked for like the fifth time.
“I am not a child, Rossi.”
He blinked. “Compared to me, everyone is a child, Delaney.”
“Not Bertie. Not the gods and goddesses. Pretty sure we have a couple gnomes older than you.”
“Delaney.” His mouth pulled down against what looked suspiciously like a tolerant smile. Or frustrated grimace. Yeah, probably more that last thing.
I started counting on my fingers. “Don’t let Ryder out of town. Don’t let him out from beneath my supervision. Don’t let him out from under the watch of one of your people who has sworn not to harm him in any way. Don’t expect him to be innocent. Don’t confront him on my own. Those terms?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Did vampires get headaches?
“And the last term to our agreement?” he asked behind his palm.
“I let you question him.”
He nodded, but that condition of Ryder remaining unscathed was the one I was least comfortable with.
“I’ll be there when you question him,” I said.
“We didn’t agree to that.”
“We’re going to agree to it now.”
He dropped his hand, long fingers brushing over the soft cotton of his pants. Etta had already left. It had taken nearly an hour for me to wear Rossi down to this agreement. Who knew standing one’s ground made one sweat so much?
His eyes were dark, no color left in them, but they were not insane rage-red either.
Good enough.
“You push me, Delaney.”
“I won’t get in your way when you question him. But I will be there or it doesn’t happen.”
“Fine.” He gathered our cups off the counter and took them to the sink. “Good-bye, Delaney.”
And that was my cue to get the heck out of there. I let myself out, moving determinedly to the door. I took a few deep and shaky breaths once I reached the cool, damp air of the afternoon, and resisted bending in half to keep the blood from rushing out of my head.
That had been exhausting and terrifying.
Etta had seen Ryder.
Sven had seen Ryder.
Rossi had hired Ryder for a remodeling job.
I didn’t know how I was going to keep him safe. I didn’t even know if I should keep him safe.
The only car in the driveway was my Jeep. A slightly soggy scrap of paper was tucked under the windshield wiper.
I pulled the paper out and got into the Jeep before reading it.
You’re welcome was written in Crow’s tight, strong script. Below that were a few brushes of ink that sketched a crow in flight.
Cute how he thought doing me a tiny favor like getting Ryder out of the vampire’s kill zone was going to settle his dues with me. He was still the one who had lost the god powers, and we still had no clue as to where they could be.
I pulled my phone, texted him: Better be at the station by the time I get there.
Before I had time to start the car, a text pinged back: Already there. Ryder didn’t kill Sven. Stop listening to the vampires.
After that he had attached emojis of an angel, a bat, some kissy lips, and a banana.
I didn’t want to know why he included the banana.
I texted back: I’m a cop. I listen to everyone.
Good. Listen to me. Ryder’s innocent.
Prove it.
I don’t need to prove it, he texted back. I’m not a cop.
Typical. Just couldn’t leave anything alone. Always had to get in the middle of it and stir it up. If I hadn’t seen how genuinely ill he’d looked at losing the powers, I might even suspect he’d done that on purpose just to liven things up.
The phone rang. I started the engine and picked up the phone, thumbing on the hands-free. “What do you want, Crow?”
“It’s me,” Myra said. “Crow’s not with you?”
“He took Ryder and Jake Monroy out for free donuts. Said he’s at the station.”
“Maybe. Roy’s there. He’ll keep an eye on him. How did it go?”
“Not great. Rossi hired Ryder and Monroy for some kind of remodeling project or business franchising thing.”
“Uh-huh.”
She knew just as well as I did that Rossi wanted to keep Ryder close enough to snap his neck without the added trouble of Rossi having to leave his own property.
“Anything else?”
“I talked to Etta. She was dating Sven.”
“And?”
“She said Ryder was at the bar the last time Sven was seen alive. She also said she saw him when Sven died.”
“Ryder?”
“Yes.” I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t have any solid proof, and she’s grieving. Plus, her view was via telepathy. We can’t submit that to court.”
“Right.” It was only one word, but it had a lot behind it. Like the sickening truth that if Ryder had killed Sven with blood and some kind of ancient ritual, it meant he knew what Sven was. That meant he knew there were creatures in Ordinary, maybe even knew there were gods here.
Which made Rossi’s theory that there was a group of vampire hunters all the more likely.
Could this day get any worse?
“Have you thought...considered that it might be Ryder?”
My heart beat so loud I was surprised I could hear my voice over it. “Yes.”
Then there was nothing but silence on her side and fear on mine.
“I’m headed over to talk to Apocalypse Pablo at the gas station,” she said. “Meet you there?”
“Sure.” I was relieved she hadn’t pressed the Ryder thing. We had plenty enough circumstantial evidence to question him, to detain him, right now.
But I was determined to get the truth out of him without having to throw him in jail.
And yes, I could admit my personal feelings were in the way.
That wasn’t going to be a problem.
I made it to the north side of town in a couple minutes. It was raining again, not too hard, but hard enough for Granny Wolfe, who was standing just outside the
gas station and mini-mart doors, to have a bright rainbow-striped umbrella hat on her head.
Day, meet worse.
Myra pulled up right after I did and we both started over to the matriarch of the werewolf pack.
Unlike Rossi, Granny actually looked old. She was that sort of weathered in-between age that could be anywhere from seventy to ninety-nine, her long, heavy hair a shattering of silver and jet black with a streak of white that curved up from over her left eyebrow. Her face was square, her jaw strong, but it was her eyes behind her big-framed glasses that drew all the attention. So large and such a pale hazel that they were faded yellow.
Granny had on bright pink capris, and an eye-watering yellow vest with explosions of orange flowers over a long-sleeved red shirt. Sneakers and white socks finished off the outfit.
I was pretty sure fashion wanted her brought in on assault charges.
“And there they are,” she said in a voice that was strong and cigar-rich. “Two of our town’s sisters. I thought I’d find you out here today.”
“At the gas station?”
“Oh yah, oh yah,” she said. “And scene of murder. That too.”
Werewolves had big noses. All the better to put them in your business, my dear.
Not that I’d ever say that to her.
“Do you know anything about the murder?” Myra asked.
“Well, now. I know there is one less unliving living amongst us. Rossi’s get.”
“It was Sven,” I said. The rain tapped gently on her bright umbrella bonnet while Myra and I moved under the edge of the roof line to stay out of the drips.
“Don’t I know that.”
“I guess you do,” I said. “Do you know anything else about it?”
“I know there weren’t any of mine involved.” Here she paused and her glasses slid down her nose as she gave us both a stern look over them. “We had nothing to do with our...delicate neighbors.”
Delicate was not a word I’d use to describe vampires, but then, I wasn’t a werewolf.
“You’ve just been standing outside the gas station waiting for us to show up at the scene?” Myra asked.
Granny chuckled. “No. Not like that. I was lunching at the Blue Owl and Piper over there says Apoca-blo is in rare form. No way I want to miss a show. That boy just cracks me up.” She laughed, showing long, strong teeth. “So I come on over, think I’ll get a smoke and a show. Then I hear you coming down the road, and thought we could have a chit-chat.”
Just then Apocalypse Pablo strolled out of the mini-mart.
Pablo was shorter than me, skinny, tan, and the most cheerful doomsday believer in the world. Idaho-born and bred, he had neatly combed dark brown hair and teeth that were slightly too narrow behind his wide lips.
“Well, hi there, Delaney, Myra, Ms. Wolfe. How nice to see you all. You ready for the end of the world? We have a terrific sale on squeegees today. If you haven’t stocked up, now’s your chance.”
“Think there’ll be a big run on squeegees after the apocalypse?” Granny Wolfe’s eyes glittered.
“There sure might be. Lots of people just aren’t thinking ahead. You know a squeegee is a multi-tool—it’s so darn useful! Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean it can’t be a tidy world.”
Granny hooted, enjoying that answer. “As you say, sonny. Just as you say. We like our disasters clean, don’t doubt.” She dug in the pocket of her baggy capris and fished out a cherry cigar.
“Hold on...” I started.
“Oh, Ms. Wolfe,” Apocalypse Pablo interrupted. “You really can’t smoke here. You’re at a gas station.” As if she weren’t aware of exactly where she was, he waved his hands toward the pumps.
There were no cars, but the NO SMOKING signs on the posts between pumps and plastered across the wall Granny was leaning against were pretty obvious.
Myra and I gave her twin glares.
“So I am, I see.” She rubbed the cigar out against the wall of the mini-mart, then pocketed it. A haze of cherry-scented smoke mixed with the freshness of rain.
“Are you ready?” Apocalypse Pablo swiveled toward Myra and me, a smile wide on his earnest face. “End is coming soon! Any day now. If you haven’t secured a place in heaven for your soul, you’re going to feel real awful about that. Real awful.” That last he delivered in a conspiratorial whisper, his hand cupped around his mouth.
“I’m good,” I said.
“All stocked up,” Myra answered.
“You have a squeegee, then? Two?” He was as excited as a kid counting down to his birthday. “You’ll want a back up ‘cause it’s going to get all kinds of messy. Blood and gore and fire. Brimstone. That’s messy too, I’d expect.”
Not for the first time I wondered if he were getting “apocalypse” confused with “Christmas”.
“We got it covered,” I said. “But we do want to ask you about the other night.”
His grin faltered and fell apart, his sunshiny eyes suddenly dark. “Oh, that was an awful thing. That poor man. Now he’s going to miss the apocalypse.”
Granny coughed her way through a laugh, then reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “There, there now, sonny.”
A truck pulled up and rumbled to a stop right beside Granny.
“Hey, Granny.” Rudy, one of the many Wolfes in town waved at us through the rolled down window. “Ready to go, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“Oh yah. I’m ready.” She strolled over to the truck, opened the door and bounced up inside with a nimbleness belying a woman of her age.
“Hey there, Rudy!” Apocalypse Pablo sang out. “You ready for the end of the world?”
“Sure am!” Rudy said.
“You might need some squeegees to keep things clean. You know. During the apocalypse.”
“Naw,” Rudy drawled, showing a lot of teeth in his grin. “We Wolfes like it messy.”
He tipped a couple fingers at his forehead and eased back out toward the road.
“He’s going to wish he had a squeegee,” Pablo said sadly before he instantly brightened. “So you want to talk about poor Mr. Rossi being dead in the equipment shed?”
“Can we go inside?” I asked.
Myra was already opening the door for us.
Pablo pivoted on his heel and practically bounced into the building. “Hi Stan! I know you like me out there waiting for cars, but Ms. Reed and Ms. Reed need to talk about the dead guy.”
Stan was middle-aged, heavy in the face and belly and one of the most cutthroat bowlers I’d ever met. He smelled of cigarette smoke and Old Spice. He gave Myra and I a seven-ten split nod.
“Help yourself to the office. Can I get you coffee?”
His coffee was number three on the ten most toxic substances in Ordinary.
“No thanks,” Myra and I said at the same time.
Apocalypse Pablo took us past the snacks, toilet paper, and cold remedies, along the dimly lit wall of soda, beer, and energy drinks to the narrow door in the back.
Stan’s office was also a storage room complete with a desk in the middle that was a relic from an age when aluminum was the exciting new material.
“So.” Pablo glanced over at the chair behind the desk, where he should be sitting, then looked at us expectantly.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Myra said.
“Right. Sure.” Instead of walking around the desk, he dropped down into one of the folding chairs next to the shelf of beach towels and sunglasses and cupped his knees with his palms.
Myra somehow managed not to roll her eyes and took the seat behind the desk.
That left me the other folding chair. I picked it up and placed it a little closer to Pablo.
“I know Myra already talked to you but we just wanted to go over a few questions.”
“I understand.”
Since Myra had already gone through this, I took point. “When did you start your shift that day?”
“Three o’clock. I work the swing shift.” He e
nunciated like I had a microphone in my hand.
“Were you working alone?”
“No, Stan was here until five o’clock, and then Lulu came in.”
Lulu was Stan’s eldest daughter. “I thought she was going to community college.”
“She is. She still pulls a shift now and then when she needs spending money.”
“Was she here all night?”
“No. She left after being here only fifteen minutes.”
That seemed weird.
“Why?”
He reached out and dragged one finger over the open top of a box near his knees. “Well, she got invited to a party at a friend’s house. Netflix and beer. Since it was so slow, I told her to go.”
“Does Stan know that?”
“Oh, sure. He’s fine with me covering the till and the pumps if it’s quiet enough.” His finger had finished tracing the edge of the box and he dunked his hand in. His eyes were wide and innocent and locked on mine.
I glanced at his hand.
He was holding a squeegee.
“So why did you go to the shed if you were covering the till and the pumps?”
“That was after my shift. I closed up at midnight sharp, just like we always do.” He punctuated that with a little poke of the squeegee. “Then I checked the shed to make sure it was locked. We don’t get into it that often, but it’s our property, and you never know when someone might decide to get up to some mischief. It was locked. But when I came in to open the next morning, I saw it was unlocked.”
“Did you see anyone by the shed? During your shift or in the morning?”
“I did not. We have a camera on it.”
“What?” Myra and I said at the same time.
“Oh, yes. Didn’t you know? Stan has this crazy idea that he saw Bigfoot stealing our light bulbs the other day. Bigfoot.” He waved the squeegee around like he was scrubbing that image out of the air. “I think he’s just been to that quaint little local-color museum down in Newport one too many times.”
Apocalypse Pablo had a real knack for being polite. “Quaint” was actually “cheesy” and “local-color” was “outdated snake skin oil and hokum” shop.
Not that it wasn’t a fun place to visit for precisely those reasons.
Still, Stan was on to something. Bigfoot did have a light bulb fetish, and he was a bit of a klepto.
