Hit and Nun

by Dakota Cassidy

  I almost couldn’t look at the pictures of Suzanne and her lover in flagrante, they were so graphic, but it wasn’t as though I hadn’t already seen them naked, right?

  Yet, disgust filled my gut at how flagrantly they’d avoided telling me everything—right to my face, no less.

  Higgs frowned, the wrinkles in his forehead growing deep. “What?”

  “Suzanne was having an affair all right, and this proves it. I can’t believe the police didn’t find this!”

  Higgs’s eyes narrowed. “We know she’s had several affairs, Trixie.”

  “But we didn’t know she was having an affair with this guy!”

  “Is that who I think it is?”

  “If you think it’s Grady Hanson!”

  Chapter 12

  Back at Inkerbelle’s, I sat in my tiny, pale blue office with Higgs while customers filed in and out, fretting over what to do next.

  We’d called Tansy and told her what we found, and she was sending over an officer to pick up the pictures I now regretted touching due to leaving behind my fingerprints. Oh, and the curt what-for Tansy gave me for sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong.

  I’d offered to keep Higgs out of things, but he insisted he’d take the heat with me. Still, we’d found a vital piece of evidence the police had missed, and now we had to address what to do with the information.

  I sat back in my office chair, a gift from Knuckles, and ran a hand over my tired eyes. “So, Suzanne was having an affair with Grady Hanson, and he talked about her like she was the devil incarnate. Oh, I’m so angry with him right now, Higgs!”

  Higgs sat across from me at my small desk I’d purchased at a used office supply store, looking big and bulky in the small space, but his smile was full of sympathy.

  “Well, he did that for obvious reasons, Trixie, to keep suspicion from landing squarely on him. He obviously wasn’t going to offer up the information, especially not in front of his friends.”

  I held up the pictures of Suzanne and Grady, no longer concerned my fingerprints were all over them. “So who took these pictures and why?”

  “It could be a lot of things. Agnar could have hired a private detective, for instance, but it’s obvious he knew Suzanne was unfaithful and he wanted to prove it.”

  “How do we go about finding that out?”

  “A search on his credit cards, bank accounts.”

  I threw my hands up in the air as I stared at the picture of all of us at Inkerbelle’s opening. Knuckles had it framed for me in a beautiful teak, all of us smiling and excited.

  “Like I have access to some mysterious database. I don’t have that kind of advantage, Cross Higglesworth.”

  “But the police will. It’ll be some of the first things they look for while investigating the state of Suzanne and Agnar’s marriage.”

  I gave Higgs a coy look and all but twirled my hair. “Do you have access to a database like that?”

  He cracked an amused smile at me and shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  Then another thought occurred to me. “Or maybe someone was blackmailing him? Though, that doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? I mean, why would he care if Suzanne’s hijinks were plastered all over the Internet? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could be hurt by a scandal. He deals in rare art. I’m not sure that involves much scandal unless we’re talking fake paintings. His life wasn’t very public the way Suzanne’s is.”

  Higgs nodded. “Also true.”

  “And then there’s Grady. I’m sure he didn’t want Agnar to find out he’d been having an affair with Suzanne, but it makes no sense he’d kill Agnar. The way he talked about Suzanne would make you think he wanted her dead, not his friend. So, if we consider him as the killer, what’s his motive?”

  “Jealousy? Maybe he was jealous of Agnar and wanted Suzanne all for himself? Getting rid of Agnar would make that possible. Yeah, he talked a lot of smack about her, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t putting on a show for us.”

  “Well, that’d make sense if not for the fact that he didn’t have to kill Agnar to get her—all he had to do is promise her a buttload of money. Clearly, that’s what motivates Suzanne, and she’s obviously not afraid of divorce—she’s done it three times. Plus, Grady’s as rich as Agnar was. He didn’t need Agnar’s money—which Suzanne would get if he died before he could divorce her.”

  “Also a fair assessment. I don’t see a motive on his part, but I’ve seen people kill for less.”

  “Then answer me this, why in all the whys in all the wide-wide world would Suzanne give us the green light to go and talk to her friends if she was playing around with one of them? Is it me, or is that just crazy risky?”

  Higgs toyed with a pen on my desk, scratching something out on a sticky note. “I think she was counting on the fact that Grady didn’t want to be found out any more than she did. So, she rolled the dice, figuring he’d keep his mouth shut, and she was right. I’m convinced she didn’t know Agnar was on to her, and if she’s not afraid of divorce, your theory about her killing him is off. If we listen to your theory, she’d just go off and find another husband, right?”

  I puckered my lips and jabbed a finger in the air. “But! Lucinda said it best, Suzanne’s getting long in the tooth. It’s harder to find a man, especially in Hollywood, if you’re over the age of twenty-five. Her looks won’t last forever. As it is, she’s surely been through a medical procedure or two to keep that youthful glow and all that breathy charm only goes so far.”

  “Then why wouldn’t she just leave Agnar and run off with Grady? No murder required,” Higgs countered.

  Higgs had a point, darn it. “Maybe he didn’t want her for anything more than…what’s it called these days? A sidepiece? And another thing,” I all but yelped. “What kind of people do this to someone they claim to love? If you think I’m angry with Grady, I can’t even begin to tell you what I want to do to Suzanne. How will I face her tonight at Knuckles’s house?”

  Higgs shot me that warning look he’d given me once or twice when I’d griped about some social injustice or another. “You’ll do it because you have to, and you’re angry because you’re emotionally invested, Sister Trixie. You care about Knuckles. Feelings get in the way, which is why I discussed rules. Number one rule, don’t get emotionally involved.”

  I rolled my eyes so hard, I think they touched the back of my brain. “Oh, sure. That’s fine for the ex-police officer to say. You’ve been taught to compartmentalize. But I’m no officer of the law, and I want to die at the thought of Knuckles finding this out about Suzanne and Grady. He’s been especially melancholy lately, Higgs. I told you, I think he’s missing Candice more than usual.”

  “But don’t you think he already knows she’s a cheat, Trixie?” Higgs asked in a hushed tone. “Isn’t that why they broke up all those years ago?”

  My sigh was one of aggravation and disgust for Grady and Suzanne and the mess they’d made. “Yes. It’s why they broke up. But he attributes that to her youth. I know in his heart of hearts he was hoping she’d changed since then. Sad panda to find she’s the same old Suzanne, and now, I have to tell him.”

  “After Tansy sees those pictures, you won’t have to tell him a thing. Suzanne will be back down at the station faster than you can say torrid affair. Believe me, Trixie, he’ll find out.”

  My stomach twisted into a tight knot, knowing this news would sadden him. “But I don’t want him to find out like that, Higgs, I don’t want to see him hurt. Oh! I could just—”

  A knock on the door interrupted us and made me get a grip on my anger. “Come in,” I called out, feeling utterly miserable at the prospect of telling Knuckles this new information. I didn’t want him to hear it from the police. I wanted to be there for him.

  I was surprised to see Oz, the young officer I’d met the night before, poke his head around the door with a smile. “Miss Lavender. Detective Primrose sent me to pick up those pictures.”

  I smiled at him and
tucked the pictures into a manilla envelope. “Trixie. It’s Trixie, please, and good to see you again, Oz.”

  Higgs stood and held out his hand to him. “Oz, pleasure as always. Trixie, I’ve got to get back to the shelter, but I’ll drop back in here before closing. Tonight’s your late night, right?”

  I rose, too, stretching my arms upward with a small yawn. It had been a long morning. “Yep. I’ll be here till nine or at least Coop and Goose will, but if you need me, just pop on over to the house. So either way I’ll see you later. Oh, and Higgs?” I said, pausing with a smile of gratitude. “Thanks again.”

  “You bet,” he said on a wave as he headed out.

  “Sooooo,” I drawled as I handed the pictures to Oz. “Anything new on the Stigsson case? Like an as-yet-unidentified rare toxin being identified?”

  His handsome, youthful smile ratcheted up a notch. “Nothing I can share with you, Trixie.”

  “So that means there’s something new?”

  “That means I plead the fifth.”

  “Don’t they only do that on TV?” I teased.

  “Nope. I do it in real life all the time.”

  I laughed, coming around the desk to prepare to head out and handle things in the shop. “Well, if you ever feel like sharing anything, anything at all, I’m your girl.”

  He tucked the pictures under his arm and lifted his chin, gazing down at me with his light blue eyes. “Speaking of sharing, would you like to share a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

  At first, I think I misunderstood. Remember, I’m not exactly hip to the ways of dating and such. In fact, I’m woefully out of touch. “I never share my coffee. Coffee is sacred ’round these parts,” I joked.

  He barked a laugh, flashing his white teeth when he grinned. “No. I meant maybe we could grab a cup together sometime.”

  I frowned and cocked my head. I didn’t mean to, of course, but why would he want to have coffee with me? I’m the single-most boring person ever.

  He must have noted my confusion, which was incredibly astute on his part. “I’m asking you out on a date, Miss Lavender. Nothing formal, just some coffee and conversation.”

  Ahhh. Oh, dear. A real live date? No. I didn’t think that was a good idea. But then, as of late, I prided myself on coming from a place of yes, and a new experience was a new experience, right?

  “As friends?” I asked, then felt all kinds of fool.

  A date meant he was interested in being more than my friend, I suppose, but I hadn’t looked at him in that way. As a nun, I didn’t spend much time with men unless they were priests, and I certainly hadn’t even begun to explore how I saw a man if he wasn’t wearing a cassock.

  Awkward.

  His smile was genuine and sweet. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “Then it’s a date. Er, I mean, coffee. It’s coffee.” Ugh. I was such a dolt at this.

  “That it is.” He held up the envelope and waved it. “I’ll be in touch. For now, I’d better get these back to the station. See you soon, Trixie.”

  “See you soon, Oz.”

  As he took his leave, I pressed my hands to my cheeks, once more flaming hot in embarrassment.

  How, I ask you, will I ever actually go on a real date with anyone ever if I can’t even accept a simple offer of coffee without treating it as though it’s a lifelong commitment?

  Maybe there’s a dating handbook for dummies like me.

  Note to self, after you find Agnar’s killer, look up how to date when you’ve been a nun your entire adult life.

  * * * *

  “Trixie, lass, you’re falling asleep at the wheel. Surely this can wait until the morrow? Is this woman really worth so much time and effort?”

  My eyes popped open at Livingston’s words as I found myself hunched over my laptop, sifting through the eighty-bazillion pictures of Suzanne on her Facebook page. “Knuckles is worth the time and effort, and no. It can’t wait until tomorrow, Livingston. I have to figure this out.”

  “Or?” he coaxed.

  “Or Suzanne’s going to be calling you a filthy pest until she finds somewhere else to go.”

  “Oh, that foul woman is a disgrace to humankind, Trixie! The nerve of her to say such a ting about me.”

  I winced. Livingston and Suzanne had endured a small altercation this afternoon while we were all at work. She’d attempted to move him to another room because she was sure she’d get some rare disease, and as a result, he’d nipped her. As you can imagine, that hadn’t gone over well.

  Especially when Knuckles had defended Livingston—good naturedly, of course, but nonetheless, it angered Suzanne.

  Now, as we sat around our living room waiting on word from Knuckles, who was with Suzanne at the Cobbler Cove Police Station for more questioning about those pictures—and had absolutely refused to let us come wait with him—we were still trying to piece together anything that would help us with Agnar’s death.

  “Well, in her defense, you did bite her, Livingston,” I reminded, plumping one of the many pillows on our couch and readjusting my position.

  Livingston ruffled his feathers, his glassy gaze fixed on me from atop his perch in our tiny living room. “I most certainly did not. My mouth opened and happened by chance to graze her lily-white skin. That’s not the same ting as a bite, darlin’. Had I bitten the saucy hen, she’d have known it for sure, dumplin.’”

  “You were rude, Quigley Livingston,” Coop chastised as she padded across the hardwood floor and dropped down beside me on our puffy, white-and-cream-colored couch, freshly showered and in her pajamas. “No one happens to open their mouth when someone’s arm is near it. You did it on purpose, and don’t lie to me. It’s wrong to lie.”

  Livingston sighed and swiveled his head. “Call if what ya will, lass, that woman’s unbearable. For someone who’s mournin’ her husband, she’s on the phone an awful lot with her friends. She never shed a tear all day long, but she sure dilly-dallied the day away.”

  “You know, Livingston,” I remarked, fighting a yawn. “I didn’t think of the benefits of having you around while she’s at Knuckles’s house. I’m almost glad you opted to stay home instead of greeting your adoring fans at the shop. She has no clue you can talk and understand her. That means you can keep us abreast of what she’s up to.”

  Why hadn’t I thought about the fact that we had our own little spy much sooner?

  “You know what she’s up to, lass? No good, that’s what. I tought she’d lose her blessed mind today when she discovered that Angus froze all their accounts and she couldn’t buy some fancy pair o’ shoes. All because, get this, she spent ten-thousand dollars on some day spa or another—or so she claims.”

  I stared at Livingston, aghast. “His name is Agnar. And holy baloney! Agnar froze their accounts?”

  Livingston straightened his spine and spread his wings. “If I heard the shrew roight, he did.”

  I gripped the top of my laptop and stared at her picture. “Wait…did he do it before they left LA? Did she say?”

  “I only heard her tell someone on the phone that she had no money and her husband was the reason.”

  Coop crossed her long legs, tucking them under her. “Money is the root of all evil.”

  I patted her leg and smiled wearily. “Apparently, according to her friends, so is Suzanne,” I said on a giggle. “But to find out Agnar cut her off financially before all this happened is telling. I wonder if she knew he knew about her affair before they got here or after? Or if she knew at all? Which still begs the question, why would she let us poke around in her life if she knew we’d find out so many awful things?”

  Nothing was frustrating me more than that bit of information.

  “Trixie?”

  I stared at the computer screen, the words and images becoming blurry while we waited on Kunckles. “Yes, Coop?”

  “We need to have a conversation,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, meaning this was serious.

  I twisted
my upper torso around to look at her. “About?”

  “About your possession.”

  “Now? What we need to be doing right now is finding a killer. My evil insides can wait.”

  Coop’s finely arched eyebrow shot upward. “You’re avoiding the discussion.”

  I suppose I was, and how very astute of Coop to notice. “I think you’re right. That’s very perceptive of you. What’s on your mind, Coop?”

  “I’ve been doing some research about demonic possession, and I found out a thing or two I think you should be made aware of.”

  My mouth was suddenly dry as my eyes avoided hers and focused in on the gorgeous painting of a vase filled with pink peonies and white roses hanging on the wall next to our half bath.

  “What do I need to be made aware of?”

  “We need to find out your demon’s name.”

  “So we know what name to use to address his invitation to my birthday party?”

  Coop threw her head back, a la Joan Collins, and laughed long and fiendishly—for my benefit, of course—to show me she was still working on accurately portraying human emotions.

  When she lifted her head, she asked, “You’re joking right now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. And your Joan Collins laugh keeps getting eviler by the minute.”

  “Too much still?”

  I held up two fingers and smooshed them together. “A little.”

  She sighed in resignation. “Darn. I can’t seem to get that right. And stop avoiding the subject by veering off into my wish to blend with humans. Your demon has a name. We need to discover what it is.”

  I let my head fall back on the couch, closing my eyes with a sigh. “Because?”

  “Because once we can address it by name, we can demand it release you.”

  That made me sit up ramrod straight. “Where did you find that out?”

  She grabbed my laptop and typed in a web URL, bringing up a site called SatanRules.org. There wasn’t much to it but a scary picture of a grim reaper with the face of a skull and a couple of tabs, one of which listed demons.