by Vered Ehsani
I allowed myself a brief chuckle. “People have described me with many words, but delicate has never been one of them.”
Constable Hunt leaned back in the chair which was normally inhabited by Chief Constable Dougal. The young man appeared far too comfortable in the position as if he was already the senior officer of the law. His smirk deepened, and I marveled I’d ever thought him pleasing to the eye. Using the opportunity, I squinted at him, perfectly willing to invade his privacy if it allowed me to confirm the ugliness I suspected he harbored.
His energy field swirled with the tattered, blotchy pattern of a murderer.
“Well, I’m gobsmacked,” I muttered at the visual proof of my suspicions. It was a pity energy fields weren’t admissible as evidence in the courts.
Constable Hunt kicked up his heels onto the desk, laced his fingers behind his head and studied me. “Is there something the matter with your eyes?”
“Not at all,” I replied, forcing a wide smile and attempting to appear clueless.
In my experience, I’ve discovered most men believed themselves intellectually superior to women; thus it was a fairly simple matter to convince them I wasn’t a threat at all. In fact, I preferred my enemies to underestimate me; it made them easier to manage.
Sadly, Constable Hunt and I had already interacted on previous occasions, and I rued the fact. He knew me to be a woman of some wit and ability which made him even more dangerous. I couldn’t rely on his ignorance to win the day.
“Where’s the Chief Constable?” I asked as I glanced pointedly at Constable Hunt’s shoes resting atop the desk. His posture was disconcertingly confident for a junior officer.
“He’s tied up at the moment,” came the reply.
The gloating edge caused me to frown. “I hope that’s a figurative statement.”
Constable Hunt chuckled and removed his legs from the desk. His shoes thunked onto the wooden floor just as he stood. “Perhaps you’d like to see him then? Although I assure you any concerns you have can be communicated to me.”
“Not likely,” I said. I turned to leave, my nerves prickling as he closed the distance behind me. Spinning about, I raised my walking stick before his bemused face. “I did have one thought. On a number of occasions, you indicated our murderer might be the Wedding Killer. Yet I don’t see how that can be.”
Constable Hunt cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he studied me intently. I wondered what he observed. “And why ever not?”
Maintaining a light and frivolous tone, I replied, “All the articles regarding the Wedding Killer suggested he was a meticulous individual with a heightened regard for detail and, dare I say, perfection.” I glanced at the constable. I had his attention. “Yet the murder scene in my shop was inconsistent in this regard. It wasn’t as artistically presented as the ones in London. It’s as if the murderer was becoming…” I paused and met the constable’s intent gaze with my own. “Sloppy.”
Constable Hunt’s entire being seemed to snarl at me as every muscle tensed with the insult. “Sloppy?” he repeated in a gasp.
I shrugged and waved a hand by my head. “I’m not sure how else to describe it. If it is the same murderer, then he seems to believe we in the backwater town of Nairobi aren’t deserving of his full and precise attention as those in London.”
“You don’t say?” he growled through gritted teeth.
Giggling, I placed a hand over my heart and sighed while staring into his glare. “Then again, what do I know? It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, sir. We should do this again. It was…” I widened my smile. “Most invigorating.”
On that note, I spun about and, resisting the urge to run, I strolled into the sunshine.
Chapter Thirty
“I NEED A bride,” I muttered, pacing across the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace.
Father cleared his throat, his eyebrows quirking upward, but remained quiet. Or perhaps his granddaughter’s attempts to extract his fangs distracted him.
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Lilly commented as she focused on her sewing, her head bent toward the candelabra perched on a table by her side.
“How can you focus on fixing your husband’s socks when there’s a serial killer roaming about town?” I demanded.
“When isn’t there a serial killer in Nairobi?” she said as she tugged the needle upward, almost impaling a candle.
“That’s a point,” I conceded and faced the fire, stepping closer until the warmth bordered uncomfortable. I focused on the flames. “But this one is different.”
“How different could he possibly be?” Lilly asked and snapped the thread with her teeth. “He kills someone. He kills someone else. We find the bodies. It’s fairly predictable.”
“Ptheethe theet,” Father mumbled around a mouthful of baby fingers.
“What?” I spun about, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the library.
After extracting Grace’s fist from his mouth, Father repeated, “Please sit. This pacing back and forth is only increasing your agitation.”
“Who’s agitated?” Cilla asked as she entered the library.
After a round of greetings and inquiring after everyone’s health and digestion, Cilla repeated her question although she stared at me as she did so.
With a huff, I sat across from Lilly and picked up a book. I flipped the pages rapidly against my thumb as I relayed my suspicions to Cilla and the proof I’d seen in Constable Hunt’s energy field.
“Surely an officer of the law wouldn’t involve himself in such nefarious acts,” Cilla said. “There must be another explanation.”
Lilly rolled her eyes while Father remained silent. Either that, or Grace’s efforts to tug at his lips was forcing him to restrain his comments.
I gazed at my friend as she sat next to Lilly. “Cilla, you are one of the most tenderhearted people I know,” I said. “I’m not sure if I intend that as praise or censure, but it is at the very least the truth.”
She giggled and shook her head. “Please don’t make such odd statements at the wedding, darling Bee.”
“You’re a bride,” I gasped.
Frowning at my outburst, Cilla said, “Yes, and your brother is the groom.”
“Beatrice, no,” Father said as he approached the sofa, Grace squealing as he bounced her in his arms.
“But you don’t know what I’m plotting,” I protested.
An uncharacteristic scowl marred his Mediterranean features. “I know you well enough to imagine, and it’s ghastly. How could you even contemplate such a thing?”
“Because she’s ghastly,” Lilly said as she pulled out another sock from the pile by her feet.
“What ever is the matter?” Cilla asked as she stared at Father.
“I need to catch the Wedding Killer,” I explained. “And that means I need a wedding, or rather a bride.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Father chastised me. “Would you really expose our sweet Cilla to a murderous fiend?”
Amazed at such an ironic outburst from a vampire, I stared at him. “You are aware with whom we associate? Vampires, she-demons, identity thieves, werewolves. We’re all either murderous or fiends or, in a few cases, both.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lilly muttered.
“I don’t mind assisting,” Cilla offered, although she’d paled as the conversation proceeded.
“I mind,” Father said.
Frowning, I crossed my arms across my chest. “I don’t see why you should.”
Lilly thrust her needle into the sock with more force than needed and nearly impaled her own hand. Clucking in disapproval, she stated, “Beatrice, you really are ghastly.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I SUSPECTED I’D overstepped the bounds of moderation only when my brother shifted into a werewolf.
The conversation had been proceeding well enough until then. After finding him in the barn, I’d inquired after the wedding preparations, at which point he’d groaned and quak
ed with the stress of even contemplating on it.
“But surely it’s not so difficult,” I protested, calling to mind my own rather simple wedding. “Your most significant challenge will be finding enough chairs for your guests.”
He shook his head, long bangs swishing over his yellow eyes. “It’s not that. Cilla doesn’t want to proceed until Mr. Timmons returns.”
“She didn’t inform me of her intention to delay,” I said, frowning.
Then again, we had had little opportunity to discuss the details of her nuptials. Our impromptu meeting in the library had ended abruptly when Father had insisted I leave and reflect on the danger in which I wished to place my best friend. I’d conceded to his point, and Lilly firmly introduced a new topic of conversation while I exited the room.
Fortunately, the killer also went after grooms, and Drew was more than capable of defending himself.
Once I’d explained the situation, Drew slouched onto a square bale of hay and stared at me. He tilted his head much as a dog would, his eyes studying me. “You want to lure him out then? And you think he’ll come for me?”
While I wasn’t entirely certain that would be the case, I proceeded under the assumption and nodded with conviction. “My first thought was to involve Cilla, but on reflection—”
“What?” Drew growled. In my brother’s case, he literally growled. His canines began to elongate.
“It was a brief thought,” I hastily corrected. “Not even a thought. More like a foolish fancy, a fleeting wisp of mental steam that disperses almost instantly.”
Drew shook his head, his elongated snout snarling at me. Yet he retained enough of his humanity to say, “Leave.”
“There’s no need to be rude about it,” I said as I hastily retreated to the barn entrance. “I wouldn’t have put Cilla in any danger. Surely you must know that.”
He howled at me.
I began to close the sliding door. “Mr. Timmons would have had my head on a platter if I’d carried through with the idea.”
Nelly neighed in agreement, having been awoken by the nervous noises of the other animals and Drew’s howl. Distracted, Drew’s large, toothy head swiveled to face the horse. Unperturbed in the least at having attracted the attention of an angry carnivore, Nelly produced one of her infamous bodily eruptions and plunged her snout into a small tower of hay bales stacked to one side of her stall. Through a mouthful of masticated dry grass, Nelly snorted and neighed, her ears twitching as she did so.
Barking, Drew sat.
“Are you two actually having a conversation?” I asked, peering around the edge of the large door.
They both ignored me. Since my brother wasn’t tearing the place, or me, apart, I considered that a victory and trudged back to the cottage. Perhaps, I mused, Lilly was correct in her assessment of me. I was a ghastly woman for even imagining my brother or my best friend at the center of a trap. Then again, being referred to as ghastly would be a compliment in my previous line of work. How else could you hunt down a renegade paranormal if you weren’t willing to bend the rules of morality and propriety?
I was halfway to the cottage when the patter of large feet caused me to turn. Drew loped toward me, his tail wagging as he thrust his nuzzle into my hand. I knelt beside him and hugged his neck, grateful that he’d forgiven me. Even so, I avoided breathing too deeply. Despite the tenderness of the moment, my brother still stunk like a wet dog.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I WAS MULLING over my failed efforts to recruit a bride or groom.
“What an awkward situation,” I informed my metal teapot. I traced the metal engraving with a fingertip, wondering how I would manage without a suitable bait. Just as importantly, I wondered if I dared eat something with my evening tea. The mere contemplation of food summoned a hint of nausea.
“How can you be sure he’d go after anyone at all?” Gideon asked, although he didn’t seem particularly interested in my response. Instead, he spun through the kitchen rafters while encouraging Shelby to bounce on the pots and pans hanging above the counter.
“How could he possibly resist?” I replied, pushing away a plate of toast and pouring a cup of tea instead. “Besides, it feels like he’s preparing to murder again.”
“It feels like murder?” Gideon said and snickered.
Ignoring the ghost, I continued, “But it doesn’t matter now.”
“How quickly you surrender, girl,” Koki purred as she entered through the open backdoor. Shelby paused in her acrobatics to bare her teeth and shriek at the she-demon.
“Oh, goodie, it’s our friendly, murderous insect,” Gideon said, clasping his hands before his chest and batting his eyelids.
Koki didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow in the ghost’s direction. Instead, she strolled across the paving stones, the red fabric of her long dress swishing around her. I described to her the latest revelations provided by Dr. Cricket and by Constable Hunt’s energy field.
“He’s seeking revenge against a dead woman by killing other women,” Koki summarized. “How petty.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said and stared into the steam swirling atop my tea.
“Don’t look so glum. On my way here, I passed by the officers’ quarters,” Koki said. “Our delightfully bloodthirsty constable isn’t there.”
“Is that supposed to encourage me?” I asked, sipping at my tea. The cinnamon flavor I’d added caused my tongue to tingle.
Sighing at my recalcitrant behavior, she responded, “Well, given the lateness of the night, he should have returned there by now.”
I perked up. “Perhaps he’s found a suitable victim without my assistance. How marvelous!”
Koki smiled. “And the ghost calls me murderous.”
My hopes restored, I hastened to the barn to saddle Nelly. Soon after, we were flying to Nairobi, a small praying mantis sitting between Nelly’s ears and a ghost hovering overhead.
Rather than trot down Victoria Street, we circled the outskirts of town and landed behind a small stand of trees. Through the trees, we approached the squat, stone building of the constabulary, on the off chance Constable Hunt would be there. Sliding off Nelly, I pushed through the undergrowth until only a red-flowered hibiscus bush stood between me and the road. I peered through the branches, squinting into the darkness. The energy forms of countless insects popped into view, blue-green contrasting with the orange-red of a pair of oxen pulling a wagon along the street. Apart from the wagon’s driver, there was no humanoid form amongst any of them.
“He doesn’t seem to be there,” I observed aloud.
“Then he must still be involved in nefarious activities,” Koki said as she shifted into her human form. “Delightful.”
“So why did you bring along the insect lady?” Gideon asked.
Koki didn’t react to the bait, and neither did I. Her presence here was reassuring, if nothing else. Shelby squirmed in her pouch.
“Did you have to bring the ape?” Koki drawled.
“Yes,” Gideon said, falling through the branches to glare at us. Placing a hand over his heart, he lifted his gaze to the sky. “Yes, she did. Shelby is in a delicate state of her development right now and needs constant physical reassurance.”
Koki uttered a noise which was something between a snort and a laugh. “I was referring to you, not the monkey.” Leaning against a tree trunk, her arms hanging loosely by her side, she stared out into the night. A breeze rustled her dress but otherwise there was no movement on her part.
“Let’s use her as bait,” Gideon muttered.
“Well, this isn’t accomplishing much,” I said. “Where else could we look?”
No answer was forthcoming, and I sighed in defeat. What had I expected: a large sign indicating Constable Hunt’s current location? Or we’d arrive at the exact moment he returned, carrying proof of his murderous schemes? Sadly, life was not so convenient.
“Patience, human,” Koki murmured. “There are only so many possible victims in this to
wn. We will find him.”
“Preferably before he murders anyone else,” I said.
“Oh,” Koki said, smirking. “You failed to mention that little requirement.”
“Spoken like a bloodthirsty giant insect,” Gideon said and swooped away.
After a few more minutes of standing amongst the trees and being slowly eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitos and other nibbling bugs, I decided to follow Gideon’s example.
“Maybe I should insist Drew sits in a trap for us,” I said. “I can’t understand why he should mind so terribly. No normal man, even one as wicked as the constable, could overpower a werewolf.”
“How sure are you Constable Hunt hasn’t broadened his preferences?” Koki asked as she strolled by my side.
“He hasn’t to date,” I pointed out.
“People change,” Koki said, shrugging. “Why can’t serial killers?”
I mused over the idea as we continued to walk back to where Nelly was hidden. The sweet aroma of damp grass, red soil and composting leaves rose with every step. My boots felt heavy with the thickening layer of mud coating their tread. All manner of insects chirped and buzzed in our vicinity, a veritable orchestra which contrasted with the throaty cough of a lion further afield and the cackle of some other creature. A night bird? A hyena? Maybe a bush baby.
“Isn’t it a strange stroke of fortune Dr. Cricket and Constable Hunt should end up in the same colonial town?” Koki commented, interrupting my reverie. “What are the odds?”
“Indeed,” I said, too tired to even attempt the calculation. “I’d imagine they’re not particularly high.”
“Hm.”
“Not high at all,” I continued, my brain ticking over the coincidence.
My nature and profession inclined me to a certain degree of skepticism when faced with coincidences. Why hadn’t the oddity of the matter struck me sooner? Why would a serial killer venture away from his hunting ground to a town which was barely large enough to be worthy of that title? What could possibly have induced the Wedding Killer to diminish his opportunities to find kill-worthy prey?
