The Gargoyle Chronicles: A Riga Hayworth Mystery (Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery Book 8)

by Kirsten Weiss

  “It's been a while since I've needed it,” Riga continued, “but I don't think it's been revoked.”

  She canted her head, relaxed her gaze. Black threads wound through Gabe's aura. She stiffened, attracted by their sticky pull.

  He glanced at Donovan. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  But they believe in you. “Is there anyone alive then who'd want to do you or your business harm?”

  He barked a laugh. “My competitor. There was some industrial sabotage a year back, but we were never able to connect it to Harley.”

  “Harley Westbrook?” Riga asked. The business community Donovan traveled in was small, elite. She hadn’t met Westbrook, but she’d heard of him and his firm.

  “Yes.” He sank back into his seat. “So. You were joking about the ghost.”

  She hadn’t been joking.

  Gabe would never hire her, and Donovan must have known this. He was too good a judge of character. So why was Gabe here? “It's too soon to draw conclusions. Anyone else?”

  “I told you,” Gabe said, his voice edged with impatience, “it isn't sabotage.”

  She squelched her own irritation. This wasn’t a typical client interview, and she wasn’t happy about that either. Gabe was Donovan’s… associate? Friend? She wished he’d given her more warning about the visit, explained things better. “And yet you’re here.”

  The brass clock beside the gargoyle ticked steadily into the growing silence.

  “My partner,” Gabe finally said. “When we started, our company was focused on commercial applications for our technology.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was calloused, a working man’s hand.

  “And he's not happy with the switch to military applications?” Riga asked.

  “No. But he couldn't have been responsible for the accidents. He wasn't in the building when half of the incidents occurred.”

  “There are other possibilities.”

  “Such as what?” He snorted. “A curse?”

  Or Gabe’s partner had an accomplice. “A curse is another word for a dark spell.” She bobbled her head, her loose hair grazing the shoulders of her ivory, silk blouse. “Well. That's a simplification, but for today's discussion it will do.”

  “Your point? None of my enemies are wizards.” He glanced apologetically at Donovan.

  Unoffended, she re-crossed her legs. “They might have hired one.” They were getting into the weeds, speculating without data. But if Gabe wasn't open to her work, he wasn't a good fit as a client.

  His smile was condescending. “And you really think a curse, a spell, could have caused all this havoc?”

  “I don't know, because I haven't investigated. But yes, it's possible.”

  “Hire a wizard.” Gabe’s mouth twisted. “Where the hell would someone hire a wizard?”

  “You're considering hiring me,” Riga said.

  “You're saying you're a wizard.” The businessman met her gaze, held it. After a long moment, he looked away. His shoulders twitched, as if he'd repressed a shudder.

  “I'm a metaphysical detective. Would you have guessed that if we’d been introduced at a cocktail party? Magical practitioners don’t all waltz about in robes, or cover themselves in tattoos. I don’t. Not that I’m judging those who do.” Okay, she was a little judge-y.

  A soft sound came from the mantel, like a sniff.

  Riga carefully did not look toward the fireplace.

  He raised his chin. “But that's not exactly true, is it?”

  “That I don’t judge?”

  “That you don’t look— You cultivate an air, an aura.”

  Did she?

  “I didn't get where I was by not paying attention,” he continued, “by not being able to take the measure of people. And I'd know something was different about you pretty quickly if we'd met at a party... like that...” He straightened in his chair, his jaw slackening. “Chaos.”

  “Gabe?” Donovan asked.

  He rose from his seat. “No, it's...”

  “You realized something,” Riga said, scalp prickling.

  “Yes, it's... Thank you. This talk has helped. Bill me for your time.” He strode from the room. The wood-paneled door snicked shut behind him.

  Riga smiled, wry, at her husband. “Well, thanks for trying.”

  “I didn't bring him here just for you.” Donovan frowned. “I own shares in Acton Industries. And since when have you had a security clearance?”

  “Since Afghanistan.” Her smile faded. She was relieved when he didn't probe further.

  “What do you think?” he finally asked.

  “You’re right to be concerned. He's being affected by dark magic.” She rose from behind her desk and walked to a window overlooking the parking lot. A small crowd had gathered across the street at an outdoor mall. A local man had set up his usual Tuesday photo booth with his pet mountain lion.

  “A curse,” she said. “A spell. But I can't help Gabe if he doesn't want me to,” she said gently, her chin dipping. She hated saying no to Donovan. He’d never once said it to her. “I didn’t think telling him what I’d seen would convince him.”

  Donovan barked a laugh. “No, it wouldn’t have. And you don’t have to explain to me.”

  But she didn’t like the way she’d left things. Should she have told Gabe Acton? “So far, no one's been hurt. Maybe this spell isn't that serious.” But she didn’t quite believe it.

  The gargoyle on the mantel craned forward and spread her wings. “Faugh! Dark magic, she is always serious! You know this, Riga.” Brigitte's voice was French-accented, stones in a cement mixer.

  Ignoring her familiar, Riga watched the parking lot.

  Gabe Acton emerged from the door two stories below and crossed to a silver Tesla. On the nearby highway, cars zipped past, fenders gleaming in the morning sunlight.

  Donovan came to stand beside her. “I understand you can’t get involved without his permission. I wouldn’t want you to.” He looped an arm around her waist and squeezed lightly, letting her know they were good. His woodsy scent banished the last traces of the dark magic Gabe Acton had carried. “I'm not happy about the situation, but not because of you. He's his own man and a smart one. It’s why I invested in his firm.”

  “Smart enough to have realized who’s behind his company’s troubles,” Riga said. Gabe wouldn’t believe a curse was involved, but he knew someone was doing something.

  The thought of a dark magician in the area made her flesh pebble. At some point, their paths would cross. It was inevitable as the sunrise.

  “Ah,” Donovan said, “you noticed that.”

  “I just hope he's smart enough to deal with it.” She frowned. These things tended to escalate.

  She gnawed her bottom lip. Should she have pushed Gabe harder? But he was Donovan’s friend or associate, and she’d had to tread carefully, hadn’t wanted to overstep.

  “Could someone really cause that sort of sabotage by magic?” he asked.

  “Yes.” And worse. Riga suppressed a shiver. She’d tangled with dark magicians before. It never ended well.

  Riga’s brows drew downward. And was she imagining it, or did the slanting afternoon sunlight have a greenish tint? She rubbed her eyes, and the scene returned to normal. Highway. Tourists. Mountain lion.

  “Monsieur Acton is arrogant,” the gargoyle ground out, “and that dulls ze senses, makes one stupid.”

  Donovan’s smile was lopsided. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Love surged inside her for her husband, who was not arrogant, just confident to the point of magic making. He also had the brains and will and… sense of honor to accomplish what he wanted. How could she not love him, even if he did bring her uncomfortable clients on occasion? Lightly, she ran her hand down the lapel of his jacket.

  Movement caught the edge of Riga’s awareness.

  A naked bicyclist flew down the bike path, paralleling the highway. He carried his own fl
eshy flat tire around his middle.

  “Now that's not something you see every day.” Riga wished she hadn’t seen it today. But her stomach fluttered, and she leaned closer to the window, watching.

  Something small and furry darted into the bike path. The bicyclist swerved into the highway.

  She gripped Donovan’s arm.

  A blare of horns. A semi lurched right, bouncing across the earthen verge and striking a fire hydrant.

  Riga’s breath caught. “D—”

  Gabe opened the Tesla's door.

  The hydrant exploded sideways. Rocketing water in its wake, the hydrant blasted toward the Tesla.

  “No!” Riga closed her eyes and turned away, to Donovan's muscular chest.

  A crash. Screams.

  “What the hell?” he breathed.

  Her heart thumped, uneven. “Did it miss?” Riga knew it was cowardly, but she couldn't look at the disaster she’d allowed to happen. “Is Gabe okay?”

  “No,” Donovan said heavily. “He isn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She’d failed.

  Gabe was dead, and bile scored Riga’s throat.

  Bony aspen trees shivered, leaves rustling. They cast fluttering, cobwebby shadows across the bike trail where she and the bicyclist stood. Riga’s wide-legged slacks and the thin fabric of her blouse rippled as well, and she rubbed her arms.

  Firefighters and sheriff's deputies scrambled through the parking lot. Beside a Mercedes, Donovan spoke to Sheriff King and gestured toward the semi. A geyser of water shot through its grill and into the air.

  “Whoa.” The bicyclist straddled his seat. He was pale and bulky and still naked.

  Across the highway, the mountain lion raised its head. The big cat looked interested for the first time that afternoon. Tourists had wandered away from the collared animal to gawk at the controlled mayhem.

  “Whoa,” the bicyclist repeated.

  Riga stared at a spot between the nudist’s eyebrows. “What happened?” She knew, but she wanted his angle.

  “Like, that truck totally ran off the road. I was nearly killed.”

  The muscles in her neck tightened. Gabe Acton had been killed. “Why did you swerve into the road?”

  “I came for the meteor shower, you know? The Perseids. It's supposed to be at its peak tomorrow, but I'm hoping to see some more the night after, when there's no moon. The sky up here, you can see every star, you know?”

  Riga forced a smile. She knew. There were nights when the infinite bowl of stars sent her spiraling into a place of peace. Other times, it made her want to hyperventilate. “And the road?”

  “What about the road?”

  “What made you drive into it?”

  “Oh. A chipmunk. But I missed it. I'm a vegan.”

  Riga wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but she plowed onward. “And then?”

  “And then, I was like, whoa! And then the truck was all, wuuuah! And then crash! And then that hydrant went off like a rocket.” He shook his head. “The dude in the Tesla didn't have a chance.” He motioned toward the parking lot. The Tesla had nearly been caved in two by the force of the collision. “And it's an electric car.”

  “Did you notice anything else unusual? Any odd feelings or impressions? Any strange people?”

  Two deputies moved purposely toward them.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I got all shivery right before it happened, you know? Like maybe I knew something bad was in the wind. I'm a little psychic that way.”

  Not psychic enough to predict he was about to get busted for public indecency. “Mm, hm.”

  “I mean,” he said, “whoa.”

  “Thanks.” She moved off before the cops reached them.

  Relaxing her gaze, she scanned again for magic. But the black ties that had wrapped Gabe Acton had vanished with his death. If their ends had once been connected to a magician, that connection was now lost, impossible to track. The magician could be anywhere.

  The magician could be watching.

  A cherry-red Miata screeched past, inches from the toes of Riga’s boots.

  She leapt backward, cursing, heart banging against her ribcage.

  The car swerved into the parking lot. A deputy motioned for it to stop, and the driver parked at an inconvenient angle in the middle of the drive. The deputy gestured angrily to the Miata's driver.

  The door flew open, and a slender, dark-skinned woman in a lab coat leapt from the car. Her ponytailed, blue-black hair streamed behind her as she raced toward the Tesla.

  Sheriff King, a bearlike, gray-haired man, intercepted the newcomer. He said something to her, and she twisted away, half-falling into Donovan’s arms.

  Donovan caught the woman, pulling her into an awkward hug.

  The corners of Riga's mouth tugged upward. Her husband would always have a weakness for damsels in distress. That didn’t explain his attraction to Riga.

  A pug scrambled from the Miata and raced to the woman, its fawn ears flapping. The lapdog stood on its hind legs and pressed its forelegs to her knee.

  The woman scooped up the pug. Sobbing, she pressed her face into its furry neck.

  Riga walked past a deputy she knew, and he nodded to her as she joined the small group.

  “I can't believe he’s gone. It can’t be true.” The woman moaned. She had the quasi-British accent of the Indian subcontinent. “We're cursed. How could this happen?”

  “We're still trying to understand that, ma'am,” the sheriff said.

  A horn blared, traffic choking the highway.

  “If you'll excuse me,” King said, “I need a moment with my deputies. But I’ll be back shortly.” He touched the brim of his hat and walked away.

  “How did you...? What was Gabe doing here?” The woman brushed away tears, streaking her mascara. “What were you doing here?”

  “My wife works here,” Donovan said. “Riga, this is Deepika Acton. Deepika is one of the lead researchers at Acton Industries and is married to Gabe.”

  Deepika smiled tightly, but tears continued down her face, leaving dark rivers.

  “I don't believe you've met,” he continued.

  “No.” Deepika hugged the pug closer. “But what happened? Why was Gabe here?”

  “He was consulting with Riga,” Donovan said.

  Riga smothered a grimace. Did she want Deepika to know that yet? But it was done.

  “Consulting?” Deepika's coffee-colored eyes blinked. “Are you a chemist?”

  “A detective,” she said.

  “The accidents.” Deepika expelled a slow breath. “But he couldn't– There are confidentiality–” The widow shook her head.

  “He mentioned a party,” Riga lied. Riga had mentioned the party. He'd reacted and left. Chaos… “What was the last one the two of you attended?”

  “A party? Not for a month, but it wasn't important. It had nothing to do with– Why does it matter?”

  Because right now, it was the only thread Riga had to follow. “A month ago?” Riga asked. “Where was this?”

  “At the golf club. But it wasn’t a real party. It was one of those boring, corporate events for potential recruits. At least, I thought it was dull at the time. Now I’d give anything—” Her face contorted in anguish. Her full lips pinched together, and she shook her head, ebony hair rippling in the sunlight.

  “The golf club nearby?” Riga raised a brow. It was an expensive resort.

  “Yes.” Deepika wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, painting another black streak nearly to one ear. Her voice cracked. “It's much nicer than the one by Carson City, where the lab is. But–”

  “Who else attended?” Riga cut in.

  Donovan shot her a warning look.

  “Recruits,” Deepika said brokenly. “Upper management.”

  A chill breeze flowed across the lake. It shivered the pines and slipped through the threads of her silk blouse. Riga hugged her
arms. “Anyone else?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Harley. He had the nerve to turn up and try to poach our recruits. Was Gabe consulting with you about Harley?” Her shoulders relaxed. “He must have been. Of course.”

  The sheriff returned. “Ms. Acton? May I have a word?”

  She looked uncertainly at Donovan and Riga. “Yes.”

  “We'll be in Riga's office.” Donovan cocked his head toward the three-story wood and stone building.

  “I'll be in touch,” the sheriff said dryly.

  Donovan placed a hand on the small of Riga's back, and they walked toward the office building. She wanted to lean into her husband, to let his presence block out the day’s horror.

  “I'm hiring you,” he said. He walked with an easy grace, but she sensed the anger coiled inside his muscles.

  “I–”

  “And none of this you-can't-be-hired-by-relatives business. I brought Gabe here. I thought it was a good idea. And now he's dead.”

  “I doubt it's cause and effect.” But could it be?

  “What? What are you thinking?”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “Yes, I'll take the case.”

  “You will?”

  “You have a financial stake in the business. It's legitimate.” And she was pissed. Fear sparked deep within her, fueling her anger. She swallowed it down. Fear was never a good driver.

  He shook his dark head. “What happened? It can't be coincidence. All those bizarre accidents Gabe described and now this.”

  They wove between a dirt-covered Jeep and a BMW.

  “No,” she said slowly. “There are no coincidences. Which is why I'm curious as to how Deepika Acton got to South Lake Tahoe so quickly.”

  “I called her after the accident.”

  Riga lowered her head. “The lab is in Carson City, isn't it? And you said she's one of the lead researchers.”

  They walked beneath the arcade. “She's also the owner's wife,” Donovan said.

  “And it's a weekday. She should have been in the lab.”

  “I think she gets to do what she wants to do. Like I said, owner’s wife.”

  “Which also makes her a prime suspect,” she said.

  “A suspect in forcing a naked bicyclist to drive into the road?”