Still Waters [A Kyra Moray Mystery]

by Deanna Lee

  Glory sat back in her chair with a frown. “Really?"

  "Really. He started screaming and coming out of his clothes."

  "Wow.” Glory shook her head. “You just never know how a body is going to react to jail."

  "You aren't upset?"

  Glory shrugged. “He used me and cheated on me. He's history."

  "Good."

  Glory looked over her face and then grinned. “Well, you got laid."

  "I did not,” Kyra denied, then laughed. “Okay, maybe I did. But laid is too tame a word to describe the experience."

  "Who?"

  "Alex Waters."

  Glory's mouth dropped open briefly, then clamped shut. “That beautiful man who owns Still Waters? Christ, Kyra, that's so hot, my panties are wet.” She fanned herself and blew out a breath.

  "Yeah.” Kyra sighed. “It was good."

  "Chocolate cheesecake good?"

  "Chocolate cheesecake with cherry topping good."

  "Oh.” Glory bit down on her lip. “I almost hate you."

  "Yeah, I'd hate me, too.” Kyra stood. “Want to have dinner?"

  * * * *

  Glory tucked her legs up under her and leaned against the arm of Kyra's sofa. “Okay, so tell me what you're up to with Alex Waters."

  "Sex."

  "Just sex?"

  "It's for the best, right?” Kyra sighed. “Hell, I don't know even know what I want. All I know is that whenever I look at him, my insides get all twisted up.” She picked at her sweet-and-sour chicken with a pair of chopsticks and met Glory's gaze. “The man's a warrior in bed."

  Glory chuckled. “I bet."

  "I'm totally over my head with him. He isn't going to let me run all over him.” She laughed at Glory's expression. “Don't frown at me. I mean it. Alex Waters isn't the sort of man that a woman can keep in a corner of her life. There is no way he's going to actually allow himself to be my ‘dick on the side’ for any serious length of time."

  "You won't convince me that you'd be satisfied with a sexual relationship. You can pretend with others all you want, but I know damn well that you don't want to spend your life alone. You find Alex attractive, and we can safely assume that he's interested in you. The two of you can fuck yourselves silly for a while, but eventually you'll have to start talking about what you want."

  "Sex doesn't have to be complicated."

  "If it was just sex, you wouldn't step foot in his bar, and you sure as hell wouldn't have let him spend the night."

  A wistful smile played on Kyra's lips as she thought about waking up with him. “It was nice waking up with someone."

  "I know."

  "Cops don't make good husbands or wives. It's been a bad bet since the first one donned a uniform."

  "So? I didn't say you had to go marry the guy. But you are thirty-five years old."

  "Hey, what's my age got to do with anything?” Kyra frowned. “You're only a year younger."

  "Most women your age have picked out a life partner. You jump from man to man, flicking them off like flies when you're done with them. You are pure-to-the-bone man-eater, and I don't want you to get lost in that trap."

  Kyra put her food down on the coffee table in front of her. “That's bullshit."

  Glory laughed and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. “You know it's not. I may be naïve, but you, you're hard and uncompromising. I guess I can be thankful you aren't an empty-headed debutante who flashes her money around. You know, I never figured you'd be a cop. Not with the plans your grandmother had for you after you became Miss New Orleans."

  She shuddered visibly. “You know the woman planned to make sure I got all the way to Miss North American Union. Can you imagine? It's horrifying to even think about it."

  "Is that why you passed the crown to the runner-up?"

  Kyra snorted. “I kept the crown. They gave her a different one. It's in my collection with the others."

  "Here?"

  "No, in storage on my grandmother's estate.” Kyra grabbed a bottle of water from the coffee table and took a deep drink. “Look, the thing is that I'm really enjoying Alex Waters. I don't know if I can take any more, but I also know that I would kick myself if I didn't let whatever we have play out. I want to know..."

  "Know what?"

  She shrugged. “Everything. I want to know everything about him."

  "Oh, girl, you got it bad."

  Chapter Six

  Kyra dropped her bag in the chair next to her desk and casually picked up her mail. She looked at Phil's empty desk and then out the open door of the office. The detective's area in the Major Crimes division looked about half-full, its usual state for a Friday morning. She tossed aside most of mail and focused on the small box that was still in her in-tray.

  The box had a sticker on it, indicating it had already been inspected for explosives. She picked it up, ran her fingers over the sticker briefly, and picked up her letter opener to slice the tape away. The contents knocked against the box as she handled it.

  Sitting down, she snagged her field kit from her bag and opened it. Nu-skin gloves slid easily on, and she carefully removed the secure-foam-wrapped object from the box and tossed the box on her desk as Phil entered. “Good morning."

  "Morning. Getting presents at work?"

  Ignoring the dread that gathered inside, she pulled the foam loose from the object. “I don't think this is going to count as a present."

  "What the hell is that?"

  Kyra set the clay jar down carefully and sat back in her chair. “It's a jar."

  With some dread, she lifted the top of off the jar and swallowed hard. It was full to the very rim with ash and broken bone chips.

  "More to the point, it's a govi. Practitioners of Voodoo use it in rituals so they may connect with the spirits of their ancestors for counsel or for information about the future."

  Phil moved closer and cleared his throat. “I'm not going to ask how you know that shit. You people down here are way too interested in Voodoo."

  Kyra didn't respond. Instead, she reached into her field kit and pulled out a portable fingerprint scanner. The hum of the scanner and brisk red energy pattern on the jar was comforting. It was the only thing comforting about the entire situation.

  "No prints.” She stood and put the jar back in the box. “I'm going to take this to Parker. Did you get that list of tattoo parlors?"

  "Yeah, citywide."

  "Let's start with the ones in the French Quarter. We'll expand further out if we need to.” She paused in the entryway of the office. “I'll call you when I'm finished with Parker."

  * * * *

  With her “present” in the passenger seat, Kyra sat still behind the wheel while she considered the significance of the govi. The clay pots were used in Voodoo for communication, just as she'd told Phil, but they could also be vessels for spirits. She glanced at it briefly and took a deep breath. Getting spooked by an inanimate object was unacceptable. It would be easy to dump the thing in an evidence locker after the visit to the ME, but she couldn't.

  She argued with herself for several seconds before engaging her comm-u and inputting Clara's number. “Clara, it's Inspector Moray."

  "Inspector."

  "The killer sent me a govi."

  Silence followed, and then Clara cleared her throat. “Empty?"

  "No. I'm pretty damn sure it's human bones and ashes. I'm on my way to the medical examiner's office."

  "The offering shouldn't be ignored."

  "I realize that,” Kyra ground out through clenched teeth. “What do you suggest I do?"

  "After you finish with the ME, bring the jar to me."

  "Do you think he knows about my mother?"

  "Your mother practiced Voodoo in full view of the public, and despite your public dislike for the religion, there are those who see you as part of the community."

  That fucking sucked. Kyra closed her eyes. “As soon as I finish with Parker, I'll be on my way out to your place."

&n
bsp; "Leave your partner in the city."

  * * * *

  Kyra had indeed left her partner in the city, along with half the contents of the govi. When she pulled to a halt in front of Clara's house, she shot the scarecrow a look of pure misery. “You realize that she lives to thwart me."

  Thankful that Clara's creepy yard decoration hadn't responded, she grabbed the jar and her bag as the door to the house opened. Clara stood there, seemingly patient, but Kyra could see the interest stirring in the old woman.

  Kyra's mother had found Voodoo shortly after the birth of her only child. She'd followed the religion faithfully until one morning, in a desperate moment, Alicia Moray had taken her own life. Though Kyra didn't blame the religion for her mother's suicide, a part of her would never understand what had drawn her mother to the primitive religion instead of a psychologist or medical doctor who could have treated her depression.

  She followed Clara silently into the house and back to her office, where she set the jar down and took a seat across from the woman. “He's baiting me."

  "No.” Clara shook her head and ran her fingers carefully over the clay's smooth surface. “He views you as something more than his victims. There are at least two now."

  "Yeah.” Kyra glanced at the jar and wondered if she'd ever know whom he'd burned for the gift. “Govi are sometimes used to hold a spirit?"

  Clara nodded and turned the clay pot carefully in her hands. “No spirit lingers here, but then, you knew that, didn't you? The moment you touched it, you knew it held nothing more than ash and bone. You are a powerful woman, Kyra. Like your mother, you wield a natural grace and a unique strength. I know your memories of Voodoo begin and end with your mother's suicide ... but if you can set that aside for a moment..."

  "Set it aside?"

  "Tell me about the trophy he's taking."

  "He's taking skin, tattooed skin. The stepbrother told us that Donna had a tattoo of a small green-eyed cat on her shoulder."

  "You think he viewed the painted animal as her veve, a representation of her spirit.” Clara inclined her head and looked toward Kyra with curious eyes.

  "Yes."

  "He stole her soul."

  "He killed it first.” Kyra stood from the chair. “He gave her enough belladonna to kill her, yet he poured water into her lungs and drowned her before the poison could kill her."

  "Verser, the ritual pouring water on the loa. Killed her spirit, then her body, and then cleansed both."

  Loa, the spirit. Kyra fought back a shudder.

  "Yes, he bathed her. He might have also shaved her."

  "Purified her body and soul for the afterlife. She left the world as she came into it.” Clara grimaced. “You know what he is, right?"

  "A sick fuck."

  Clara laughed, and Kyra turned to her with surprise. “Indeed. He is a sick individual. I don't believe he is a true practitioner of Voodoo. He has some knowledge and experience, though, probably cultivated more out of curiosity than calling. He's dangerous to you."

  "Not as dangerous as I am to him,” Kyra retorted. “I won't have him use my mother against me."

  "This gift to you is an indication that he's focused on you."

  "I understand that.” She sat back down across from her. “You said I needed to set aside my feelings about your religion."

  Clara raised an eyebrow. “Your mother was a talented practitioner of the art and had a great deal of natural potential. Potential that you have, as well."

  "I've told you once before that I won't involve myself in your religion."

  "Voodoo didn't kill your mother."

  "No, but if she had turned to a legitimate source of aid, she might not have killed herself."

  "As you've always said.” Clara looked at govi. “How does this thing make you feel, Inspector?"

  Kyra didn't respond for a moment. With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her face. “I dreaded looking inside the thing. I didn't want to touch it. I still don't want to touch it."

  "It's the evil that drifts over it that makes you fear it.” Clara stood and left the room abruptly. She returned with a simple cloth sack, into which she put the govi and then drew it closed with strings. “Keep it in this until you put in with the other evidence. It will help shield you from it."

  "How many shops in the area cater to voodooisants?"

  "Amateur practitioners of the religion could find most of the supplies they need in any tourist shop in the French Quarter. However, this govi was made by hand. His hand."

  * * * *

  Kyra walked into Still Waters and immediately looked toward the bar for Alex, but he wasn't there. She sighed and looked around for Phil. She found him in a booth, mulling over a glossy red-covered menu. She knew why she'd chosen Still Waters for lunch, and it was not a source of comfort. Needing to see someone wasn't new, but admitting it was gut-clenching.

  She slid into the booth in front of Phil and looked around. “Hey."

  "Hey. How did things go with the Voodoo queen?"

  Kyra shrugged. “She thinks he sent me the clay jar as some sort of romantic overture."

  Phil snorted. “When I was single, flowers did the job just fine."

  Kyra grinned as she remembered the rose that Alex had sent her. She looked toward the bar and found his brother staring at her, hard. She frowned, then looked at Phil. “What did you decide to eat?"

  "Grilled chicken salad."

  She nodded and slid out of the booth. “Get me one, too. French dressing."

  Long-legged and relaxed strides took her to the bar. She met Marcus's gaze. “Where's Alex?"

  "His office.” He looked at Phil. “Who's the suit?"

  "I'm not fucking you, Marcus.” She inclined her head. “That makes that suit none of your business."

  He grabbed her arm as she moved around him. “My little brother is very much my business."

  Kyra was silent as she gauged Marcus's anger. Realizing that it didn't take much for him to distrust a woman, she pulled her arm from his grasp. “Be careful. I wouldn't be above putting you on your fine ass."

  "Are you two about to kill each other, or contemplating running away together?” Alex moved to, and then between, them. “What's up with my cop?"

  "I'm going to kick your brother's ass."

  Alex looked at him, then Kyra. “Well, that should be interesting. Is that Phil?"

  "Yeah."

  "Think I'll go say hi. No blood.” He kissed Kyra's mouth and walked away.

  Marcus watched his brother go to the table, then focused on Kyra. “Your partner?"

  "At the moment."

  "You could have just said."

  "You don't get to sit in judgment of me, Marcus.” She poked him in the chest.

  He grabbed her hand and held it tight. “I apologize."

  "Fuck off.” She pulled her fingers free and glared at him when he laughed. “Arrogant bastard."

  "It's my worst fault."

  Kyra rolled her eyes and walked away. Some fault. That sort of single-minded devotion to the people he loved was just plain amazing and beautiful. She still felt like she could punch him in the face. Alex slid from the booth as she arrived, and tucked her in before sitting back down.

  "Leave him in one piece?"

  "He's still useful.” Kyra caught up her water glass and took a deep drink. “So, what happened with the tattoo parlors?"

  Phil glanced briefly at Alex and then looked at his p-pc. “Three of the five that I visited only do cash transactions. I wasn't able to trace Donna's credit account to any establishment of that kind in the last two years. Most of her money went to school and food."

  "What about the cat itself?"

  "No one could remember putting anything like that on a female Donna's age. But then, from William, we can assume the tattoo was gotten during or right after Mardi Gras. I doubt we'll be able to trace it that way."

  "Maybe she didn't purchase it."

  They both turned to look at Alex. Kyra focused on him. “What do yo
u mean?"

  "A tattoo is a sexy, elemental thing. It's usually gotten as some sort of affirmation of personal achievement, a token of a relationship, or perhaps she was talked into getting it by a friend, peer pressure.” Alex pulled her straw free of paper and stuck in it her glass.

  Phil looked toward Kyra. “I could call in and get a warrant for Killian's bank records."

  "No judge will give us that without more. Why don't you hunt him down after lunch and ask him if he bought her the tattoo."

  "The first-level background check came back on Samuel Killian and William LaRoux. They're both clean, relatively speaking. LaRoux had a few problems in high school but nothing that actually led to an arrest. Killian has no history of criminal behavior, minor or otherwise."

  "Put in a request for a second-level check on both of them. I want to know if they have any sealed records."

  Phil nodded, grinning as the waitress approached with the salads. “Okay. No murder talk while I eat."

  * * * *

  "So, what did you and Kyra tangle about?"

  Marcus continued washing the bar in front of him. “She's a hard-ass, Alex."

  "Yeah, she certainly is.” Alex looked back to the table where she sat with her partner. They'd abandoned their food shortly before he'd left them. “Lots of cop talk going on over there."

  "I asked her who the suit was, and she told me to fuck off."

  Alex laughed. “Well, that sounds like her.” He shook his head. “I'm a grown-up, Marcus. I can take care of myself."

  "I'll try to remember that."

  "Don't worry about Kyra; she's tough, but she's honest. She might not live by the standard set of rules ... but I knew up front what I was getting into.” Alex watched his brother move around the bar and then stood.

  He went to his office after one glance in Kyra's direction.

  * * * *

  Kyra pushed open the door of Alex's office and paused as she realized Alex was on a call. She listened to him arranging delivery of food. He looked up and motioned her inside. Closing the door, she strolled to his desk and propped herself up on the corner.

  He ended the call and met her gaze. “You're working something pretty nasty, aren't you?"