by Livia Quinn
No one spoke, just looked from her to me and back. Did that mean they agreed, they felt sorry for me, or they were thinking, “She told you so.”
Montana said, “It’s time, Tempe. I never have understood why you—”
Aurora stopped her with a raised hand. “We’ll talk about this later, Montana. Tempe, can you drop by the shop tomorrow?”
“I’ll try. I have to go by the Sheriff’s Office and fill out a missing person’s report on River.” I swallowed. “And after I’m done, I want to drop in on Mr. Jackson.”
Montana swept her long black hair away from her face. “He’ll be back at home harassing you in no time.”
“Oh, good.” They chuckled.
“Isn’t he that retired mail carrier? What was his problem this time?” Bailey asked.
Aurora said matter of factly, “It’s the approaching Chaos…What did the sheriff think?”
“He’s dovelo; he just thinks I’m a kook magnet.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say you’re a magnet,” came the familiar baritone voice. I heard the sighs of the women in the room as we turned to see the broad shouldered form of Jack Lang.
“Ladies,” he nodded his head at each of them, hat in his hand. The face that had stopped me in my tracks thirty-six hours ago covered in shaving cream, was now covered with a layer of bronze beard stubble, giving him a rakish, uncivilized look. Adventurous. Dangerous. “What’s a ‘da velo?’” His gaze focused on me, as the teacher announced the start of class. Five sets of eyes turned toward him and five sets of feet kicked me in the shins in an under-the-table high five.
“So that’s Six Packs,” Shannon waggled her eyebrows.
Mariah muttered, “Come to mama.”
Chapter 19
Jack
The women in the class stared at me, the room going quiet as the desert at midnight. I looked down at my shirt to see if I’d spilled my coffee, or left my fly open. The tall one, Montana, the EMT, looked like the warrior princess from the TV series, her squinty-eyed focus projecting a warning, “You mess with my friends, you answer to me.” It was unsettling.
I did a double take when Tempe introduced me to Bailey. At the DMV, she’d looked like a young Amish girl in her sedate boxy grey top and long jeans skirt, her hair in a tight knot. The young woman in front of me, with her artfully mussed hair, tight black jeans and a hot pink off the shoulder shirt showing a good bit of cleavage, could have been her party twin.
“Sheriff Lang, you may take any of the available computer stations,” the teacher said. “I’ll just be a few more minutes getting the video presentation set up.”
“Call me Jack,” I said, nodding to each of the students in the class. Suddenly, there was a seat available next to Tempe, and I gravitated to it. The woman who’d vacated the seat held out her hand to me.
“I’m Aurora Boreal, I own the boutique downtown. We met at the civic association meeting.”
“I remember, Ms. Boreal,” I said, returning her firm handshake and getting the urge to tug my hand back when she held it just a tad longer than most people while she studied my face. She had her own version of The Eye. For the first time since boot camp I felt like squirming in my seat.
Tempe said, “Aurora is the President of our group.”
“I’ve heard of your uh, group—the SOAPs, right?” I studied Aurora Boreal. She was dressed in a gypsy-looking outfit of grays and pinks, and looked like the leader of an artists’ community. Her hair was streaked black and silver, and dangling from a braid above one ear was a buzzard feather, glinting like a rainbow in the harsh florescent lighting. Around her neck hung an amulet in some kind of studded Celtic design. She didn’t strike me as a soap opera lover. “I appreciate your help with my campaign and the voter registration drive.”
Aurora nodded, “We were happy to lend our support, Sheriff. It was time for a change. Do you have any leads on the murder at the club house?”
Straight to the point, with a little reminder about who gets things accomplished in the parish? “It’s early yet. We’re still investigating and interviewing suspects.”
Aurora looked at Tempe, then at me. “Tempe had nothing to do with it.”
From someone else that comment might have elicited my investigative instincts, but despite their eccentricities, I didn’t get the feeling these women were involved. Did they know what Tempe was holding back? I looked at their savvy interested faces. Definitely.
I looked at Tempe and said, “She hasn’t been charged with anything.”
“Yet,” Tempe said under her breath. “Aurora, let the—Jack sit down; we’re holding up class.”
With a look that said she wasn’t finished with me yet, Aurora slipped into a chair at the other table, and I sat down on the chair next to Tempe.
“Heard anything from your brother?” I whispered.
“No. Did you get Peggy to make inquiries like you promised?”
“Yes. Nothing yet.” I opened my booklet to the first page. “Your friends are quite—”
“Supportive,” she supplied before I could choose any other adjectives.
“That wasn’t what I was going for. Eclectic? Offbeat?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Her smile gave me that edgy feeling for the third time since I’d arrived.
My cell phone rang with the ME’s number on the ID. I excused myself to walk out into the hallway. The only class in session was the social media class, the rest of the rooms dark. I walked around the corner to the rest rooms so I couldn’t be overheard and dialed the Medical Examiner.
Less than two minutes later, I ducked my head back into the classroom and made my apologies. Tempe leaped from her chair and came after me as I walked down the corridor to the double doors leading to the parking lot. I heard her running after me down the sidewalk but ignored her until she called out, “Jack, wait.”
I turned at my vehicle, shaking my keys impatiently. “I have to go, Tempe.” I unlocked the SUV.
“What is it? Is it River?” She grabbed my arm halting my progress, “Jack, please.” Her voice rose in fear, making me feel like a hard-hearted bastard.
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss it with you.”
She stood there under the lamplight as I drove away. I wanted to tell her about the call, but I hadn’t officially cleared her of any involvement.
The call was from the coroner saying I should get to his office immediately. He sounded shaken.
Tempe
SOAPs night was always followed by drinks at Bons Amis. Aurora had begged off, however.
I arrived first. The dark haired bartender delivered a drink to a customer a few feet to my right and said, “Tempe, what’s shakin’, Lass? Was the newspaper right then? You found that body?” The Ireland in his voice was soft but distinct.
“I did, Liam.”
Without asking he placed a frosty mug with my favorite tonic water and lime in front of me. Bons Amis If it’s news, there are two places you can find it first, Bons Amis and Jane Fortune.
I started to ask him if he’d seen River, but then the customer next to me turned around and smirked at me. It was Fritz.
“Well, if it isn’t Tempest,” he spat.
Sounded like somebody had received a reprimand from his supervisor.
Fritz is about as unappealing physically as his personality is offensive. His belly overflows his belt to the point that he can barely reach the pedal in his mail truck—or so I’ve been told. And even in the dimly lit bar you could see the broken veins on his nose and blotches across his cheeks from his excesses. Then there was the mean expression always visible in his beady black eyes. Sometimes I wondered if he was a variant, but menori says no. Just the worst kind of human.
“Liam, who let the Toad in? You should cut him off before he makes a bigger fool of himself, or tries to harass one of your customers and gets his ass kicked.”
“Oh, yeah?” Fritz’ squinty eyes flared as he rose from his stool, “and who’s going to kick it? You,
little Miss tattle-tale? Couldn’t handle me on your own, so you went running to the boss.”
“Oh, I can handle it, Fritz, but I wouldn’t want to hurt you, so think of it as taking your well being into consideration. If you keep on the way you’re going, harassing the women in this town, you’re going to wind up hurt.” I probably sounded calm—I was working hard at it—but menori was stirring the syntaxes of my nervous system and it was taking everything I had to tamp them down.
“You all heard that. She threatened me,” he called out to the crowd.
A few of the patrons rolled their eyes, most just ignored him. Liam responded by pulling Fritz’s beer out of his hand, upending it over the sink and pouring out the remainder. “Since ye’re finished with yer ale, you should leave. That one, ’twas on the house.” Liam’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hand rested on the baseball bat at the end of the counter. Though I wasn’t sure Liam needed a bat.
“You can’t throw me out.” Fritz turned toward Liam and pointed his thumb at me over his shoulder. “She threatened me.”
“That’s not what I heard, me boyo,” Liam said as his fingers tapped the bat. “Now, are you fer leavin’ on your own two feet or bein’ carried?”
Fritz looked at me, his lip curled in a snarl. “You haven’t heard the last of this, bitch—“
“Now that sounded like a threat, Fritz.” I looked at Liam. “Didn’t that sound like a threat, Liam?”
“It did, lass. Out, Fritz, and stay out. The Wasted Turtle down by the levee is more your style.”
The Wasted Turtle was the dive where the less civilized rednecks went; shootings and knife fights were regular occurrences. A coworker told me she’d been offered a gig singing with the band there, but her husband nixed it. He said there were too many brawls. She’d asked one of the guys in the band about it. He’d shrugged it off saying, the fights were “only in the audience.”
Coincidentally, it was also the bar where River had been seen on Sunday night, and that I couldn’t reconcile with my brother’s lifestyle.
“Better watch it over there, Fritz, turtles are crazy for toads,” I said.
This man never listened to reason, thinking himself above the merest rules of conduct, so I wasn’t surprised when he turned his back on Liam and grabbed my breast as he got down from his stool.
Pain and rage splintered my control as I saw red. No, I actually saw red. An unfamiliar burgeoning force inside me zinged from my core, through my blood vessels, exploding from each nerve, ending in a shatter of bright red sparks. They shimmered around me. The Toad stiffened as the charge connected. I planted my knee in his groin to cover the real cause of his distress.
With an indelicate wheeze he went to his knees. Liam grabbed him by the elbow and helped him up. “It’s no more than you deserve, Fritz.” He pushed him through the front door and warned, “Don’t come back in m’ bar or ye’ll be sorry.”
Chapter 20
Tempe
The mist of red was dissipating by the time Liam returned, concern on his face. “Did he hurt ‘ya, dearling?” When he tried to put his hand on my shoulder, I felt the coalescence of energy just before it shot across the bar and latched onto his hand. He jumped back. “What the hel—”
“Shoo—I’m so sorry, Liam. It’s this static electricity.”
“There’s no need ta’ lie, Tempe. Ah’ve seen my share of the odd, I have. Fashioned some of me own, if ya’ ken,” he said, a reminder to me of his own nature.
Churichauns are distant cousins to the Leprechaun. They are the introverts of the clan, with one distinguishing trait—they’re the gatekeepers of the spirits—alcoholic spirits. In the old country, they guarded the wine cellars and casks of whiskey, while their more progressive descendants of the twenty-first century prefer tending bar or working in a wealthy man’s wine cellar.
Liam is a Churichaun vampire, bitten back in the eighteenth century by his employer after sampling some of the vamp’s rare wine and falling asleep on the job. It’s one of the reasons he tends bar. It’s a test of his control. And then there’s the need to work nights. He doesn’t go around after the bar closes and suck neck or anything. The blood thing apparently isn’t an issue for him, but light is.
Electricity was the closest I could come to explaining what had just happened. “I wasn’t exactly lying, Liam. My frustration toward Fritz put a little extra zip in my zap. Did you…see anything?” Maybe the shimmering red cloud that had obscured my vision hadn’t been invisible.
“Like…?” he tilted his head wiggling his fingers in an “out with it” gesture. I recognized Montana’s throaty laugh as she and Bailey came through the front door. Liam called, “Bailey, get your flighty arse into an apron. I’ve been snowed under, waitin’ on ya,” he winked at Tempe.
Montana nodded her head toward the door. “Hey, Temp. That guy you work with is out there keying your truck. Not that he can do a hell of a lot of damage, but he was on the driver’s side—”
I pushed past her through the front doors. Sure enough, Fritz was gouging deep scratches into the side of my mail truck. Thunder rumbled around the parking lot as I raised my hand toward him, “Fritz!” and then he was tumbling ass over knuckle head across the parking lot where he came to rest against a dumpster. As providence, or karma, or supremely bad luck would have it, a familiar green SUV made a sliding stop, sending pebbles flying.
Fritz predictably started whining and pointing fingers at me. “Sheriff, arrest her. She hit me.”
I started to argue, to explain that I really didn’t go around picking fights and brawling at bars, but Jack Lang looked unutterably weary and very irritable. He bent to lend Fritz a hand up but Toady shrugged him off.
What was it with the male population and me the last few days? I must keep that appointment with Aurora tomorrow as much as I dreaded it.
Montana followed me out. “Sheriff, I saw him keying the side of her truck.”
Jack Lang arched a brow meaningfully at the passenger side of my truck, where five-years worth of bush, brick, and mailbox scratches had taken its toll.
“The good side,” I said, crossing my arms.
“And he assaulted her in the bar,” Liam said behind me, where a crowd was streaming out into the parking lot for a firsthand look at the entertainment. “In front of a bar full o’ witnesses.”
A brief narrowing of the sheriff’s eyes was all I saw, but I felt sexual tension grip me, then he turned his glare on Fritz. “What have you got to say for yourself?” The hand on Fritz’s shoulder had turned into a twisting fist, and Fritz was standing on his toes, the threat finally starting to sink in. “Well?”
“Ahh, she attacked me… first?” Wide eyed, Fritz looked into Lang’s hard face. Once again, his focused intensity reminded me of a predator—silent, mesmerizing, deadly.
“Is that right,” he said slowly.
Everyone seemed to hold their breath while Fritz just stared, then he shook his head, twice—left, right.
“That’s what I thought. Let’s see what a night spent in parish accommodations will do for your memory.”
“But—but…” Fritz sputtered as the sheriff opened the back door of the cruiser, placed cuffs on his wrists and lowered him onto the back seat, firmly shutting the door on his protestations. He walked over to me.
“We need to talk,” he said.
I looked toward his car, “If it’s about Fr—”
“Not him.” He took my arm and called out, “You folks can go back inside.” Montana stayed near the door.
“Go on now,” he looked at Montana. Seeing her reluctance, he sighed wearily and explained, “I just need a few minutes of Ms. Pomeroy’s time. In private.” When Montana crossed her arms and leaned against the front of the building, Jack threw up his hands and swore.
“All right.” He turned to me, “Can I trust your friends?”
“With my life,” I said. Fear crawled down my spine. “Is it River—” I gripped his arm.
“No.
Tempe. There’s nothing new on your brother. I need to ask you to account for your whereabouts for the last eight hours.”
“Really?” When would this end? I felt like his favorite scapegoat.
“Your friends, too, now that I think about it.”
“We’ve all been in class or here for the last three hours. Before that, I was putting up posters and trying to run my mother down.” I looked at Montana, “Not literally, of course.”
Montana said, “I was sleeping this afternoon, spent an hour at the women’s shelter, then on to class. Bailey and I rode together from there.”
“What is it, Jack?” The muscles in his arm were rigid. He pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingertips of those long dexterous fingers.
Finally he said, “I’ve got good news and bad news. The call I got during class was from the coroner. The good news is the time of death—noonish—pretty much clears you of the murder, as you had a pretty fair alibi at the time.”
“Well, I knew I didn’t kill him.” I expelled a sigh. “And the bad news?”
“The body’s missing.”
Chapter 21
Jack
“Missing—”
The color that drained from her face was better than a polygraph. It affirmed, if nothing else, that she didn’t know anything about the body being stolen from the morgue. She was always in the eye of the storm though, so I had no doubt there was something she still wasn’t telling me. My instincts told me that, and they never lied. “I’m afraid so.”
“But how can that be?” Montana asked. “Surely someone can’t just walk into the morgue, throw a body over his shoulder and walk out. And why would they want to?”
Tempe asked, “Wasn’t there a guard? An attendant?”
“There was, but he was on break and didn’t notice anything when he returned. The ME made the discovery when he was preparing to do the autopsy.”
“So, they don’t know exactly when the body disappeared,” Montana said.
