by R. L. King
“Oh, praise God,” she murmured, crossing herself.
Stone was surprised at how good he felt. Even the lingering effects of last night’s injury and blood loss barely registered anymore. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got one more loose end to tie up before this is over.”
“Loose end?” she asked, confused.
“We need to find Beal. I still want to get that heart back, just in case.” He put the sword and the crucifix down on the table. “And I think I know just where he is.”
As Stone pulled the car into a parking space, Grace craned her head around to look at the police cars. “Do you think they have anything to do with Mr. Beal? Why do you even think he’s still here?”
He got out. “He thinks he’s killed me, remember? There’s no urgency for him to leave—and I’m sorry to say that I don’t think he has the proper respect for you. He didn’t think you’d do anything to cause him trouble. He can take his own sweet time about heading back to Los Angeles, and he knows it. Come on. Let’s go see what’s going on.”
As they approached the hotel entrance, a burly cop stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I’m afraid you can’t go inside right now.”
“Why not?” Stone frowned, glancing past him. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the lobby, beyond more cops milling around and talking on radios.
“It’s a crime scene, sir,” the cop said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back later. If you’re a guest here, please call the hotel to find out when you’ll be allowed to go back inside.”
“Thank you, officer.” Stone retraced his steps to the parking lot, Grace jogging along behind him.
“Are you going to try getting in?” she asked.
He was about to reply when he spotted a small knot of people standing off to the side, including several wearing the uniforms of hotel personnel. “Might not need to. Come on.”
The hotel employees—mostly bellmen and restaurant workers from the look of it, stood in a tight group, talking among themselves and casting glances back toward the hotel. “Did something happen in there?” Stone asked in his best bright “curious tourist” tone.
As was often the case with a group eager to have fresh ears for their stories, several of the employees’ voices tumbled over each other to spill what they knew. “Somebody’s dead in there,” said a bellman. “Found ’em an hour or so ago, in one of the rooms.”
“I talked to a guy who talked to the maid who found ’im,” said a young man wearing a waiter’s uniform. “Said she was freaked out. They had to drug ’er to calm ’er down. Said the whole place was like chunky salsa in there.” He made a gesture with both hands that clearly mimicked an explosion.
“Chunky salsa?” Stone asked. “Do you mean something blew up?”
“That’s what I heard it looks like in the room,” said a waitress. “Except the weird part was nobody heard any explosion, and it didn’t take out anything in the room except the guy.”
Several of the others nodded.
“Wait,” Stone said. “So there was an explosion, but it didn’t damage the room?”
“Yeah, fuckin’ freaky, right?” the bellman said. He caught sight of Grace behind Stone. “Sorry, pardon my language.”
“That maid’s prob’ly gonna be in therapy forever,” the waiter said. “Can you imagine walkin’ into a room to clean it and findin’ blood and guts all over everything?”
“Do they know who it was?” Stone asked. “Are they releasing the name?”
“Nah, they won’t say,” the waiter said. “All I heard is that it’s some old guy.”
Stone shook his head in wonder. “That’s quite a story. I guess the details will come out in the papers. Thanks for the information.” Gesturing for Grace to follow, he hurried back to the car.
“You think that was Mr. Beal?” she asked, eyes wide. “He just blew up? How could that have happened?”
“I’ll bet you my car against some of your gran’s excellent cooking that it was. And as for how it happened? I have a theory.”
“Wait,” she said. “That guy said it happened about an hour ago. Wasn’t that right around the time you killed Archie?”
Stone nodded. “Exactly. I don’t think they’re ever going to be able to explain the explosion—but I also don’t think we need to worry about getting that heart back anymore.”
“You think the heart—”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his mobile phone from his coat pocket, held up a finger for Grace to wait, and punched in a number. After a few minutes of being routed between various parties, he finally got the one he was looking for. “Captain Flores. Alastair Stone. Remember me?”
Silence for a moment, and then: “Oh. Yeah. The occult professor. I was wondering if we were ever going to hear anything else from you. I’m figuring since you’re calling on a Sunday night, that means you’ve got something?”
“I do—sort of. Have you heard about the odd explosion at the Royal Crest Hotel in Palo Alto, about an hour ago?”
“Uh…hang on…” There was a brief pause, and then he was back. “Yeah. Palo Alto PD’s out there on the scene. But what’s that got to do with—”
“I’d advise you to get in touch with them. Does your information include the name of the victim?”
“How do you know there’s a victim?” Flores asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
“I talked to some of the employees. Apparently the scene was quite gruesome. Do you have a name?”
“Yeah. At least the name of the room’s registered guest. You’re right—from what I’m seeing here, there’s not enough left of the vic to identify. But the room’s registered to a Simon Beal. That ring any bells?”
Stone nodded for Grace’s benefit and gave her a thumbs-up. “I believe Mr. Beal is—or was—the architect of your murders, Captain.”
“What?” There was the sound of typing and paper-shuffling. “The report says this guy was seventy-five years old and five-five. How could he have—”
“Remember I told you I was consulting with an expert on the sigils? Mr. Beal was that expert. I grew suspicious of him after doing some checking on my own. I suggest you ask the Palo Alto police to look for a large leather briefcase in the room. You’ll want to examine the contents. I think you’ll find them quite enlightening.”
The line crackled as Flores paused again, clearly thinking. “Dr. Stone…I don’t know what to say. You’re telling me a tiny little seventy-five-year-old man committed more than a half-dozen murders, dismembered bodies, skinned and drained them…and nobody caught on? I’m sorry, but I can’t buy that.”
Stone sighed. Sometimes—more often, lately—he wished he could just tell the whole truth. “Captain, I can’t give you anything else, except for this: there won’t be any more murders. I didn’t say Mr. Beal committed them—I said he was the architect of the plan.”
“So who did commit them, then?”
Stone glanced at Grace and frowned, shaking his head. “All I can tell you is to call Peter Casner in Ojai. Tell him what I told you, and ask him if he thinks you should believe me. Oh—and if no one’s examined the organs found in that church in Milpitas last night, you’ll want to make sure they do that. I think you’ll find they belong to your murder victims.”
“What the hell? Stone, how did you—”
“There really isn’t anything else I can say. I need to be going now. If you want to chat later, call me at my office tomorrow. Good night, Captain Flores.”
“Stone—”
Stone hit the button to break the connection, and put the phone away.
“He didn’t believe you, did he?” Grace asked.
“They never do. But that’s all right. They don’t have to. There still won’t be any more murders, and that’s good enough for me.”
Chapte
r Sixty-Nine
Abuelita was waiting for them when they got back to Grace’s apartment an hour later. She was seated in her flowered chair, a Spanish-language movie blaring in the background, but she snapped it off and levered herself up when Grace and Stone came in. She said something to Grace, nodded once, and then looked at Stone questioningly.
“She says God told her we were successful,” Grace said.
“Well, it’s good to have confirmation from the top, I suppose.”
“And she wants to know if you’ve brought Emilio’s sword back.”
Stone pulled it from the inside of his coat and offered it, hilt-first, to the old lady. “Please thank her for the loan, and tell her it performed admirably.”
Abuelita crossed herself, took the sword, and put it on the end table next to her chair. Then she said something else and hurried out of the room.
“She says to wait—she’s going to bring us something to eat. She’s been keeping it warm.”
“I certainly won’t turn that down—I’m not an idiot.” He paused, looking at Grace. “Ms. Ruiz…I wonder if we might chat for a bit before she returns.”
“What about?” She sat down on the couch and indicated the spot at the other end.
Stone took a deep breath, considered, and then took the offered spot, careful to leave the middle space open so as not to disturb Abuelita by getting too close. “I think by now you’ve fully acknowledged that you have…gifts that the average person doesn’t have.” When she started to speak, he held up his hand. “As I said before—it doesn’t matter if they’re talents you have within you, or gifts from God. I think your grandmother has them too. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you got them from her, since they usually pass along gender lines. But wherever they came from, I urge you once again to spend some time learning your capabilities, and discovering what you can accomplish with them.”
She looked at her hands in her lap. “We went over this before, Dr. Stone.”
“I know we did. But that was before—well, before you’ve proven that your abilities are rather exceptional, even among those who have them. I think they might be somewhat narrowly focused—it’s hard to tell, since you haven’t really tried doing anything else—but even if they are, in your area of expertise you have the potential to be an impressive practitioner.”
“I don’t want to be an impressive practitioner. I want to do what I’m doing now—serve God.”
Stone glanced at the doorway leading to the kitchen, where enticing aromas were starting to drift outward. No sign of Abuelita yet. “Are you telling me you can’t serve God by cultivating your talents? If you believe he gave them to you, then why wouldn’t you want to make the best of them?”
She didn’t answer for several seconds, then met his gaze. “Suppose I did decide to go along with what you suggest. Who would teach me? You?”
“No. As much as I’d be honored to do that, I already have an apprentice. More importantly, I’d be all wrong for you. Your faith is the most important thing in your life, and I don’t even believe in God. Hardly the foundation of a productive partnership. No, as I mentioned, I’ve got a friend who’s both a mage and a minister, back East. He’s not Catholic, but I don’t know any Catholic mages. It would be a place to start, anyway. Perhaps he knows someone else.”
“Back East.”
“Yes, his church is in Massachusetts.”
She took a deep breath and looked down.
“What’s wrong?”
When she looked up again, her expression was sad and determined. “Dr. Stone, I was glad to be a part of what we did. It felt like the right thing to do—what God wanted me to do. But—you don’t really understand my life very well, do you?”
“What does that mean?”
She gestured out toward the street. “You drive a big fancy car. You live in a beautiful house in one of the most expensive parts of the Bay Area. You teach at Stanford. You can just take time off whenever you need to go deal with something, and you don’t have to worry about losing your job.”
“I—” he started to protest, but she held up a hand.
“I didn’t mean that as some kind of criticism, or envy. Not at all. Everyone’s life is different, and God has a different plan for every person. I’m happy with what I have. We have a roof over our head, plenty of good food, a church family who loves and accepts us…I have nothing to complain about. My life is blessed. But you’re asking me to move all the way across the country to study with someone I haven’t even met. What about Abuelita? We barely get by now, with what I make working at the church and her Social Security checks. If the church didn’t help, we’d probably have to move out of the area. Am I just supposed to leave her here?”
Stone bowed his head briefly. He hadn’t even considered that. “She could go with you,” he said. “I could help with the—”
She shook her head, her expression gentle now. Her warm hand closed over his. “No, Dr. Stone. No. We won’t accept charity from you. And even if we would, I’d never ask Abuelita to leave. She’s lived in San Jose since she was a little girl. Her life is here. Her church, her friends, her family…no. We will stay here. If God wants to teach us anything about the gifts He’s given us, then I believe he’ll do that. In the meantime…”
She didn’t get to finish, because at that moment Abuelita bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with food. She looked pointedly at Grace, who scooted back over to her end of the couch, and then plopped herself down between her granddaughter and Stone and set the tray on the coffee table with a satisfied smile.
“You’re sure?” Stone asked softly, over the old lady’s head. “There’s nothing I can say—no way I can offer to help—that will change your mind?”
“No. I’m sorry, Dr. Stone. I’ll follow God’s plan. I trust Him to show me the path He’s mapped out for me. I’m pretty sure He hasn’t revealed all of it yet.”
He smiled, ducking his head in acceptance. “I will see you again, though, won’t I?”
She smiled. “You know where I live. And I won’t lose your phone number.”
Abuelita shifted her stern gaze between them and said something sharp, then pointed first at Stone, then at the tray of food.
“What did she say?”
“She says we should stop talking over her head. And she wants you to eat.” She chuckled. “She wants me to invite you back, because whoever looks after you obviously isn’t doing a very good job.”
He looked at the two of them sitting there together—grandmother and granddaughter, old and young, one still firmly set in the old ways and the other with one foot planted in the new while still doing her best to honor where she came from. Both of them brimming with untapped magical talent. Such a waste, if they decided to ignore it. He wished there were a way he could convince Grace, at least, to explore the limits of her gift. The things she might be able to do—
Instead, he smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll never turn down an invitation. But only if you’ll let me return the kindness.”
“Not by cooking, I hope.” Grace’s grin was impish.
“God forbid.”
Chapter Seventy
Raider took an instant liking to Verity.
She and Jason lounged on the sofa in Stone’s sitting room a week later; the moment Verity had entered the house, the cat had attached himself to her as if she were his long-lost mother. He was curled in her lap now, purring contentedly as she stroked his head.
“So the cops didn’t give you any trouble?” Jason asked. He’d finally been able to get a bit of time away from his PI training, and as soon as Verity had returned from her trip, they’d driven up to spend the weekend catching up with Stone.
“No. I didn’t talk to Flores again after I called him the night they found Beal, but he must have called Casner because nobody’s showed up at my house to arrest me. At least no
t yet.” Stone took a long drink from his glass of Guinness.
“And you were right—no more suspicious murders?”
Stone shook his head. “I’m quite certain we’ve seen the last of Archie. I’m sure there are plenty of others like him lurking out there somewhere, but for the moment I think I can afford to take a breather.”
He nodded toward Verity. “He certainly does like you. Fancy a cat?”
“You don’t want to keep him?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve grown rather fond of him, truth be told. I think it might be a bit quiet around here without him. But I’m not sure it’s fair to keep him here when he spends so much time alone.”
“He looks so deprived,” Jason said with a grin. “If he was any more deprived, he’d be soaking into V’s lap.” He leaned back. “I gotta say, I miss this. The training’s great, and I’m learning a lot, but everything seems…I dunno…a little mundane after the stuff we were doing.”
“You can always come back up here,” Stone pointed out. “When do you finish your training and sit your exam?”
“Still got another couple years to go. Assuming I pass, I’ll get my license and I can either keep workin’ with Fran if she’ll have me, get a job with another agency, or try to start one of my own.”
“What about—forgive me, been a bit busy lately, brain’s still fried—what was her name again?”
“Kristen,” Jason said with a loud sigh. “Yeah, there’s her too. I don’t know if it’s gonna get serious yet, but I do want to give it a chance to find out.”
Stone nodded. “And what about you?” he asked Verity. “Getting any feeling for whether you plan to come back to me, or has Edna stolen you away for good?”
“I think I’ve still got more to learn from her,” she said. “But I’m definitely coming back. I figure I’ll re-evaluate after Jason gets his license. It’d make more sense for us to either both come back or both stay, you know?”
“I’ll give her a call,” Stone said. “I’ve been meaning to chat with her—get a progress report and whatnot. But at any rate, it’s good to see you.”
