by Beth Yarnall
Detective Weller winked at me. I could almost hear the ping off his toothpaste smile.
“Who did you get, Roy?” Comb-over asked with a smirk, showing off less-than-stellar dental hygiene.
Platt jabbed a thumb at Jun. “I got a name for the clown in there.”
“What’d you get?” Kennedy asked.
“Real name’s Hideki Komatsu. American citizen. Orphaned at the age of eight.” Platt frowned over that bit of knowledge. “In the system until it kicked him out at eighteen. He’s got a clean record. No warrants. No arrests.”
I kept my eyes on Jun as Platt read off a few more tidbits about him. He hadn’t gotten much of a break in life, losing both parents and being thrown in the system at such a young age. Was it any wonder he had tried to recreate a family for himself and a new identity to go with it?
“He’s a grown-up,” Alex said next to my ear. “He doesn’t need a mother.”
“Doesn’t he? Doesn’t everyone?”
“You can’t fix what’s broken inside him.”
“No. I can’t.” And that made me sadder than I had words for.
Alex sighed. “All right. We’ll take him back to the hotel with us. Make sure he’s okay. But when we leave tomorrow, you’re going to have to say good-bye.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. There could be charges against him for injuring that officer. Or Kennedy could decide to throw him in the hospital with his friend.”
“Or I could cut him loose,” Kennedy said from behind us.
I turned away from the image of Jun in the mirror. “Really? You would do that?”
Kennedy’s frown could have anchored a boat. “Yeah. I would do that.”
“Thank y—”
Kennedy cut me off with a hand. “Don’t thank me, just keep him out of trouble and out of my sight.”
“Done. When can he leave?”
“We’ll take the restraints off and see how he does. If he’s calm, he’s out of here.”
“Tha—”
Kennedy put his hand up again, then made a shooing motion. I got the hint:
don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
Alex and I went into the hall. I turned back to say good-bye to Platt, and I saw Kennedy lean over and whisper something to him. Platt nodded solemnly. Kennedy looked up and caught me, his eyes hard and flat. Reaching up, he grabbed the edge of the door, shutting it in my face.
My hinky radar went off. Something wasn’t right here. I stared at the closed door a moment, trying to get a sense for what was off. Replaying the scene in my head, it suddenly hit me that Kennedy had let me hear the information about Jun’s life. Why would he have done that after he made me practically swear a blood oath to stay out of his investigation? He must have wanted me to have that information, but why? And what had he whispered to Platt? What was he planning?
I walked to where Alex waited outside the room Jun was in. I considered telling him my suspicions, but he’d probably just wave it off, teasing me about my overblown curiosity. I gave the door Kennedy had closed one last considering look. The detective was definitely up to something.
The other door opened, and Jun came out, followed by the uniformed officer.
“Azalea!” Jun threw himself at me, knocking me back against the wall. He squeezed me tight, rocking me side to side. “I’m so glad to see you.”
I patted him on the back. “Good to see you, too.”
He pulled back. “He said I could leave. I didn’t have to answer any more questions.”
“That’s right.”
“Where are we going?” Jun looked at me with that wide-open expression, as if he hoped I’d answer Disneyland or something.
“The hair show?”
“Oh, yes.” He bobbed his head up and down. “Let’s go there.”
We walked down the hall toward the entrance. Behind us a door opened. I looked back to find Kennedy standing in the hall, arms crossed, watching us. His clinical detachment had morphed into something hard and calculating. The fine hairs on my neck and arms lifted. I couldn’t help feeling as though I was walking into a carefully laid trap. One designed specifically for me.
The chill stayed with me as we walked into the oven-parched afternoon. I rubbed my arms.
Alex noticed the gesture. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what.”
“What do you mean?”
I gave a quick glace back at Jun, who strolled behind us, his head bopping to a beat only he could hear. “Kennedy made a big show with Amber about me not being involved in this case,” I whispered. “He was very clear about that. So why would he let me stay while he questioned Jun? And why did he let us hear all about his life? It’s like he wanted us to have that information. Or me specifically.”
Alex gave that some thought as we stood at the curb, trying to hail a cab. “You did calm Jun down.”
“I know, but he could have told me to tell Jun to cooperate and then make me leave. It didn’t occur to me at the time how quickly he gave in to my staying during questioning. Don’t you find it odd?”
Alex threw a look at Jun, who was busy touching a finger to the spikes of a cactus and giggling. “Define odd.”
“You know what I mean.”
Alex slipped an arm over my shoulders. “Odd has become so commonplace for me in the last couple of days that normal now seems strange.”
I gave him an elbow to the ribs. “Be serious.”
“I am, but yes, now that you mention it, it was unusual.”
“I think he’s up to something.”
“What?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Not everything is a conspiracy. Sometimes things really are how they appear on the surface.”
“Shh,” I said. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. There’s a conspiracy for every theory and ulterior motives behind every action. I was raised on suspicion and doubt. It coated my cornflakes and was stirred into my milk. I call it curiosity because it sounds cuter, but really I’m just a chip off the old block.”
“Come on. You’re not as cynical as all that.”
I wasn’t so sure. Life hadn’t exactly proven itself to be fair and danger-free. I looked back at Jun, who was staring up at the sun as if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Maybe that’s why I’d taken to him. He reminded me a little of myself once upon a time, before life had smacked me upside the head with reality. What was so wrong with a little escapism?
A cab finally pulled up to the curb, illegally picking us up off the street instead of at a taxi stand. We’d have to tip extra for that…again. If I had to pay for another taxi ride from the police station, I’d have to find a way to deduct it from my taxes.
We all climbed in, with me riding the hump, wedged between Jun and Alex.
The ride to the convention center was blissfully short. Jun scrambled out of the cab with the speed and grace of a young giraffe, all knees and elbows. Placing a hand on the seat, I slid over to get out on Jun’s side. My finger caught the edge of something. I pulled it out from between the seats. A hotel key card.
Alex had come around to my side of the car and gave me his hand. As soon as I was on the curb, I turned to pay the fare and slipped the card into my pocket.
“I already took care of it,” Alex said, closing the door and waving the driver off.
“Thanks. You’re much better to ride with than Roy. He didn’t even offer to pitch in for the tip.”
I moved to follow Jun into the convention center, but Alex held me back. “I’ve been giving some thought to what you said about Kennedy. And I think maybe you’re being a little paranoid, wanting to see some kind of conspiracy that doesn’t exist.”
“Paranoid?”
“You asked my opinion.”
“My mistake.”
“If you wanted someone to agree with you, then you should have taken your concerns to Juan Carlos or Jun. You asked my opinion. I’m giving it.”
/>
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it. But I think you should look at the possibility that your emotions are clouding your judgment.” He put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward him. “I’m worried about you.” He traced the dark circle under my eye with a fingertip. “You’ve been through a lot and you haven’t been sleeping well.”
“So in my sleep-addled state I’m manufacturing conspiracies, is that it?”
“Don’t get mad. I’m just concerned about you.”
“Then stop saying things that make me mad.”
He released me and threw up his hands. “Fine. I’ll do nothing but agree with you from now on.”
“There you go again, saying stupid, patronizing things that make me mad.”
“There’s no winning here, is there?”
“You want to win?” I cracked a self-deprecating smile. “Won’t happen. You can’t beat a paranoid, sleep-deprived conspiracy theorist who only wants a yes-man in her life.”
“For a minute there, I thought we were having our first fight.”
“Oh, you’ll know when we have our first fight.” I eyed him as though he might not measure up. “I hope you’re good at ducking.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a dodge-ball champ from way back.”
Gosh, he was cute when flustered to the edge of annoyance. His cheeks were a little flushed, his eyes sharp and snapping. But mostly I liked that he could go toe-to-toe with me. It didn’t hurt that he was sexy as hell and could kiss the clothes off a nun. I could get in real trouble with this one.
He moved into me, dipping his head for a quick kiss, proving his ducking skills and a whole lot more. Yeah, I could get into some real trouble here, I thought as he shifted back to meet my gaze. And there was the other thing that set Alex apart. He elevated eye-to-eye contact to an art form. I could almost feel my resolve to take it slow melt, along with a few other things, like my heart and virtue. If I weren’t careful, my panties would be dropping faster than coins from a slot machine.
“Come on,” Jun whined, dancing from foot to foot. “The Goth Hair for Emos class is just about to start.”
Alex twined his fingers with mine and we followed Jun into the convention center. “The what for what?” he asked.
“Goth. You know, black hair, lots of black eyeliner, black fingernails, pale skin, old-fashioned black clothing. Think macabre, pagan, erotic, and dark.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s the other?”
“Emo. Cutters, long bangs, studded belts, bright colors, and tight jeans. You know, sad, angst-ridden teens who write really deep, emotional poetry and cry a lot,” I said.
“And cutters?” he asked.
“People who cut or hurt themselves to feel physical or relieve emotional pain.”
“Huh. I don’t know whether to be impressed or depressed that you know all that.”
“Me neither.”
We reached the classroom where the workshop was being held. Glancing around, I felt like the only one not dressed for the costume party. The Emos looked like peacocks among the Goth crows. Jun fit in just fine, since his style was a tweaked conglomeration of both groups.
“Hey, there’s Trent, Emily, and Raven,” Jun said. “Come meet them.”
I eyed the tattooed, multipierced, black-garbed group he pointed out. “Yeah, that’s okay. You go be with your friends. Alex and I will sit in the back.”
When Jun was out of earshot, Alex leaned in. “Are we really staying? I’ve been made as a cop by half the room. The other half can’t get their eyes off their toes. Or if they could, they wouldn’t be able to see through all that hair in their face.”
“Come on, Grandpa.” I took his hand, steering him toward the exit. “I’ve got something in mind that might be more your speed.”
“Does it involve a dark, out-of-the-way corner?”
“No. It’s a class where they use five shears at once to cut hair.”
“How the hell do you do that? You only have two hands.”
“No, silly. They bind five or more shears together to make a multiblade shear, which isn’t all that special on its own. That’s been done for years.” We were crossing through the lobby on our way to the other classroom. “What’s so cool about this workshop is that you use two sets of multi shears, one in each hand.”
“Like Edward Scissorhands?”
“Kinda like that, yeah.” I stuttered to a stop in front of the memorial that had been set up the day Dhane had died. Something was very wrong.
Someone had drawn on the poster of Dhane, a jagged line right across his throat. Real-looking blood dripped from the gash, creating a puddle on the floor as if the wound had actually bled. I shuddered and curled into Alex’s arms.
With a hand to my mouth, I whispered, “Who would do such a horrible thing?”
Holding me, Alex bent to get a closer look, then leaned to inspect the back of the poster. “Someone rigged it. See here.”
I unfolded myself from him and peered at where he pointed. Someone had attached a bag of blood-like stuff and a small battery-operated pump that driveled droplets onto the front side through a small hole. Pretty ingenious and majorly disturbing.
Alex had his phone out and punched in numbers.
“Who are you calling?”
“Kennedy.”
“Why would he care about vandalism?”
“This may be the work of the killer. Kennedy’ll want to see this, maybe take some evidence.” He turned away a little, talking into the phone. “Kennedy? Alex Craig here. I found something you may want to have your guys get a look at.” He described what had been done to the poster. A couple seconds later he disconnected the call. “He’s sending somebody down.”
“Good. Let’s go. The farther away from that thing I get, the better.”
“Can’t. Someone might tamper with it and destroy evidence.”
“If they haven’t already. Who knows how long it’s been here like this. I’m not sticking around.” I hugged myself, rubbing my arms. “That thing gives me creep bumps.”
“I told Kennedy I’d stay till his guy shows up.”
“You’re on your own, then. I’m going to watch my Edward Scissorhands workshop. It’s the last session of the convention and I’m not missing anything else.” I pointed in the general direction of the room I’d be in. “I’ll be in N245 down that hall. Join me when you’re done, or if I’m done first, I’ll meet you back here.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being on your own, Azalea.”
“Look at all these people. I couldn’t be alone here if I tried. Besides, what could happen?”
“To you? What hasn’t happened?” He started ticking off items on his fingers. “You found a decapitated head—”
“I didn’t find it, Juan Carlos did.”
“You were there. Then you were there where the body was found.”
I propped both hands on my hips. “That was by accident. I didn’t know there would be a body in that suite.”
“You managed to find another dead body.”
“That wasn’t my fault either. I was kidnapped!”
“Yes, kidnapped.” He ticked off an extra finger. “Then you were questioned by the police—”
“Voluntarily.”
“—your flower was found in the hand of the second murder victim.”
“I lost that flower.” I cut a hand through the air. “Totally not my fault either.”
“As I’m sure the next terrible thing that will happen to you will be. Totally. Not. Your. Fault.”
I huffed and I puffed and dang it all, I couldn’t come up with a rebuttal.
Alex pointed a finger at me. “Face it. You’re a trouble magnet. So pardon me if I think of a thousand and one things that could happen to you when you ask me what could happen. And of all those things I can come up with, I’ll bet I don’t come up with the one thing that actually will happen.”
“Maybe I should have as
ked what else could possibly happen, because I should have more than reached my quota. Don’t you think? I mean, really, what else could happen?”
He gave me the same why-I-oughta look Moe used to give Curly. “Your logic.” He shook his head slowly. “It defies logic.”
“Yes, but it makes a perfect kind of sense.” I started to back away from him toward my workshop. One step, then another. “Don’t you think?”
“Azalea,” he warned.
I took another step back. “I’ll be fine.” I held up my cell phone. “See, I have my phone.” Another step. “I’ll call you and keep the line open. Then you can listen in.” I was about ten paces away now.
“This is not a good idea.” He reached for his ringing phone and frowned at the display before answering, “Azalea.”
“Hello?” I said as I backed up a little more. “See, this will work,” I assured him over the phone.
“Azalea,” he growled into his phone as I spun and jogged away.
“You can watch me by listening in,” I told him. “You can’t see me now, right?”
“No.”
“But you can hear me. I’ll leave the phone on in my lap during the workshop. I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t answer, and I got the feeling I wouldn’t be fine when he caught up with me later.
I slipped into a seat toward the back of the classroom. The workshop had already started. “Alex?” I whispered.
“I’m here. I still don’t th—”
The line went dead. I hit the end button and redialed. Nothing. No bars. Ah, cripes. I’d forgotten all about the spotty reception in the convention center.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I kept checking my phone for reception, totally missing the explanation on how to hold the shears. After about the fiftieth attempt, I gave up. If by some miracle I managed to get more than one measly flashing bar and Alex was able to get through to me, I didn’t want to miss his call. So I slipped my phone into the front pocket of my jeans and came up against the hotel card key I’d found in the cab. I pulled it out and flipped it over. Of all the rotten, mocking luck! The pearlescent, metallic logo of the Raine Hotel twinkled up at me like a warning beacon under the fluorescent overhead lighting. What were the odds? What were the mother-loving odds?
