by D E Dennis
Michael booted up the laptop while he searched through the desks.
“It always did make you crazy when you couldn’t figure someone out in five seconds.”
“Most people aren’t that complicated,” Michael said absentmindedly. He pulled out a stack of magazines to see if there was anything hidden between or underneath. “The motivations for murder are always the same. Rage, jealousy, money, or psychopathy. We need to know what could have motivated Gabriel Silva.”
“Do you see anything?”
“No.” He carefully put everything back the way he found them and moved to the bed. In one smooth move, Michael lifted the mattress in one hand and felt around with the other. “Nothing here either.”
“Check under the bed.”
Michael let the mattress fall, then got down on his hands and knees. Dropping his head, he squinted as he looked around, but he didn’t need more light to tell him there was nothing there. The only things under this bed were dust bunnies.
“I’m going to check the closet,” Michael announced as he got to his feet. “Do you see anyone coming?”
“Not a soul, bro. You’re good to go.”
Michael moved past the desk and slid the closet door open. He whistled. “He and Beauty might have been a match made in heaven. The amount of designer clothes in here is staggering.”
“Not everyone shops off the sales rack, dear brother.”
“They do if they grew up in a place like our side. I think we can safely say Gabriel Silva has money.”
Monica shifted away from the window and turned to meet his eyes. “But if that’s true, why is he sharing a dorm on a college campus instead of getting his own place? Why can’t we find anything on him? A rich daddy CEO or a mom who invented billion-dollar tech.”
“That’s a good question,” Michael said. “A very good question.”
Michael turned back to the closet and pushed the clothes inside.
Nothing.
No door leading to a hidden panel behind the wall. No one waiting to pop out and yell “boo.” Just a blank white wall.
He reached up to the shelf overhead. Stacked to the ceiling were rows of shoe boxes, and based on the labels, the combined cost of these shoes was worth more than his month’s rent.
He shifted a stack to the side reached in between. It was a long shot, but maybe there was something in or behind the boxes that would—
“Michael, he’s here! We have to go!”
Michael jerked. He snatched his arm out and that’s where it all went wrong.
His sleeve caught on one of the shoe boxes, and he went down with a shout when the stack tumbled down onto his head.
“Michael!” Monica rushed to his side and helped him to his feet.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead where a loafer bonked it. He could already feel the lump growing. “We have to clean this stuff up quickly.”
Monica wasn’t looking at him. Eyes wide, she gazed down at her feet. “Yes, but what exactly is this stuff?”
Michael looked down and his breath caught. Scattered among the shoes were photographs. Of various sizes and shapes, but like the ones that adorned the walls of Cadal Manor. They were all of one particular person.
“What in the world is this?!” Monica exclaimed.
“I don’t know, but he’s coming back. We have to put everything back, now.”
They jumped into action. Monica haphazardly flung shoes into boxes with no care to matching pairs or labels, while Michael scrambled to pick up the photographs. They had fallen out of a box that had upended. He lifted it and found even more pictures underneath and some cut-up pieces of paper.
Scanning them quickly as he threw them inside, he felt the seconds scuttling up his back and latch onto his ear screaming, “hurry, hurry, hurry!”
“Michael, he must be stepping into the hallway right now!” she hissed as she roughly shoved the boxes back. “How are we supposed to get out of here?”
Michael shoved their creepy find at her and raced to the window. “We have to jump.”
“Are you insane?! We’re on the second floor!”
“It’s not that high. I’ll go first and catch you.”
Michael yanked the window open. It gave way with a loud screech that Michael prayed couldn’t be heard outside the room.
There was no time to think. Michael lifted his leg, stuck it out the window, then his head and other leg followed.
He leaned forward—
—and choked when a hand caught his collar and dragged him back.
“Michael, you’ll break your foolish neck,” Monica hissed. “Stop this. We’ll explain what happened. Convince him not to call the cops.”
“Monica,” he wheezed in her stranglehold. “You’re the one who is going to break my foolish neck.”
She quickly released him. “I’m sorry. Now come back in—”
Michael took his chance and jumped, his sister’s scream following him all the way down.
He hit the ground hard, crumpling in the grass and rolling a few feet from the window, but he didn’t have time to check for broken bones. He scrambled back and looked up into Monica’s frantic face.
“Are you okay?” she cried.
“I’m fine but, Mo, you have to jump now. He might have heard you scream.”
Her head whipped around. “Michael, he’s opening the door!”
“Jump now! I’ll catch you.”
Monica’s head disappeared and her legs came out the window. Michael barely had time to blink before two ankle-length boots came hurtling at his head.
He caught her and they collapsed in a heap on the floor, all the air rushing out of him with an oomph.
They clambered to their feet and made a run for it. Full-out sprinting to the car, throwing themselves in, and peeling out of the parking lot with tires squealing.
“WE ARE NEVER, EVER, ever doing anything like that again!”
Michael’s head lolled as his sister grabbed him by the collar and shook him. She had pounced on him the moment he parked the car in front of the Little Pigs. “Never!”
“Did you forget that I was the one who wanted to chicken out,” he protested as he freed himself. “I thought this was what you signed up for.”
“I didn’t sign up to have you throw yourself out of second-story windows. You could have gotten seriously hurt.”
She crossed her arms and threw herself back into her seat. With a start, Michael saw tears forming in her eyes.
He softened his voice. “I’m okay, Mo. Really. I’ve got a scraped elbow and a small lump on my forehead. No big deal.”
She sniffled. “Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “Next time, I’ll happily be hauled away by the cops.”
“Good.” She granted him a small smile and he knew they were good again. “So, what now?”
“Now, lunch,” he said firmly. “We can figure everything else out after.”
“That’s the best plan you’ve had all week.”
Chapter Six
“I guess this means we’re back to talking?” Monica asked as she picked a pickle from her burger and popped it directly into her mouth.
“That seems the safest option.” Michael took a bite of his own burger before continuing. “I’d like to know more about the argument Claudia and Beauty got into the day of the party.”
“I would like an explanation for that as well. She smacked the mess out of that girl.”
“And then there’s Malia Diragoni.”
“And we can’t forget—”
“Gabriel,” they said at the same time.
“Those photos seemed creepy,” Monica said. “But could Beauty have posed for them? She clearly liked getting her picture taken.”
He shook his head. “I was rushed, but from what I could tell, they were long-distance shots and she wasn’t looking at the photographer in any of them. She didn’t know someone was taking her picture.”
Monica sh
ivered. “This just gets weirder and weirder.”
Michael couldn’t argue with that. “Do you have Malia’s number?”
“I have her business card, but Ella should have the number of her personal secretary.”
“Have her call and arrange for us to meet with her, as soon as possible. We’re halfway through day one and we only have more questions instead of answers.”
“I’ll call her right now.”
Michael went back to his meal as his sister spoke to Ella, but his thoughts weren’t on his food. The waiter could have switched his burger for a mound of clay and he wouldn’t have noticed. The only things that penetrated his brain were statements, motives, and alibis. They all swirled around, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make it all come together.
“SO AM I EVER GOING to find out what you meant this morning by ‘no more talking’?” Samira asked.
Michael chuckled into the phone. “For my sake, it’s better that you don’t.”
“Goodness, Mikey.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on doing anything like it ever again.” He absentmindedly rubbed his elbow. It was still smarting from the fall.
“Well, that’s probably for the best, so I’m glad to hear it.”
A tap on the window drew Michael’s attention. He waved to his mother. “I’ve got to go, Mira. I’ll call you later.”
“Hey, Mom,” he said as she climbed into the car. “How did the appointment go?”
Michael’s mother had regular doctor appointments but no car. So Michael and Monica took turns picking her up and dropping her back home.
“This old body is still in working order.”
“Nothing old about you, Mom.”
“Aw.” She reached over and patted his cheek. “Such a sweet boy.”
Michael cried out when the same hand popped him over the head.
“That is why it was such a disappointment when you ran out of dinner the other night. Your father was only trying to help.”
Michael pressed his lips together, clamming up.
“And refusing to speak won’t work either. Michael, I know you and your father have your issues, but you two can’t go on like this any longer. You have to talk.” She moved her hand down to his shoulder. “Promise me you will?”
His phone went off at that precise moment and Michael answered rather than respond to his mother. “Yes?”
“Malia just called me back,” Monica replied. “She said we can drop by her house tonight after dinner. She lives in Fairy Tails on Brambles Street.”
“See you then.”
Michael hung up and turned the key in the ignition. “Mom, I have to speak to someone about the case, so I can’t stick around for dinner.”
“Michael Cornelius Grimm,” she said sternly, hands on hips. “I want you to promise me that you will speak to your father.”
“I promise,” he replied easily. “Please don’t get upset, Mom.”
She sniffed but she removed her hands. “Good. Now, what’s all this business about you not having time to eat dinner with your own mother?”
“It’s about the case.”
“You still have to eat.”
“It takes forty-five minutes to drive across town and get through the Fairy Tails gate. I have to get going if I—”
“You can’t skip meals, Michael.”
They continued in that vein for the rest of the trip. Needless to say, Michael had dinner with his mother.
“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” Monica asked as he climbed out of the car.
“Your mother.”
She laughed. “Mom refused to let you leave without dinner?”
“Pretty much.”
They strode toward the mansion. Michael whistled. “Wow, she really takes this all-black, dungeons-and dragons thing seriously.”
“Old money.”
Michael looked at her questioningly.
“Not hers,” Monica added. “She didn’t move here until Year of the Dragon took off. She bought the place from the last heir of an old Castle Rock family. So, you’ll have to blame them for the décor.”
The place truly looked like a castle with turrets, and arches, and steeple roofs. But this castle was built out of dark stone and woods. They climbed the front steps and Michael lifted his brow when he saw the door knocker. “Really?”
Monica tittered as they took in the massive dragon’s head positioned on the door. “Well, I’ll admit that one must have been her.”
Forgoing the knocker, Michael pressed the doorbell.
Malia did not leave them standing on the doorstep for long.
“Hello, darlings,” she said brightly, sweeping out her arms. Her black, batwing blouse billowed with the gesture. “Welcome to my home.”
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Monica said, stepping over the mat and inside. “We know it’s late.”
“Late?” She laughed. “Darling, this is business hours for me. Not a lot of lavish parties are held at tea time. Come, come, come,” she said, flapping her hands. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, we’re fine,” Monica said.
They trailed behind her as she led them through into the living room. Michael wasn’t sure what he was expecting—actually, he did know what he was expecting and this warm, bright space with yellow wallpaper, seascape paintings, antique shelves, and hanging string lights wasn’t it.
He tried to keep the shock off his face as he sat down on an aqua-colored loveseat, but Malia smirked at him across the coffee table.
“Everyone is surprised when they visit my home,” she said to him. She threw him a wink. “You don’t have to hold back.”
Michael blinked at her. Usually, I’m the one reading people. Not used to it being the other way around.
“Your home is... lovely,” he finished lamely.
“It is lovely,” Monica echoed. She was still up and walking around the room. She paused in front of the shelves. “These statuettes are adorable and—oh, hello. Who is this little beauty?”
Monica had gravitated to the second shelf. From his position, he could not see what she was looking at as the shelves were facing the opposite wall. Malia’s back was turned to Monica entirely, but all the same, she answered without turning around. “That would be my daughter, Alaina,” she said lightly.
“She’s beautiful,” Monica fawned. “Look at these cute pictures. Is she in a duck costume in this one?”
Malia rose the second Monica picked up the frame and appeared at her side. “Yes, she is,” she replied as she took the photo from her hands. “It was Halloween.”
Monica came over and took a seat next to Michael. “How old is she now?”
Malia did not answer right away. Carefully, she placed the photo back in its rightful place, then she sat down. “She was three years old,” she said, looking at them steadily. “When she died in a car accident off Siren Woods.”
Monica sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It was over twenty years ago, darling. There’s no reason you should have known.” Malia crossed her legs and settled her hands on her knee. “So what did you want to speak with me about?”
“Your ex-husband,” Michael said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I see that particular cat is out of the bag,” she said, laughing.
“Was it a secret?”
She cocked her head. “No, why would it be? It’s just ancient history. We got divorced twenty-four years ago.”
“But you remained friends?”
She shrugged. “It took some time for us to become friends, but we got there in the end. Charles was my best friend long before he was my lover or husband. We didn’t want to lose that.”
“You’ve known him a long time.”
It was a statement, but Malia answered it like it was a question. “Since I was fifteen.”
“Why did you two break up?”
Her smile morphed into a frown. “I’m sure that’s none of
your business.”
Monica elbowed him and he fell silent.
“We are not trying to be nosy,” Monica explained. “We just want to get a better idea of who Charles was.”
“Why?”
“Can I be straight with you?” Michael said, speaking up again despite the look his sister was throwing him.
Malia looked between the two of them before nodding. “I wish you would.”
“The issue from the very beginning of this case was: did Beauty Cadal fall down the stairs or was she pushed? And if she was pushed, how did the killer manage to do it while everyone was in the ballroom? We tried to work the case, ignoring that problem for the time being, while we focused on finding suspects who would want to hurt her in the first place, but we can’t ignore it anymore, Malia... because now we know that not everyone was in the ballroom at nine o’clock.”
She blinked at him. “You mean Charles? Well, of course, he wasn’t there. He went out to get the cake, so he could roll it in after the show. But what does that have to do with—” Her eyes widened as the implication hit her. “Wait, no! You can’t possibly think he would hurt Beauty.”
“We don’t want to think that,” Monica said. “But we can’t ignore that he’s the only one with no alibi for the time she fell.”
“That does not matter in the slightest,” said Malia firmly. “Alibi or no alibi, he would never hurt that girl.”
“The idea is unthinkable, but we do have to ask. Especially since we know he had a temper. He went after Beauty’s boyfriend.”
Monica conveniently left out that Gabriel was most likely a stalker but the words had its intended effect.
Malia’s indignant expression slipped. “He did?”
Nodding, Monica continued. “Yes. First time he ever met him and he attacks him in a parking lot. You’ve known him for most of your life, has he ever gotten violent like that before... maybe when he’s been drinking?”
Malia flinched, her indignation had fled completely. “So that cat is out of the bag as well,” she said softly.
“I’m afraid so.”
Malia pressed her lips together, face pinched.
