“The truck thief?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “Miss Bonheim will need to come to the station to provide a statement.”
A statement? I wrapped my arms around my sweater. “But I don't know anything!”
“And yet,” the sheriff said, “bodies keep dropping around you. Strange that this is the third murder in Doyle you've been connected to.”
“I had nothing to do with this,” I choked out.
“Your truck says otherwise.” She motioned to the two deputies who’d collected me from my apartment. “O'Reilley, Sully, take her to the station.”
CHAPTER THREE
In the end, the deputies didn't take me to the station. Nick did.
The lawyer and I were escorted to a cinderblock interview room. There, we waited.
“I hope I'm getting the friends and family discount.” Muscles rigid, I paced the linoleum floor. My gaze flicked to the clock above the one-way mirrored glass. An hour had ticked past.
He grinned. “Don't—”
The metal door opened, and the sheriff strode inside. She unzipped her jacket and dropped her broad-brimmed hat on the table. “We've spoken with Brayden Duarte.” She scraped a metal chair away from the table and sat.
My shoulders relaxed. “And he told you what happened.”
“Your stories corroborate,” she said.
“Then there's no further reason to hold Ms. Bonheim.” Nick rose, his chair, rasping against the linoleum floor.
“Actually,” she said, “there is. Ms. Bonheim was a suspect in the death of Mr. Duarte's wife. And now he’s her only alibi, after a date at the murder site.”
“What?” I cried out.
“Mr. Zana was killed at the Bell and Thistle?” Nick asked.
“In its parking lot, where both Ms. Bonheim and Mr. Duarte admit they were drinking. We only have their word for it that one of them didn't kill Mr. Zana and then call in her pickup as stolen after the body had been disposed of.”
My muscles were barbed wire, wound taut. “That's ridiculous.”
“Is it?” she asked. “How long have the two of you had a relationship?”
“I've known Brayden for years,” I said.
“That isn't what I'm asking.”
“I know what you're asking.” Annoyed, I tugged on my scarf, strangling myself. “And it's none of your damn business.”
Nick laid a hand on my arm.
I bit my lip and slumped in the metal chair. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“You’re fishing,” the lawyer said. “You already know who killed Mrs. Duarte last summer. You have a confession and multiple witnesses. Ms. Bonheim has told you everything she knows about the theft of her truck. She won't be answering any more questions.”
I took the hint and clamped my mouth shut.
Nick and the sheriff argued my fate for a good twenty minutes. I sat, nails leaving white moons in my palms. Nick was a good lawyer. He'd helped me before. I needed to trust him to do his job. But was this my future? Being blamed for every murder in Doyle now? And poor Matt – he deserved justice. If the cops focused on me, he wouldn’t get it.
Finally, the sheriff rose. “You're free to go, Ms. Bonheim. But don't leave town.”
She escorted us from the interview room and to the front entrance, a high atrium area dotted with potted plants. Light filtered through the steel clouds and into the skylights.
My sisters leapt from two, soft chairs.
“Jayce! Are you all right?” There was a thready, nervous jolt to Karin’s voice.
“I'm fine,” I said. “Nick saved the day again.”
Karin smiled up at him.
He took her hand. “I didn't do much.”
“He's being way too modest,” I said. “How did you know I'd be here?”
“Brayden called us,” Lenore said. “The police questioned and released him. He figured they'd do the same to you.”
My heart jumped. “Is he here?” I scanned the atrium. Two uniformed deputies walked past, coffee mugs in their hands.
“No,” Lenore said. “I think he called us from the road.”
A soft, despairing noise escaped my throat. “Oh.” I swallowed. Well, what had I expected? That he'd hang around the police station waiting for me?
Yes.
I should have left it alone. But automatically, my phone was in my hand, and I was calling him.
This is Brayden. Leave a message at the tone.
“Hi,” I turned away from the others. “Thanks for letting Lenore and Karin know what happened. Call me when you can.” I hung up, disappointed.
“Let's get out of here.” Karin nudged my shoulder.
Nick checked his watch. “My parents should be at my place in Angels Camp any minute. I need to get back to town.”
“Right, Angels Camp, the big city.” Karin laughed and kissed his cheek. Angels Camp was the nearest “big” town to Doyle, “big” being extremely relative. “Do you mind if I—”
“Stay.” He pushed a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, and I could feel the bands of heat emanating from them both. “You three have things to discuss. Jayce? No more talking to the police without me.”
I nodded and watched him stride away. Where was Brayden now? What was he thinking? Anxiety bloomed in my chest.
“Lunch?” Karin said.
Eating beat worrying about Brayden. Starving, I agreed.
We jammed into Karin's red Ford, and she drove us into Doyle. She parked on the side of the road, beside a yellow cottage that had been converted into a wine tasting room. Twinkle lights twined its white bannisters and looped from its peaked roof. The garden’s rose bushes had been pruned, dormant for the winter.
We walked down the uneven sidewalk to our favorite brunch spot, Alchemy. My steps were quick, and I forced myself to slow. Rushing wouldn’t cool my agitation.
The hostess, Bianca, led us across the red-tiled floor to a table between an open fireplace and a blank wall. She left us with menus.
Karin didn't bother to look at hers. “Is everyone else thinking what I'm thinking?”
I laid my menu on the white tablecloth. “It's too much, isn't it?” I didn't have to think or analyze. The unease, the sense of a malevolent force watching, was growing.
“The two murders last summer and now Matt Zana?” Lenore asked. “This has to be...” she glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. “...the curse.”
“Not the curse,” Karin said in a low voice. “The unseelie. It's been toying with us ever since Ellen got sick and...” She blinked rapidly, her eyes growing wet.
Died. I looked away from Karin. Our aunt, a powerful witch, had protected us for years. But when her cancer had spread, all hell had broken loose.
Our family was cursed — every Bonheim woman died at the birth of her first child. The child was always a girl, who carried on our tragic tradition. As triplets, we were the first to break the pattern. This time, there wasn’t just one Bonheim woman, fighting alone. There were three.
I'd been the firstborn. Then Karin, with the umbilical cord wrapped so tightly around her neck she'd turned blue. Our mother had died with Lenore still inside. The doctor had given Lenore up for dead, but a nurse had pulled her from our mother’s corpse. Lenore had lived.
What we hadn't understood until recently was that someone — something — was behind it all.
A headache flared behind my temples. Not only was the fairy – or unseelie – keeping our curse alive, but it was messing with the entire town. Once every seven years, a hiker disappeared into the woods, never to be found. But there were other oddities as well. The unseelie spell caused some to be unlucky, others charmed, and everyone crazy good looking. Living in Doyle was like existing in a high-priced catalog, surrounded by ageless models. I gnawed my bottom lip. What would the three of us look like if the unseelie's influence ever broke?
Oh, well. I couldn’t worry about that, and ignorance was bliss. Life had been so much easier before I’d started wo
rrying about family curses. Now everything was weighted with meaning and dark portents. Admitting how I felt about Brayden was a trap. And a murder…
“All right.” Karin tapped a slender finger on the tablecloth. “The last time this happened, a human was at fault. We only suspect the unseelie was guiding the crime to our door. Now that it's happened again, I think we can say this has moved from a hypothesis to a theory. It can’t be coincidence that Jayce has been implicated in a murder again. But what does it mean?”
“It means the police will blame Jayce,” Lenore said. “The fairy—”
“Unseelie,” Karin corrected. She was a stickler for defining things properly, and an unseelie was a beautiful and nasty type of fairy. We weren’t dealing with cutsey winged creatures.
“The unseelie,” Lenore said, “will make sure of that.”
“Karin,” I said, “the last time this happened, you were able to see the dark connections between people.” One of Karin's gifts was the ability to see the energetic connections between people. She was able to detect the dark cords of the unseelie's influence, all linking to a local fairy spring. Maybe there was another way to use Karin's talents? “If you looked at the suspects, could you see a cord connecting them to the murder?”
The waitress materialized at our table. She pulled a notepad from the pocket of her short, black apron. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Iced tea,” Karin said.
Lenore and I ordered the same, and the waitress bustled away.
“No,” Karin said. “Now that Matt Zana is dead, any energetic connection to him is gone. Besides, the darkness is all over Doyle, in nearly everyone’s auras.” She shuddered. “It's kind of creepy.”
“Who are the suspects?” Lenore asked.
“For the murder or the fairy?” I asked.
“Let’s start with the murder,” Karin said.
“Matt was married,” I said, thoughtful, “and the spouse is usually suspect number one.” I blew out my breath in frustration. “I don’t know who else. When Matt installed those shelves at Ground, all he seemed to do was talk. I wish now I could remember what he’d said.” I should have listened, but I’d been busy, and Matt had talked way too much.
Karin brushed her auburn hair behind her shoulders. “This may be an opportunity.”
I crossed my arms. “I might be charged with murder again, and this is a good thing?”
“You won’t be charged,” Karin said. “And the unseelie's been lying low for the last six months. If it's involved, then that means it's using its magic again, and that means we have a better chance of tracking it.”
“How?” I asked.
Karin colored. “Magic always leaves a trail. Have either of you two sensed anything?”
“Should we… try?” Lenore asked. “Now?”
“It can’t hurt,” I said.
Famous last words.
We stilled, and my sisters’ eyelids drooped.
It was a simple sensing ritual, beginner’s play. I closed my eyes and sent my energy into the ground, imagined it extending like a root system, wrapping around the rocks, digging deep into the soil.
A burst of acrid power flooded my head in a seething rush that was both erotic and alarming. I gasped and grasped the edge of the table to keep from falling from my chair. Bands of energy snapped and roared, overwhelming. My hold on reality loosened, and I was plummeting. I wrenched myself free and opened my eyes.
“Oh.” Karin’s voice trembled.
Lenore, even paler than usual, blinked.
“That wasn't normal,” Karin said, “was it?”
“No,” Lenore said in a shaky voice. Her face had turned paper white. “It wasn't.”
Lenore worked shamanically, with the spirits in Upper and Lower Worlds. I didn't want to ask what she'd experienced. Whatever it had been, it had frightened her. It took a lot to scare Lenore.
I loosened my death grip on the table. Movements uneven, I grabbed my glass and gulped water, spilling some. I wiped my chin with the back of my hand. “So. That’s new.” I was an earth witch. I didn’t fall. I grounded. Whatever we’d brushed against wasn’t playing by magical rules.
“Big magic,” Lenore agreed.
“We can try this again,” I said, “in the woods. If we do this closer to the fairy spring—”
“NO,” my sisters said in unison.
“Why not?” My fingers drummed the tabletop. “It’s the first time we’ve sensed her since—”
“Are you kidding?” Karin’s knuckles whitened on her water glass. “That nearly knocked me out of my chair. I don't want to get closer to that power. Not until we're ready.”
“But how will we know we're ready?” I asked. “Maybe we should try again. Maybe this is our chance.”
Lenore shook her head, her blond hair a rippling wave. “Karin's right. It's too dangerous. Not until we've got a better plan.”
“Do you think whatever's attacking us is waiting around to develop a plan?” I asked, incredulous.
Karin angled her head. “Were either of you able to get a lock on where the magic was coming from?”
“We know where it's coming from,” I said. “The spring.”
“Which we agreed to avoid,” Lenore said.
“We know there's power in that spring,” Karin said, “but the unseelie has been living among us for over a hundred years. She’s somewhere here in Doyle, watching.”
“We think,” Lenore corrected.
“I'm connection girl,” Karin said. “I think this is up to me. Why don't I—”
The smiling waitress reappeared. “Hi, are you ready to order?”
“Um, yeah,” I said. We put in our orders and watched her depart, weaving through the tables and vanishing into the kitchen.
“I’ll figure out the human angle while you work the unseelie side,” I said. “It was my truck. This is about me.” Six months ago, I’d let Karin do all the heavy lifting. I'd trusted the universe would work things out for the best, like it always had. This time would be different.
“Great,” Karin said, looking pleased. “You take the mundane investigation, I’ll focus on the magical.”
“What am I?” Lenore asked. “Chopped liver?”
“Help Karin,” I said quickly. “You've got the connection to Lower World, and that's where unseelie energy comes from, isn't it?”
Lenore ran her thumb along one of her brows. “Not exactly. Fairies have their own plane. I've never tried to find it.”
“I'm not sure it matters,” Karin said. “This unseelie, for whatever reason, is working in our world. That's where we need to find it. I'm assuming we'll have the best chance of taking it out on our home territory. But if we work together on this, we'll have a better shot.”
I nodded. Karin was the weakest of us magically. She was the last person to lead a magical crusade. But a human had killed Matt Zana. I wanted to keep my sisters as far away from the killer as possible.
An elderly couple sat at a nearby table, and our conversation turned to mundane topics. My new spelled coffee scrub. The famous mystery writer Lenore had snagged as a speaker at the bookstore she managed. Karin's latest paranormal romance novella. You'd think she'd had enough of paranormal romance, since she basically lived one. But Karin insisted you should write what you know.
After lunch, I let my sisters think I was walking home. Instead, I turned off Main Street, striding down the short hill and past the park. Its white-painted gazebo stood forlorn and abandoned in the winter. The grass was brown, dotted by patches of sodden earth.
I rolled my shoulders, and my boot skidded on an icy patch of earth. Maybe I shouldn't have chosen spike-heeled boots for a walk to Brayden's. Or maybe I'd chosen the thigh-high suede because deep down I knew I’d be seeing him.
Twenty minutes later, I strolled through a residential neighborhood of wide lawns and snaking fences. Brayden lived in a green, ranch-style house. I crunched along its gravel driveway, passing beneath oaks. Clusters of
mistletoe hung high in their branches, out of reach.
Brayden's Jeep sat in the carport. That meant he was probably home. I checked my phone. So why hadn't he returned my call?
Thighs freezing, I rang the bell. I hopped in place, blowing into my hands, trying in vain to warm myself.
After a few moments, the door opened, and Brayden's tall form stood silhouetted behind the screen. “Jayce.” There was a long moment. “What are you doing here?”
I smoothed my turtleneck, and wondered yet again if I’d made a mistake. “Can I come in?”
“Right. Sure.” He opened the screen door, and I followed him into the entryway. Thick parkas hung on the pegs by the door. A tumble of boots lay on the rag rug.
I waited for him to say something.
He didn’t.
“Karin and Lenore told me you called them to let them know I was at the station,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome,” he said cautiously.
“What happened?”
He turned and walked into the kitchen.
I followed the scent of coffee and bacon. A pan crusted with scrambled eggs lay at an angle in the too-small sink. But the metal counters were clean. A coffee maker perked. He didn't offer me any.
“Brayden? What did the police ask you?”
He stood at the counter, his strong back to me. “They asked me about last night, when we'd arrived, what I'd seen.”
“And you told them I arrived late,” I said, my stomach plummeting to the toes of my boots.
He turned and met my gaze. “I had to. I wasn't the only one at the bar who noticed. People saw me waiting.”
“It doesn't matter.” I rallied. “We both saw my truck being stolen.”
“I'm not sure the police believe the two of us. Jayce, it was a mistake for you to come here.”
“Why?”
“Because people are looking at us like we're lovers who colluded in murder.”
“What people? The cops have to look at everyone with suspicion.”
“Not just the cops,” he said. “The murder is going to get around town soon enough, and so will our role in it.”
“We didn't have a role in it!”
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