“His debts?” I asked, confused by the conversational leaps. Everything about Melanie seemed disjointed. Her jerky movements. The band of flesh that broke the line between her sweater and faded jeans. Her scurrying gaze.
“You should see the stack I'm dealing with now. Even if I do get my share of the wellhouse land, I'm not sure I'll be able to pay them all.”
“Who did he owe?”
She arched a brow. “You think one of the people he owed money to killed him? That’s not likely. It would only lower the odds of Matt ever repaying. My point is, he couldn't have bought into that property.”
“But he was working as a handyman. He must have earned something.”
She snorted. “And spent it just as fast. He had nothing.”
“Could he have blackmailed Eric into letting him in on the partnership?”
She canted her head. “Maybe. He never took money from his victims, but...”
“But what?”
“But he did take favors. He's done a lot of work for Eric, even pointed him towards properties that were ripe for flipping. Matt had a knack for finding deals. And he believed Eric owed him. If my husband had something over Eric, he might have used it to pressure him into giving him a share in the wellhouse property. Matt wouldn't have seen that as wrong.”
“But Matt’s name wasn’t on the deed,” I said.
“No, Phoebe’s was.”
“So either Phoebe invested her own money, or Matt used some sort of leverage to get into the deal and used Phoebe’s name to hide his ownership from you?” But what sort of leverage might he have had over Eric? Was there something about the car accident that had killed Eric's first wife worthy of blackmail? Something only Matt and Eric had known?
“We’ll never prove it,” she said. “Not unless Eric talks. And why should he?”
“Did Matt ever say anything to you about what he might have had over Eric?” I didn't trust the new, helpful Melanie, but why not ask?
She arched a brow. “No. But he wouldn't. He knew Rasha and I were good friends.” She moved toward me, and I stepped away.
She stopped short, her lips compressing. “Scared to be alone with me?”
“Jayce!” Darla raced down the alley. She stumbled, panting, to a halt behind Ground and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. Oh, my God. Jayce!” Turning, she flung her arms around me, pulling me into a long hug. “Thank God you're okay. What can I do? How can I help?”
“Thanks Darla.” I pulled away. “But I'm not sure yet what needs doing.”
“What about insurance?” Her brown eyes were wide, anxious.
Wordless, Melanie walked away. Her slim frame hunched, fragile.
“I've got insurance,” I said, dragging my gaze back to Darla. “The company’s waiting on the results of the investigation.”
“Investigation?” Darla asked. “What's to investigate?”
“It might have been arson.” My throat tightened. “I guess they want to make sure I wasn't the person who set the fire.”
“Of course you wouldn’t do that.” She spun on her heel and motioned toward the wreckage. “But... everything's gone! What are we going to do?”
“Not everything.” I reached into the truck bed and patted the table. “We'll be okay.”
“You went inside? Is it okay to go inside?”
“Probably not, but I couldn’t help myself. Look, I'll call you when I figure out the next step. Hopefully, I'll have some news from the insurance company soon.”
I trudged to the gash in the brick where the back door used to be. Ducking beneath the police tape, I walked inside.
“Wait!” Darla hurried beneath the tape after me. Her shoe crunched on something, and she winced. “I'll help.”
“No,” I said. “I shouldn't even be in here. The police tape is up for a reason.”
Her jaw set, mulish. “Then they can arrest us both.”
“Darla, that's an order.”
“Oh, are you paying me now? Because the way it looks to me, you're out of business, and I no longer work for you.”
“Darla—”
She braced her fists on her hips. “I'm helping whether you like it or not. Helping. You're not paying me for this.”
I scraped my hand through my hair. If she stayed because of me, I’d be putting her in danger. The hell with my impulses, it was time to grow up. “Thanks, but there’s no need. I just wanted one last look around. I’m leaving now.” I clambered to the exit and scooted beneath the police tape, hoping she'd follow.
She didn't.
I stood outside, tapping my foot. “Darla, let’s go.”
“Do what you want. I'm staying.” A drawer scraped. “Look! The stuff in the junk drawer survived.”
I crossed my arms, exasperated. “Just what we need. Junk. Come on.”
Grinning, she hurried outside, the drawer in her arms. She loaded it into the back of my truck.
“Thanks. I think that’s everything.” I jingled my keys, walking toward the F-150.
But she bustled past me into Ground.
I groaned. “Oh, come on.” The universe was conspiring to keep me from doing the right thing.
Shaking my head, I followed her inside and paused to gaze again at the burnt-out stairs to my apartment. If things had survived in the café, something must have survived in my apartment.
Footsteps crunched behind me.
“Don't go upstairs,” I said. “It's too dangerous.”
“It's all too dangerous,” a man's voice graveled.
I turned.
Antoine stood in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His gray hair was flattened on one side, like he'd just rolled out of bed.
“Are you going to tell on me?” I asked.
“The way I see it, the fastest way to get you out of here, is to help. I'll see if there's anything salvageable in the front.” The older man moved past me into the coffee shop.
More people arrived. I told each to stay away, it was dangerous, we needed to leave. Each ignored my pleading, walking past me and into the wrecked café.
Lenore appeared, and then Karin and Nick. Soon a chain stretched from inside the building to my truck, each person passing some small thing to another. A chair, a metal trash bin, a plate. They were endangering themselves for my stuff, and my stuff wasn’t worth their lives.
“I appreciate this, everyone,” I shouted, setting a drawer full of utensils in my truck bed. “But it’s enough. We’re not supposed to be here. You can all go.”
A siren bleeped, and muttering flowed down the line. A black-and-white SUV cruised to a halt in the alley. Glowering, Officer Hernandez stepped out. “Don't you people know what police tape means?” he roared. “The building hasn't been cleared for safety! Get the hell out of here, everyone.” He turned on me. “Have you any idea how reckless this is?”
I hung my head. Even if I had tried to stop them, this was on me. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Nick laid a hand on my shoulder. “My client didn't have much choice in the matter. She told us to get out, and we all ignored her. What else could she do?”
Hernandez braced his fists on his hips. “I don't know, call the police?”
Lenore clambered over a pile of blackened rubble and smiled. “What are the odds of that happening?”
Hernandez whipped off his hat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you had more sense, Lenore.”
“I think we're done here anyway,” I said in a loud voice. “Everyone can go.”
The crowd disbursed, stopping to shake my hand, clap me on the back. Beneath Hernandez's glare, I meekly returned to my F-150. The truck bed was piled high with tables and chairs. Someone had found a rope, stacking and lashing the furniture together.
Karin sat on the driver's side, her legs dangling through the open door. “Sorry,” she said. “I'm not much help.”
Nick hurried to help her down. Gently, he guided her to his SUV and handed her inside.
&nbs
p; “I should report this,” Hernandez said.
“Do you have to?” Lenore asked.
He blew out his breath. “The arson investigators said they were done with the site, so at least you haven't messed up a crime scene. But please tell me you didn't go upstairs.”
“You mean they're still investigating the upstairs?” I asked.
“It's unstable,” the deputy bellowed.
“No, we didn't go upstairs,” I said.
“Go ho—” He grimaced, about to say: go home. But my home was gone. “Get out of here.”
Lenore followed me to my truck. “Are you going to be all right?” She asked, her expression anxious.
“Yeah.” And to my surprise, it was the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Inside the window seat, our aunt’s witch ball gleamed blue, turning slowly in the moonlight. A veggie pizza, still in its open box, steamed on the dining room table.
Movements stiff, Karin reached for a slice. Even with her new, unnatural paleness, that strange perfection to her skin remained.
I glanced at Lenore. She faced away from the window, blackened by night. Her skin had that same, plastic look too. Beautiful or not, it had to be part of the fairy magic, and it was creeping me out.
“Melanie paid a visit to Ground before you got there,” I said. “Or to what was left of it.”
“Matt’s widow?” Karin's eyes narrowed. “You think she was returning to the scene of the crime?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “She told me she thought she was going to be arrested soon. She was digging for what I'd learned.”
“Which is exactly what the killer might do.” Making a face, Lenore picked a strand of her long, blond hair out of her pizza.
“Melanie hinted at blackmail,” I said. “It might have been why her husband partnered with Eric in that wellhouse property.”
“Matt used the blackmail money he’d collected to buy in?” Karin asked.
“No,” I said, “she told me Matt didn't blackmail people for money. He did it for leverage, for favors.” I thought of Brayden, and tendrils wound around my heart, squeezing. He still hadn't told my sisters the truth. I wasn't sure I wanted him to.
“Which gives Eric a motive,” Karin said. “But what did he have over Eric?”
“I'm not sure,” I said. “I did some research—”
Karin raised her brows.
“Yes, I can do research,” I said tartly. “I was telling Lenore earlier about Eric's first wife. She was killed in a drunk driving accident. They were in the car together, and his first wife was driving. He survived, she didn't.”
Karin picked a mushroom off the pizza. “Usually it's the drunk driver who survives and the passenger who dies. I'm not talking statistically — I've no idea what the statistics are. But doesn't it always seem that way from the news reports?”
It did. Troubled, I shifted in my chair. something else seemed odd about that accident, but what?
Karin shook her head. “Convenient that Melanie tells you this just before she's about to be arrested. Did she throw any other suspects under the bus?”
“No. But I think Matt was blackmailing Wynter Swanstrom — I'm not sure over what. And the wellhouse development is being sued by the Historical Association and Doc Toeller. I wonder if the Doc knew Matt was the real partner behind Phoebe?”
“You think Matt and Phoebe were killed over the lawsuit?” Karin asked.
“Does it matter?” Lenore asked. “The fai—”
Karin shot her a look.
“The unseelie is behind everything that’s happening,” Lenore said. “We should be concentrating on her, not lawsuits. Our problem is supernatural.”
Karin folded her arms over her chest and winced. “It matters if one of us is dead or in jail.”
“The police aren't focused on Jayce,” Lenore said. “Once they make an arrest, the killer either won't be able to attack her or will have no motive to.”
“Will have no motive to?” Karin’s forehead wrinkled. “So it’s okay for an innocent person to go to jail as long as it's not Jayce?”
Lenore flushed. “Of course not. But we're attacking the symptoms, not the root of the problem.”
“If we knew how to attack the root of the problem,” Karin said, “I'd be all for it. But we don't.”
“And we never will unless we start exploring how.” Lenore dug her forefinger into the blue tablecloth.
I half-listened to them argue. Something was off. Something I should have paid attention to before, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own dramas. I stared at my plate, at the denuded pizza crusts. “You're not telling us the truth,” I muttered.
The two fell silent.
“I haven’t lied about a thing,” Karin asked.
“Not you.” I turned to Lenore. “I didn't question your obsession with the fairy.”
“She’s trying to kill us,” Lenore said. “Of course I’m obsessed.”
“We die in childbirth,” I said, “and that’s a long way off for us all. The murders, the arson, are happening now. Why are you so focused on the fairy?” I knew Lenore. We were the closest of the three sisters, which wasn't fair to Karin, but it's the way it was. And she hadn't been honest with me.
“Because people are dropping dead,” Lenore said.
“You know something,” I said. “Or you’ve seen something, and you're not telling us.”
“You're imagining things,” Lenore said, her voice cool.
“No,” I said, “I'm not. You've been pushing me to help you with the magic but not Karin. Why?”
She looked away. “Karin's been in the hospital.”
“Wait.” Karin’s gaze ping-ponged between us. “What magic? What did you two do?”
My fists clenched. “I can't believe you're lying to me!”
“I'm not.” A vein pulsed in Lenore's jaw. “I'm just not telling you everything.”
“What the hell's going on?” Karin asked.
Lenore shoved aside her plate and braced her head in her hands. “I've been having strange dreams,” she muttered.
Karin made a muffled sound. “What kind of dreams?”
She looked up. “Visions of another world, and someone who's a prisoner, or was a prisoner for a long time. I think it’s the Rose Rabbit.”
“I knew it,” I said, torn between triumph and disappointment. I was finally figuring things out, but Lenore hadn’t been honest with me.
“Tell us about the visions,” Karin said.
“It's another world,” Lenore said, “the unseelie world, I think. And it's falling apart. There's a blight—”
“Like the one here?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, but worse. I think the rabbit — who really isn't a rabbit, I think it's a title — was imprisoned, but he managed to break free, and now...”
“Now what?” Karin asked.
She looked at me. “Now he's here.”
My nails bit into my palms.
“Is he working with the unseelie?” Karin asked.
“No,” she said. “I don't think so. I think he could be our ally.”
“Why didn't you tell us this before?” I asked, stung.
“Because I wasn't sure how to interpret any of it. I'm still not sure. I just have this feeling that if we find him, we may be able to get rid of our unseelie problems.”
“Then we’ll find him,” Karin said. “But we need to deal with the immediate problem first — the murders, and whoever burned out Jayce and shot at me.”
We fell into a grim silence. None of us had any idea how.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I stewed, twisting in my sheets, watching lines of moonlight shift across the floor. Lenore had held out on us for so long. Why hadn’t she said anything sooner?
Late the next morning, I was still kind of pissed at my sister. But she'd been dealing with weird visions she didn't understand. Lenore lived and breathed visions from the Lower and Upper Worlds. Not understanding this one
must have driven her crazy.
Besides, I had to forgive Lenore. She was my sister. She’d also lent me her favorite white, quilted jacket. I zipped it to my chin. She loved this jacket, and I knew she didn’t trust me not to spill wine or drip nacho sauce onto it.
I walked down Main Street in my brand new jeans. The sky was cloudless, a snap in the air parching my lips. Last night's discussion had given me some nebulous ideas. But I could be strategic. Instead of chasing these new leads, I gave my mind more time to work through my thoughts. And without Ground or my apartment to work in, I needed something to keep me busy while my brain’s gears processed the problem.
A church bell tolled. Would Karin and Nick get married in our little wooden church? I lengthened my stride, a pleased glow warming my blood.
I walked to the newspaper office and up its brick steps. Inside the wood-paneled entry, I hesitated at the base of a wooden staircase.
The newspaper had published an article on the Ground fire. The reporter might know more he hadn’t printed. And I was curious about that old article framed in the Bell and Thistle. One person’s face had been obscured by a burn mark. Who had it been? The original photo might still exist. Uncertain who to ask, I gnawed the inside of my cheek.
A broad shouldered young man emerged from a room to my left. His head bent over a stack of papers.
I smiled, recognizing Doyle's ex-star high school football player. “Hi, Tom.”
He looked up, and his blue eyes lighted with interest. “Jayce! What are you doing here?” He sobered. “Your coffee shop, your house... Is there any news on what caused the fire?”
“Is this for an article?” Because I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
He grimaced. “I’m planning a follow-up to the article I wrote Saturday.”
“You probably know more than I do about the investigation.” Would he drop some breadcrumbs for me to follow?
He shifted the papers beneath one arm. “I talked to some of the firefighters. Word is, the blaze started in several places at once, and it moved unnaturally fast.”
“Arson.” Even though I'd already known, my stomach swooped, sickening.
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