by Lisa Kessler
“She didn’t ‘bump’ them all. Someone did this.”
“I’ll stay with you while you get your things and call your friend.” Nate fought the urge to pull her into his arms. Seeing her frightened agitated him, which made no sense because most people he came in contact with were scared.
“Callie.” She nodded with a dazed look as she stepped over the numbered markers on the floor where her friend’s body had landed. “I’ve got to call Callie. She needs to know what happened to Nia.”
She wandered up the stairs, mumbling and turning on more light switches as she went. Once she disappeared down the hallway, he narrowed his eyes, searching for any piece of evidence they might have missed, any sign that another person had been in the condo.
But nothing looked out of place, no overturned plants, no phone knocked to the floor. Nothing. Mel’s roommate had a tragic, accidental fall. There was nothing pointing to foul play. But maybe he could come back and dust the other light switches for fingerprints.
He blew out his frustrations and leaned against the banister.
Another image appeared in his mind. The victim falling, the terror in her eyes before her head struck a stair and then another. Standing behind her, at the top of the staircase was a man dressed in a black hooded robe, wearing a gold mask.
“What the hell?” Nate jumped away from the railing and rubbed his face, a cold sweat covering his back. He was probably just overtired and concerned about his witness—about Mel.
She appeared at the top of the stairs with a duffel bag. “Are you all right?”
In that moment, staring up at her, he realized something had awakened inside him like a sixth sense. “No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m far from it.”
Frowning, she came down to his side. “What is it?”
“Just a cop’s hunch.” How could he put what had just happened into words without sounding completely insane? Though, maybe he was insane. “Let’s get you to your friend’s place.”
He rushed her out of the condo; adrenaline pumping until he thought his heart might burst. Something was very wrong.
CHAPTER 2
Nate gripped the wheel so tight, he feared he might yank it right off the steering column. Mel sat beside him, still in a daze. At least it distracted her from noticing how close he was to losing it.
What the hell had happened back at her place? It had to be an overactive imagination. But he’d never had one before, and why would he have imagined that gold mask? He’d never seen one like it, so why would he dream it up?
He had too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
“Make a right here,” Mel said, pointing down a dimly lit side street.
Crystal City wasn’t huge like Los Angeles, which was a couple of hours south, but with a population nearing 300,000 people, there were still streets he’d never explored. Callie’s was one of them.
“Lothlórien Lane?” He could almost hear the mental file cabinet rolling open in his mind, while he searched for why he recognized the name.
“Cal is a huge Tolkien fan.”
“Ah, right. The Lord of the Rings.” He nodded. “That’s where I heard it before.”
“Yeah, the elves lived there or something. When she found this street, she moved here as soon as a house came on the market.”
Unusual house-hunting technique, but he wasn’t one to judge. He still didn’t own a home—not that he couldn’t afford it, but the commitment… Well, commitment was…not his scene. Not anymore. It was too final.
The road ended in a cul-de-sac. He rounded it slowly when the floodlights came on in front of a modest single-level home with stone trim. A woman in sweats came out as he pulled to the curb and parked.
“Is that Callie?” he asked.
Opening her door, Mel nodded. “Yeah.” She hurried out of the car and over to embrace her friend.
He tried to give them some privacy while Mel broke the bad news. He moved slowly as he unloaded her bag from the trunk. He had just turned toward the house when Callie stepped into his path. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she held out her hand.
“I’m Callie O’Connor. And you are?”
He set the bag down and shook her hand. “Detective Malone.”
She had short, black hair, dark-brown eyes, and a pert nose that reminded him of a pixie. Maybe Mel’s mention of elves was influencing his perspective.
Callie stepped back and wiped her cheeks. “Thanks for being Mel’s hero tonight.”
“I wouldn’t call giving her a ride over here heroic. I just wanted to be sure she’s safe.”
Mel walked over and picked up her bag. The breeze blew through her auburn hair and teased the bare skin of his forearm. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Thanks for the lift.”
He nodded, confused by the yearning to pull her into his arms. Nurturing and comforting weren’t usually part of his repertoire. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“You’ll catch whoever did this, right?” Callie asked.
His gaze shifted to the five-foot-nothing young woman. “We’re working on figuring out exactly what happened.”
Mel cleared her throat. “They think the lights were off and she fell.”
She paused and Callie crossed her arms. Mel looked statuesque beside her petite friend. He estimated she might be five foot ten, but he was over six feet tall. She’d fit just right in his arms, he realized. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could massage his brain back toward sanity.
“Oh she’d never turn out the lights, Detective.” Callie widened her stance, her hip leaning out to the side. “She even kept night-lights plugged in, in every room but Mel’s.”
He bobbed his head. “I have that in my notes.” The gold mask flashed through his mind. Could he ask them about it without sounding completely nuts? He paused for a beat but decided to go for it. “Do either of you know if she might have been involved in a cult, or maybe was aware of someone who might have been?”
Mel arched a brow. “A cult?” She glanced at Callie and then back to him. “I lived with her for two years and she hasn’t met with anyone but us during that time.”
“All right. It still appears to be an accidental fall, but just in case, keep your doors locked and your security system on.”
Callie tipped her head, her fist coming to rest on her hip. “I’ve got a croquet mallet and I know how to use it. We’ll be just fine.”
He gave her a stern look. “A wooden club is no replacement for a system that’ll send a black-and-white over to be sure you’re fine.”
She groaned. “Mel’s freaked out enough without you making us paranoid.”
His shoulders bunched up. “I’m trying to keep her safe.”
“If you’re so sure it was an accident, then why would we be in any danger?”
That was the million-dollar question he had no desire to answer yet. “I’d better get out of here so you can rest. I’ll be in touch, Mel.” He handed both women his card. “My cell number is at the bottom if you need me.”
His taillights vanished around the corner, and Mel glanced at Callie. “He knows something he’s not sharing. Why would a cult have anything to with this?”
Callie shrugged. “I don’t know. But after talking to both of us, if he still believes Nia was walking around in the dark, then he’s not much of a detective.”
“In his defense, he’s probably never met a woman with a Muse reborn inside of her. Nia was addicted to light…a bright star.” Her voice wavered. She swallowed a sob before it could escape. “We should get inside.”
Once they were safely in the house, Callie set the dead bolt and then went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of iced tea. “Any idea who would want to hurt Nia?”
Mel took a sip, doing her best to bottle up her emotions. “No. Other than us and her coworkers in the light-fixtures department at Home Depot, she never spent time with anyone.”
“Do you have her mom’s number?”
Mel cringed. She’d been so
lost in her own shock and pain, she hadn’t even thought about Nia’s family. They had no idea what had happened. Before the Muse of Astronomy awoke inside of her, Nia had simply been a daughter and an older sister. Now she was gone.
“Mel?” Callie’s voice took on that calming professional tone she used with her psych patients on the military base. “We should call them before the coroner does. We knew her.”
Mel swiped at the tear weaving its way down her face. Callie was right. But the thought of hearing Nia’s parents cry… The Muse of Tragic Poetry inside of her soul loved tragedies in movies and books, but no matter how hard she wished it, this wasn’t fiction.
She pulled out her cell phone and stared at it. “I can’t do it.”
Callie took the phone from her and scrolled through the contacts. “They’re in Texas, right? I hope I can catch them before they’re in bed.”
Mel stared out the window. There was no convenient time to learn that your daughter was dead. No polite hour existed for that kind of call.
While Callie spoke in soft, empathetic tones behind her, Mel kept replaying the night’s events in her head, trying to recall every detail of the crime scene. Had she missed something? Had anyone dashed out of the condo complex? Anything been out of place?
But other than the lights being out, nothing seemed off.
Then she turned her attention to Detective Malone. Something bothered her about him. He’d been all business when he questioned her at the police station, and he seemed certain Nia’s fall had been an accident. Case closed. But everything had changed when they got back to her place.
He’d walked her up to her porch and offered to go inside to make sure it was safe, but the moment he’d touched the light switch, something shifted. When the lights came on, he’d been rubbing his eyes, pale and shaken up. She’d been preoccupied while it was happening, but thinking back, his placating tone had vanished and he’d suddenly wanted her out of the condo. A cop’s hunch, he’d called it.
So why the change of heart about the danger?
“Mel, I’m going to text our sisters and have them come over. We need to put our heads together, and this will save me from having to repeat the awful story over and over.” Callie was the Muse of Epic Poetry, so if anyone could rally them to circle the wagons and fight back, it would be her.
Mel nodded. “Okay. Tell them to be careful.”
All we need is to lose another sister to a car wreck.
Mel massaged her temples, wishing she could wipe the dark thoughts from her mind. Being the vessel for the Muse of Tragic Poetry was no picnic. Although she tried to think positively, she was a glass-half-empty kind of girl.
Within the hour, eight muses were sitting and standing around Callie’s living room. Mel stood in the corner, watching as Callie greeted each of them. Trinity and Erica were the Muses of Music and Lyrics, respectively. Best friends and roommates, they almost always traveled together, and you could usually hear them coming.
Not tonight, though. Dread hung heavy tonight, silencing the duo.
Beside them, Polly stood behind Tera and braided her long, chocolate-colored hair. It was surreal to see Tera so stoic and still. The Muse of Dance was always in motion.
But not tonight.
Polly finished the braid and crossed her arms. Although technically she was the Muse of Harmony and Hymns, she was also integral to their finances for the theater renovation. She came from a rich family, and her trust fund saved their precious theater from its date with demolition.
Thalia lingered near the door. No doubt the lack of smiles ate at the Muse of Comedy, but she made no move to lighten the mood. A testament to the urgency in Callie’s voice on the phone. She may not have told them what happened, but the message had been clear: the news wasn’t good.
Even Clio, the Muse of History, sat at the edge of her chair, no sign of a book in her hands. Usually she was happiest reliving the past, which made getting her to notice the present challenging at best.
Callie finished her quiet greetings and turned around, her gaze prodding Mel to speak. She’d been hoping Callie might do it for her, but as the Muse of Epic Poetry, Cal probably wasn’t a great choice to break the news. She’d blow everything into some quest, a battle between good and evil.
Being realistic wasn’t always Callie’s strong suit.
Gradually, all their stares landed on Mel. She bit the inside of her cheek, struggling to find her voice.
Thalia beat her to it, asking, “Where’s Nia?”
Mel took a slow breath as she glanced around the room at the friends who had become like sisters to her. “Nia is…” She swallowed hard. “Nia is dead.”
A couple of gasps broke the silence as the air sucked out of the room.
“What?” Polly dropped her arms, a crease marring her brow. “How? What happened?”
Mel’s vision blurred behind a wave of tears. “I came home after work tonight and she was at the bottom of the stairs. She…fell.”
Their questions piled on top of one another until Mel raised her hands. “The police think it was an accident, but when I came home, there weren’t any lights on. Not even on the porch outside.”
Whispers filled the room. Mel forced herself to hold back her tears at least a little while longer. “I think someone pushed her. She never would have turned off all the lights. Someone had to have done that after she died.”
“Were they maybe hoping to grab you in the dark?”
Polly’s question sent a chill creeping down Mel’s spine as she shrugged. “I don’t think so. There was no one there when I found her and called 9-1-1.”
At least not that she’d seen.
Callie came over and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder. “Mel doesn’t think Nia had any enemies, but we should all be careful. And if you think of anything that could help the police figure out what happened, let Mel know so she can pass information on to the detective working on the case.”
“But they think she fell, right?” Clio wrung her hands as her gaze wandered between Callie and Mel. “Why would they help us?”
“I think Detective Malone believes me,” Mel said. “He didn’t want me to stay at the condo tonight.”
Callie raised her free hand toward the kitchen. “I have some hot water for tea on the stove. Let’s go sit down and make a list of anyone who may have known Nia. It’s a place to start anyway.”
Mel watched them go. Could someone have been waiting for her, too? But why? The only connection between her and Nia were the spirits of the muses inside of them, and no one else could possibly know that. Could they?
But nothing from the condo had been stolen and Nia didn’t have any enemies that she knew of… What other motive could there be to connect them?
She shook her head almost violently. Impossible. She was letting her tendency toward tragedy get the best of her.
She stared at the door. But if it was true and someone was hunting the muses, then they were all in danger.
“I’m calling it a night. You going home soon, Nate?”
He glanced away from his computer screen for a second. “Yeah, I’m almost done here.”
John had been his partner long enough to see right through his bullshit. But unlike John, Nate had nothing to go home to. No wife and kids, not even a dog.
John tipped his head toward the list on the monitor. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you?” He heaved a disgruntled sigh. “There’s no evidence anyone else was in that condo, Malone.”
Nate leaned back in his chair. “According to her roommate, our vic had a thing for leaving all the lights on. But everything was off. Even the porch.”
“Could’ve been our guys.”
Nate nodded and minimized the window. “Maybe downstairs, but every light upstairs was off, too. None of our team was up in the bedrooms.”
“What’re you thinkin’?”
That I’m completely losing my shit.
“Just a hunch,” he said instead. “I thi
nk she might be on to something.”
“It’s a stretch without any sign of forced entry.”
“Unless our vic didn’t believe in locking her doors, either.” He made a note to ask Mel later.
John pulled a chair over. “I’ll stay and help you out.”
“It’s probably nothing.” Nate shook his head. “Go home and kiss Beth and the kids for me.”
John gripped the back of the chair without sitting. “You should get out of here, too.”
He glanced up at his partner, who somehow managed to look sympathetic and suspicious all at the same time.
“This isn’t about Maggie,” Nate insisted. For the first time, it didn’t hurt to say her name.
“You sure about that?”
I’m not sure of anything anymore.
“Yeah. Just covering all our bases before the coroner reports it as an accidental death.”
John’s silent, piercing stare brought many suspects to unexpected confessions, but Nate was no suspect and he had no intention of talking about what he’d seen in Mel’s condo.
Finally, his partner broke eye contact and stepped back. “All right, then. Catch you in the morning.”
“See you then.”
Nate reopened the search window the second John vanished down the hallway. A digital wall of masks stared back at him. His finger rolled the mouse in a slow downward scroll.
“Okay, you bastard. Where are you?”
CHAPTER 3
Mel’s alibi had checked out. Nate loosened his tie and popped the top button on his shirt. She had been in a staff meeting until five thirty the night before. What surprised him was discovering that she had come into work today. Everyone dealt with the death of a friend differently, and the shock of finding the body might have left her aching for normalcy. It was hard to tell how any given person would react, but he hadn’t expected her to be teaching.
Standing in the hallway outside her English classroom, he glanced at his watch. Ten minutes left until her lunch break. Rather than interrupt, he leaned against the lockers and pulled out his cell phone. A guitar chord sounded, distracting him from skimming his e-mail. He frowned and moved closer to the door. Mel taught freshman English, Creative Writing, and Poetry. So why was someone inside playing the blues?
