Cupid

by Jade Eby

  “I’m used to women looking at me for a long amount of time without saying anything.” He shrugged his shoulders and came closer to her. “I’m gorgeous. This is the norm for me. However, it’s also odd.”

  Again, she kept all expression off her face as she followed him with her gaze, analyzing and studying him with each step. “How is my staring at you odd?”

  “You’re not saying anything.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I’ve just complimented you on your magnificent taste.”

  She held out her arms and did a slow turn. “I’m gorgeous. This is the norm for me.”

  “Awww. You’re mimicking me.”

  “Or I’m stating the obvious.”

  “That you’re gorgeous?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what about my compliment of your dress?”

  She formed her lips into a straight line. “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “Do you not like the dress? It’s amazing.”

  “Of course it is. I bought it.” She walked over to the balcony.

  “And it is by Hellen.”

  “Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a smile that made that area near his groin heat some more. “But you would know everything about women’s fashions, being that your mother was a seamstress and dressmaker almost all of her life. Even designing her own gowns after husband number five.”

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. His mother’s past was something he exhausted loads of money and time to bury. The world knew of him barely ten years ago, once his last step father died, and he was announced as the heir. Before then, his mother and he had gone in and out of various social worlds with ease.

  They never changed their identities. There was never any need.

  The rich didn’t ask many questions, assuming that their private clubs and exclusive residencies, kept all of the riff raff and killers away. The only problem was. . .that was exactly where murders loved to hide, among the wealthy.

  That being said, no one knew about his mother’s prior marriages. Every time she remarried, she hid the fact that she’d had any husband before. Any official that needed to be paid was given more than enough to keep their mouths closed.

  “Fifth husband?” Asher asked through clenched teeth. “That’s odd. My mother married my father. Yes. He left us when we were young, and then she married my step-dad, Mr. Gene Bishop.”

  “Hmmm.” She watched a few yachts travel along the Cove’s narrow entrance. "I think there's something you're not telling me. I'm particularly savvy when it comes to my research."

  “Well, it seems your first line of investigating me has resulted in a few mistakes.”

  “I don't think so. I have good sources.”

  Who would have been able to tell her?

  “Have you ever tried to find your father?” she asked.

  That question stirred the coldness in him.

  Why would she ask me that? How much does she know? What did she find? Control the conversation. Get it back to where it needs to be.

  “Are you not big on fashion?” I asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you weren’t impressed by the fact that I knew who designed your dress.”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over to where you originally broke down my dress to me with the aim of knocking me off of my feet.”

  She curtsied and then bowed. “Why thank you, Asher Bishop. You’re such an amazing man! How do you even know Hellen? It’s like you’re this fashion-savvy women that lives inside of a gorgeous god. Never has a man taken the time to really look at what I picked out for him. Now I feel validated. Now I am woman. Now I can roar. By the way, can I have your children? Can we get married?”

  Asher swallowed.

  “Or would you like to look at my shoes first?”

  He extended his hand. “Maybe, we should go back to ‘Hello, how are you? You look lovely tonight.’”

  She opened her mouth to speak, paused, and then shook her head. “You know what? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m being rude for no reason.”

  She turned away from him and directed her attention back to the view. A breeze blew through her hair. A few wavy strands on the side of her face rose and fell back to her high cheeks.

  “That wasn’t rude.” He got on her side and stared at the view with her. Moonlight and dimly lit yachts rode the ocean’s surface. Giggling sounded below them.

  “I’m sorry. My husband was brutally killed last night with his mistress. Tonight, I’m on a date. . .I mean. . .meeting.” She closed her eyes. “Look. I’m an emotional mess. There are. . .”

  She really is beautiful. And not in a right-in-your face sort of way. It’s more her presence first, then her voice, and then those eyes. By the time, any sane man gets to the swell of her breasts and curve of that lush bottom behind her, he’s probably already spiraled into madness.

  She looked up at Asher. “Do you understand?”

  It was in that moment, he realized he’d zoned out and had completely ignored everything she’d uttered.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I understand.”

  What had she said?

  “I’m more invested in this deal than I figured I would be,” she said.

  “Deal?”

  “Your having me look into the serial killer, Cupid.”

  Shocked again for the night, he cleared his throat. “Cupid? You named the killer that?”

  “Yes. The man or woman we’re looking for is deadlier than we’ve thought. This person has killed eight people on Ovid Island at least.”

  Eight. How did she get that number? Only three others were connected by the police.

  A knot built in his throat. This didn’t happen to Asher much. The rich never paid attention. Sure, they played tennis, dined in high-end restaurants, chatted at charities, engaged in affairs, and gossiped all over designer hair salons and on the greens of golf course, but no one ever took notice of his activities before.

  “Why did you say eight?” he asked.

  “Five other rich white men were discovered in the past year. Although at the time, police never saw them as related. I have a person in the department who’s working with me on this. He combed over ever Ovid Island death this past year, and found a few men that had been deemed death by accident or natural causes. Meanwhile, these same men had holes in their chest, thus confirming that the police on this island really are incompetent.”

  “Do you have a list of the possible new victims?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want it, and any other information you can get me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m funding this. It should prove that I’m just as intrigued as you are.” He raised one eyebrow. “What else did you discover?”

  “I think I know Cupid’s motive.”

  He stiffened. “Do tell.”

  “Well, maybe motive is too strong. I think I am understanding why he kills. He thinks he’s protecting people.”

  Asher looked away and hoped she didn’t notice, the awkwardness creeping around his eyes. This was supposed to be a fun evening, filled with quirky comments and titillating conversation.

  He hadn’t intended for Diana to peg him as adequately as she did.

  “Mrs. Carson, I think you’re jumping ahead of yourself right now. Maybe, it’s due to the tragedy of this morning. Either way, I think we should just focus on the three murders, we’re sure of.”

  “I won’t argue against your opinion.” She smirked. “I tend to go pretty fast when I investigate. Let’s focus on the three murders, so you can catch up.”

  He ignored the slight, knowing that he’d probably deserved it. “Very well. Help me catch up, as you said. So, the police only connected three murders—Thomas Nickelson, owner of Lenwood Oil was the first body that they found with a hole in his chest that could be made with an arrow.”

  “Yes.” Sh
e nodded. “Thomas was found in his daughter’s room. This murder interested me more than the other ones, so I started with him first. I just kept wondering, why would Cupid kill this man, and then leave the dead body in the guy’s daughter’s bedroom. What was he trying to say?”

  It took all of Asher’s energy to keep himself still. This was not as fun as he thought it would be. Earlier, he figured it would be interesting to get another’s opinion on his secret activities, maybe play a little with the person’s mind.

  This was not fun. This was torture. And he had to endure it because he’d brought it all on himself.

  Diana was just as good as his research had claimed. Although surely she possessed the face and body to climb up the new paper ladder of success, she’d done it with her brain.

  Diana continued with her discussion, ignoring the tension that radiated from Asher’s stiff frame. “My further investigating found that Thomas’s daughter had confessed to friends that her father was touching her inappropriately. She’d also told another in secret, that she saw the killer.”

  “What?”

  “She said, that night a man left her room right as she woke up and in the next few seconds, she spotted her dad on the floor with a hole in his chest—”

  “Wait,” he might’ve said too abruptly. “Further investigation? I met you this morning and am now seeing you this evening. You only had some of the day to investigate and already you have some witness’s account? ”

  “Yes, the daughter saw a man. I talked to her best friend, a cheerleader for Ovid High.”

  Asher looked past her to calm down. “Did the daughter describe the man to her friend?”

  “No. She didn’t get a good look at him. She told the police that he wore all black, maybe a one piece or body suit. The room was dark. He had on a black hat too. She didn’t get his hair color. She was only sure that he was white, but that’s not hard to guess being that whites represent 85% of the island’s population.”

  I didn’t know the kid saw me. When did she wake up? I’m glad I didn’t move Thomas. She kept tossing and turning. Plus, I hadn’t want her to wake up to his dead body. Seeing your dead father is never good for sleep in the future. But, she kept tossing and turning.

  “And then we have Jackson Mirabelli.” Diana tucked some of her waves behind her ear. “He went upstairs with a woman who no one could find after the scene. The police originally assumed that a woman was involved. My friend got me the file to the case.”

  A weird darkness fell over him. He wasn’t sure if he’d somehow shifted into the hunt or was drowning in unease. The urge to hurt something hit him, but he couldn’t point out why.

  “The investigation file?” he asked.

  “Yes. I read over it today.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Very.”

  She’d found eight of his murders in just half of a day, as well as got classified police files. What would she discover in months of investigating him? Maybe, this was a bad idea. Maybe, mother was right. I am a fool.

  Asher wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

  “I did several news pieces on Jackson a few years ago. One thing that the man loved besides drugs, was women. Prostitutes to be exact. Ovid Island has its secrets, but most aren’t well hidden.” She winked. “I happen to know the madam of the most used sex service for the island.”

  He tensed in his suit. “Interesting. Did you find the woman that was with Jackson that night?”

  “Yes.”

  His nostrils flared. “And what did she have to say?”

  Diana hugged herself as if she was freezing. “She said a man came out of the closet of his bedroom, dressed in all black, and with a mask on his face. He held a bow and arrow, and pointed it at her.”

  “But he didn’t kill her,” Asher declared, more to push the fact that maybe Cupid wasn’t that bad of a guy. “It doesn’t seem like the murderer kills everyone, just certain people.”

  “Exactly. He didn’t hurt her at all. The escort said that he told her she could leave, but that Jackson had to remain.”

  I should’ve killed her.

  “Did she say anything else?” he asked.

  “She said that she didn’t get a description of him and truthfully didn’t want to discuss it anymore. Absolutely refused to go to the police with the information, but. . .”

  “But what?” Asher asked.

  “She said that as she was leaving she heard the killer say something about how Jackson had hurt his sister.”

  Yes, I should have killed her.

  “Then we have Neil.” She walked away from the balcony’s ledge and began to slowly pace back and forth. With each step, the bottom of her gown slid against the balcony’s marbled floor and her heels clicked. “What I found intriguing was that Cupid never killed—”

  “I’m sorry.” Wrinkles crossed his forehead. “Why are you calling the murderer Cupid?”

  “It’s something that I do. I label the wrong-doers that I report on by whatever I think motivates them.” She continued to pace. “It helps me stay detached from the person. If I know the killer’s first and last name then I start thinking about who they are and where they come from. . .it all takes me out of the hunt—”

  “Hunt?”

  She stopped pacing and stared at him. “You interrupt a lot. Let me just go over Neil’s death.” She gulped in some air and then returned to the topic. “For the other two murders, Cupid didn’t kill the survivor. Thomas’s daughter and Jackson’s prostitute.”

  She went back to pacing. “All evening while I got dressed, I kept wondering, why, over and over, would Cupid kill Neil’s mistress, but let the other females go? Why not let the mistress go like he did with the others.”

  Asher leaned back onto the balcony’s ledge. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Cupid doesn’t just murder people,” she argued. “He has a clear, precise reasoning for why he takes lives. All three men were rich. All three considered harmful to females in some way. Thomas probably hurt his daughter. Why would a kid still claim that to her friend privately after her father’s already dead? Because she’s still dealing with the trauma of it all, that’s what I think.”

  Diana sort of hit the air as if she was giving a low high-five to an imaginary person in front of her. “Thomas’s prostitute said that Cupid said something about him hurting his sister.”

  “But we don’t know if Thomas actually hurt his sister.”

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Cupid thought that Thomas hurt his sister.” Her pacing picked up, the gown swooshing along the floor and lifting a little with the wind. “Here we go again. We have a rich man that is doing something wrong to a female. Now go to Neil.”

  She stumbled for a second as if even thinking about her ex-husband was hard to do, like she was close to doubling over, if she didn’t try to walk on. “Neil was married to me for several years. I’d caught him cheating many times. He also was emotionally abusive. I’m not saying that I’m this battered women. There are many wives all over the world that have been dealt evil husbands. And besides, some of it was my fault.”

  Perplexed, Asher tilted his head to the side. “How was anything Neil did to you, your fault?”

  “I stayed.”

  “Most abused women do.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Trust me. It’s the truth.” The sight of his father slamming his mother into the floor flashed through Asher’s mind. He ran his fingers through his hair and knocked that image away. “Never blame yourself for the cruelty of a man.”

  “Still, I stayed with him, and that’s not the point—”

  “Why do you think you stayed?” Asher raised a blonde eyebrow. “Did you love him?”

  She exhaled. “I stayed. That’s all that is important to this situation. Regardless, Neil is another rich man that’s hurting a female. So why would our serial killer hurt his mistress too?”

  “Why do you think?”

  �
��Cupid must have believed that the mistress was guilty too. She was his secretary on a small community of an island. She would’ve known that Neil was married, and could care less to sleep with him.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you call this man Cupid.”

  “Or woman.”

  He stifled in a chuckle. “Excuse me?”

  “I still haven’t decided if Cupid is even a man. Sure, we have witnesses that say otherwise, but I never rule anything out until the end. One thing is for sure, Cupid feels a certain need to protect females from harmful men. These are planned and researched kills.”

  Asher had no more words.

  He was too busy being caught up in Diana. Back and forth, back and forth, she threw out ideas and thoughts without any fear of what it could do to her. Energy shifted around her. Things sparked in the air, or maybe it was just his imagination. Her face brightened with each rant. Eyes glittered with courage.

  Luckily, the balcony door was closed, and the rest of The Cove’s patrons dined inside, listening to smooth jazz and sampling on delicious food. They didn’t hear the facts. No one would spread the news about his murders and get people’s eyes opening a bit more.

  Luckily, he still didn’t think Diana was in danger of knowing his secret, that he was the killer, and thus in danger of dying right there on that balcony, in that lovely empire halter gown that fell to the floor.

  Luckily, he didn’t like to kill women.

  Luckily, something inside of him urged to not kill her.

  Luckily, she’s so damn beautiful.

  “Have you told all of this to the police yet?” he asked.

  “No.” She ran her manicured fingers through her hair. “Being a nosy reporter I don’t actually have a good relationship with the police. I’ve been charged unrightfully for tampering with witnesses and evidence. I need something that I can really bring to them. I do have one friend there, now. I won’t go to him with my thoughts until I have more supporting evidence.”

  “What about the two witnesses you talked to?” Asher asked.

  “In the end, I won’t be able to use either one of them.” She turned around and walked back in the other direction. “I won’t mess with Jackson’s daughter. She’s been through enough. And I’m sure that the prostitute that I talked to this afternoon has probably fled and is several thousand miles away from the island.”