by E. A. Copen
Pretending my trip was still urgent, I slid into the small room, closed and locked the door behind me. I settled on the window. My only chance of getting upstairs would be to come in from outside. There’d been a big tree up against one side of the house. If I could wriggle out that window, maybe I could climb it.
Good thing I haven’t eaten in a while, I thought and gripped the window sill. It opened sideways, barely wide enough for me to squeeze my head and shoulders through, and I only got that far by standing on the toilet. My foot slipped when I tried to pull myself through and splashed down into icy toilet water. Gross, and now my foot was wet.
It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to propel myself through the window by putting one foot up on the toilet paper roll and holding my breath. I fell to the ground outside, toilet paper streaming out after me from where it’d stuck to my shoe.
Well, that could’ve gone worse. I stood, rubbing the new bruise I’d just gotten on my ass and searched for the tree I’d seen. It was about five feet to my right, and I was in luck. There were low-hanging branches. Perfect. I gripped one and grunted, pulling myself up.
Having not climbed a tree since I was eight, my muscles complained about hauling me up, but I managed, mostly by ignoring the pain. I was going to pay for that tomorrow, but for now all that mattered was getting to the second floor of Vesta Hogarth’s mansion to see what she’d been up to.
The branch butting up against the second story window was precariously thin, too thin to have supported my weight, but I found one that’d take me to the roof. Close enough. My feet made a loud thud when I dropped onto the roof, and I froze, expecting security to come running. But no one came and nothing moved.
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. Okay, now to figure out how to get into that second-story window.
I slid onto my belly and pulled myself to the edge of the gable I’d hopped onto, peering over the edge. The window was directly below me but probably locked. Had I not been worried about drawing the attention of the dozen or so goons guarding the place, I’d have smashed the window and crawled right in. But snooping is no good when you’re on the run from armed guards. That wouldn’t do. Time to use an old trick I’d picked up behind bars.
Prison yards aren’t so different from playgrounds. You’ve got your cliques. The jocks work out on the weights, the nerds gather around the picnic table, ogling the latest edition of whatever book they’d snagged that week, the cool kids stood over by the fence with cigarettes and tattoos… Okay, so none of the kids in my grade school had tattoos, but you get the idea.
On the inside, I found myself caught up in a clique of thieves, but not just any thieves. These were B and E specialists. They liked to sit around and trade stories about how they got in and out of crazy places they’d probably never actually been to and brag about the shit they stole. I picked up more than my fair share of tricks of the trade, the least of which was how to break the lock on a standard window.
The first step of any break-in is analyzing the security system. Vesta’s upstairs windows had a simple flip lock, the kind that locked when flipped down and unlocked when flipped up. I couldn’t have been any luckier.
I leaned over the roof, positioning my fingers against the glass and pressing in and to the left. A little jiggle up and down a few times and the latch practically opened itself. All that was left to do then was slide it ever so gently open and swing down into the waiting room.
Whoever said crime doesn’t pay has clearly never been a criminal.
Gripping the inside of the now open window, I half-fell, half-pulled myself in a maneuver that cracked my back in six places.
The room I flipped into was…weird. The floor wasn’t made of linoleum, wood, or carpet but of marble tiles that had been painstakingly pieced together to form a picture.
“What the… Is that?” Stepping to the right, and back a half step, I took in the image doing my best to suppress grade school-level snickering. The mosaic on the floor depicted a giant phallus with tiny little legs and a pair of wings.
I took another step back for a better look, and something hard and metallic jammed into my back. On turning, I found it was another depiction of the exact same thing, only this one was made of metal and part of a large sculpture. My eyes shifted to the wall beyond where more of the same symbol hung on the wall made of plaster, wood, iron, and clay. The room was plastered with winged dicks of every size and shape.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem funny. It was just… awkward. I was reminded of my high school gym days and shivered. Not a pleasant memory.
But what the hell was a woman preaching purity and abstinence doing with a room full of phallic objects?
Maybe they’re magic, I thought. Anything could be infused with magical properties by a skilled witch or wizard, even something as esoteric as a flying phallus. Even as I thought that, I cringed. The only way I could tell if these were infused with magic would be to run my hands all over them, and that was just going to be awkward.
I rolled my shoulders back and cleared my throat. “What’s the matter, Laz? We’re cool. We’re secure enough in our own masculinity to pet a bunch of weird genitalia to determine if they’ve been spelled. Nothing wrong with it.” I blew out a breath. At least no one would see me doing it.
I closed my eyes, cringed, and reached for the big, iron piece in front of me. Magic buzzed up and around my extended fingers, encasing my outstretched arm. It didn’t feel malicious, or even particularly beneficial. The magic seemed to be searching, analyzing, as if it were waiting for another spell to activate it.
I moved my hands, focusing on the spell that had been woven over the iron. There was something familiar about it, but it wasn’t the same type of magic that I’d encountered in Odette’s apartment. Similar, but not quite the same. This magic felt more raw, older, less refined. As if the person working it were still a novice.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
My heart jumped into my throat, and I let out a surprised yelp. Vesta’s maid, Julia, stood in a doorway I hadn’t noticed before, a disgusted look fixed on her face. I looked down at my hands, still gripping the iron, and quickly pulled them away, wiping them on my jeans. “Uh…” Think fast, and don’t say anything that’ll make you seem weird. Well, weirder. “Exploring?”
Yeah, that didn’t sound weird considering the circumstances. I cringed.
The maid just looked horrified for a moment before her face sobered. She held open the door behind her. “You need to leave. Now.”
Two security guys appeared in the doorway beyond and shoved their way past her to grab my shoulders and haul me toward the door. I rolled my shoulders and dodged away. “I’m going, okay?”
As I slid through the doorway and past the maid, a wave of nausea passed over me. I stumbled, throwing an arm out to catch myself and keep myself from falling down the narrow stairs. Julia grabbed my arm and held me back. The minute her skin came in contact with mine, something dark and oily slid down my spine. A warning. There was an active curse nearby, and the magic felt all too familiar.
I visualized my mental shields growing into place, interweaving branches, vines, and tall grass to form an impenetrable wall to keep out the assault that should’ve slammed into me.
Nothing happened.
I met Julia’s eyes and cracked open my shields, just enough to peer through them and probe for magic. She was rife with it, old, black magic. It crawled over her skin like a million angry scorpions, stinging her. I knew that feeling. That’s what happened when a spell spiraled out of control. Julia had a lot of power and no outlet for it. That made her a ticking time bomb.
She held my gaze evenly, then released my arm. “Watch your step.”
Just as quickly as I’d started to sense the noxious black magic, the feeling disappeared. Had she wanted me to know it was her? Intimidation? A threat? Maybe. But now I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt: Vesta Hogarth and her maid were involved in the murders. I just had
to figure out how.
Chapter Eighteen
Julia and the security dragged me down the stairs and back into the gallery. With a shove, I stumbled into the room, barely managing to stay on my feet. Detectives Knight and Moses stood near the center of the room with Vesta, Moses’ pencil scratching away at his notebook. Emma’s face had a look of intense concentration, deep frown lines etched into her forehead, though the frown itself wasn’t present. No luck on their end, it seemed. At least I’d found something.
Vesta, alarmed at our entrance, uncrossed her arms and shoved her way between the detectives. “What’s this?”
“Found this one poking around upstairs,” said the security.
“Disturbing your private sanctuary,” Julia, the maid added.
Vesta’s eyes narrowed and she drew her full lips into a thin line, her ire focused entirely on me. With a flourish, she turned on her heels and stormed back to the easel, picking up her paintbrush. “This interview is over. Julia, please see them out.”
“I’m not finished with my questions,” Emma said, leaning forward.
“Then come back with a warrant or arrest me.” Vesta dipped her paintbrush in red and dabbed it delicately against the canvas. “I’ve got nothing more to say. Good day.”
Emma turned on me, anger burning in her eyes as she stomped by, shoving away the maid’s attempt at ushering her to the front door. A minute later, a loud slam echoed through the house as the detective saw herself out, leaving Moses and me behind.
My heart sank. She hadn’t said it, but she blamed me for ruining their investigation. Emma had trusted me, done everything I’d asked, and I’d failed to deliver on my promise. So far, I added and stalked from the gallery on Detective Moses’ heels. But I’d found something upstairs. Even if it wasn’t physical evidence, it had to be worth something.
Gaston suddenly stepped between Detective Moses and me, blocking my path. The movement was so sudden I didn’t have time to process it and kept on walking. My head bounced off his tree-trunk sized forearm, and I staggered back a step. Moses paused near the door and half-turned, giving me a frown.
“You go on ahead,” I said, waving the detective on. “Me and Fezzik here have some unfinished business.”
Moses hesitated a moment, shrugged, and then went out the door.
I turned to the wall with a face blocking my advance. He stood, unmoving, his massive arms crossed over his mountain of a chest. The guy could probably crush my head with two fingers. Where the heck do bad guys find these goons? “Okay, big guy. You want to move out of my way or am I going to have to resort to using my boyish charm to make you?”
His upper lip curled into a sneer. “Wise guy, huh?”
I shrugged. “Honestly, if you’re Fezzik, that makes me the Man in Black. Of course, that means Vesta is Vizzini. But if Detective Knight is Buttercup, who does that make Humperdink?”
Gaston’s lips peeled back, revealing crooked teeth. He’d had more than a few of them knocked out. “Let me kill him now, before he causes us more trouble.”
“Leave him be, Gaston.”
I turned my head. Vesta stood behind me in the nearest doorway. “He is our guest, and it wouldn’t do to harm a guest within my own walls. The guest-host rite is sacred, even today. It’s one of the few things to have survived.”
“I know it was you,” I ground out.
She gave me a sweet smile and cocked her head to the side, letting a golden curl fall over her face. “Even if you could prove it, what would you do about it? You think you’re a match for me, necromancer?” A pleasant, high-pitched chuckle escaped her lips. “You don’t even know who I am. I haven’t survived this long by letting small men stand in my way.”
“If you’re going to kill me, might as well do it now.” I turned back to Gaston. “Before I get really angry.”
“Oh, I think not. There’s nothing you can do to me. You think you’re the first to threaten me? I could strike you down where you stand, and I don’t even need Gaston to help me.” Vesta’s fingernails were suddenly on the back of my neck, digging in. Her breath tickled my ear as she whispered into it. “Of course, that wouldn’t be as much fun as watching you squirm. There’s something special about watching mortals, men especially, lust after what they can’t have.” She stepped away. “Justice for the dead is a noble ambition, especially for someone like you, but it’s as out of reach as your own redemption.”
I glared at her smug grin over my shoulder. “You finished? Because as far as bad guy speeches go, I’d give that a two. I’ll be back when you can give me a proper monologue.” I took a step forward, but Gaston was still in my way. I raised my head and met his eyes. Well, his sunglasses, seeing as that’s what he was wearing. “Move.”
“Move aside, Gaston,” Vesta said. “He’s no threat to us.”
Gaston slid sideways, pressing his back up against the wall so I could pass by.
Vesta called after me when I pulled open the door. “Keep an eye on your detective friends, Mr. Kerrigan. I’d hate for something to happen to them. It is a dangerous line of work, after all.”
I slammed the door behind me as hard as I could, and it still wasn’t satisfying.
Emma and Moses waited on the other side of the gate next to their cars, Emma with her arms crossed.
A soon as I came through the gate, she flew at me, practically exploding. “What the hell did you do? Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it, because we’ve got nothing.”
“Nothing?” I blinked. “What about the obvious connection between Vesta and both Brandi and Grace?”
“There’s no record of Grace’s stay at the halfway house,” Moses said, picking at his fingernails. “And Vesta denies it, and knowing anything about the girl. The only murder she’s even remotely connected to would be Brandi’s, and by all accounts, she was just an interested benefactor trying to do a good deed.”
“There’s not one shred of physical evidence to connect her,” Emma said, rubbing her temples.
“What about the fire?” I pointed out. “Those girls were locked inside. They didn’t do that to themselves.”
She lowered her fingers and gave me a pained stare. “You’re the only one who saw that, Laz, and the eyewitness testimony of an ex-con isn’t going to convince a judge to give me a search warrant, let alone convince a grand jury Vesta’s involved. Honestly, there’s more evidence connecting you to the crimes than anyone else.”
My jaw clamped shut, and a sour taste flooded my tongue. So, that was it, huh? Everything I’d done, all my help was useless because I’d done time? It was bullshit, and she knew it, but she wasn’t wrong. No one believed an ex-con.
But to subtly suggest after everything that I could be involved? That stung.
I lowered my chin toward my chest. “You know it wasn’t me.”
“Do I? Where’s your alibi? You said you were with Odette the night Brandi was murdered, but Odette’s missing too. The next victim was found in your missing girlfriend’s apartment. If we look, are we going to find Odette crushed to death somewhere?”
“You know I didn’t hurt Grace,” I said, my voice growing tight. “I was with you.”
“I’ve no idea what you can do.”
Moses looked up from where he leaned against his car and frowned, tipping his hat back. “Emma…”
She held a hand up to him. “No, Moses. I’ve let you pull me too far away from the facts in this case. We’ve got to take a step back and look at the evidence, and the evidence says you should be my primary suspect, Lazarus.”
Moses’ hand came down on Emma’s shoulder as I turned away. “He saved your life, Emma. He’s been nothing but helpful. That ain’t fair.”
“It’s not fair that two women are dead and another is missing. This asshole has screwed up our investigation and steered us wrong at every turn.”
I thought I saw her blink back tears and my heart sank into my toes. I’d let her down, let both of them down, and Brandi and Grace. Knight was right. Al
l my bumbling had screwed everything up. Maybe it was better if I bowed out now.
But if I did that, there’d be no one to stop Vesta and her flunkies. I knew it was her, even if the evidence didn’t prove it. The American legal system wasn’t set up to deal with someone like Vesta Hogarth. Even if the detectives found enough evidence to pursue her as a suspect, she’d probably disappear or worse, kill them. I couldn’t just let her slip away, and I sure as hell couldn’t let her hurt Emma and Moses. Even if they’d lost faith in me, I couldn’t let them get hurt. I’d just have to go it on my own. It’d be safer that way anyway.
Can’t do that if I’m arrested though. Might as well get this out of the way.
I held my hands out to Emma, wrists turned up. “You think it was me? Then let’s not dance around it. Put the cuffs on me now and drag me downtown. Do whatever it is you gotta do, Detective. Just make sure you can live with yourself afterward.”
Her hand strayed toward the handcuffs on her hip but paused. She turned her head to the side, jaw flexing. “Get out of here.”
I lowered my hands. The air between us felt thick and yet empty at the same time. I knew I should fill it with words, apologize, even if the apology fell on deaf ears, but I couldn’t will the words out of my mouth.
With nothing left to do but retreat, I jammed my hands back into my coat pockets and turned to march back to my car. The door groaned as I jerked it open.
“Lazarus, wait.” Detective Moses jogged up to me. He winced as he stopped and leaned to one side, clearly favoring one knee over the other. He held a small, beige card out to me. “I can’t help but think you’ve got it in your head to do something stupid on your own. While I can’t stop you, I can offer you a lifeline. This is my office phone. Call if you get in over your head and need a little back-up.”
