by Ann Denton
Wiz grabs the camera from me and so my chance to ogle Bennett as he jogs over is ruined. But still. “Good news—”
“I found the murder weapon!” Wiz interjects.
My jaw drops. Literally drops. That little wimpy biotch is trying to steal my thunder. “You did not. I figured it out!”
“No. You just stole my camera to try to take credit!”
I press my lips together so hard my teeth are digging into them. I really want to smack this little shithead into next week. But that won’t help. And Honeycutt’s heading our way.
I turn to Bennett, fire in my eyes. He does one of those crappy ‘let’s all calm down’ hand gestures. I want to smack him.
“I’m more interested in what was found than who found it right now,” he gestures for the camera, which wimpy photo-wizard gives him.
Bennett looks at the preview screen. “What am I looking at?”
“See that thing in his neck? I think it killed him,” Wiz says.
“If you flip through several photos, pressing that little arrow button, you’ll see ‘that thing’ is actually a tube or a vial or something. It’s stuck in his neck,” I add. “The first shot shows the part of it right near the neck and if you flip quickly, you can kind of get an idea of the whole thing.”
Bennett follows my instructions and swears under his breath. “That’s it.”
Honeycutt interjects. “You’ve found the murder weapon?”
I catch a whiff of hairspray. I turn and see Jackie Hanna edging closer. Oh no you don’t.
“Bennett, press,” I whisper. I jerk my head at the nymph.
“Neo, please escort Ms. Hanna to a seat,” Bennett calls out. “Across the room.”
Jackie glares daggers at me as an officer with a lizard tail hauls her off.
Honeycutt waits patiently until she’s gone. “Be careful with that one. She’s relentless.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, found the weapon?” Honeycutt repeats his earlier question.
“Looks like it sir,” Bennett replies. “Syringe to the neck. Must be poison. Or a potion.”
Honeycutt, though he’s not technically supposed to be allowed to see the inner workings of a pending investigation, leans forward and peers over Bennett’s shoulder. I guess he’s exercising executive privilege or something. I just know enough to keep my big mouth shut.
“And why can we see it on camera?”
Bennett turns to me and Wiz. I give it a second, to see if Wiz will jump on the answer. Of course he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know what I did. I put the little wizard in his place with my eyes and open my mouth. “I think the weapon is under a cloaking spell, sir. But I think it’s only set to work at normal vision levels. The human eye sees around twenty-four distinct images every second. Video can be about thirty to sixty frames per second so it looks nice and smooth. I set the camera to two-hundred forty frames per second. That’s how we saw this.”
Bennett flips through the photos again, Honeycutt leaning over his shoulder.
“That looks like a dart,” Honeycutt says. “A hunting dart.”
Bennett’s eyes flick to mine. “Mr. Mayor, are you familiar with hunting darts?”
Honeycutt bristles. “If you’re implying—”
“No sir. But the sound you claimed you heard before Mr. Bell fell over. Did it sound like a hunting dart?”
Honeycutt’s eyes widen. “I haven’t been for a few years. You might want to ask Giancarlo.” He jerks his horns toward the vampire Councilor, who’s lounging onstage, looking annoyed. “He’s an avid hunter. But yes, I’d say it did.”
“I didn’t hear it. So I’m guessing the same rule applies to cloaking the sound,” I toss out. The conversation with Max the Cat about sound takes on new meaning. “Whoever set this spell didn’t account for sight or hearing above normal levels.”
“So they were lazy,” Bennett concludes.
“Or stupid.” I shrug.
“Either way, that should make them easy to catch.” The mayor gives Bennett a congratulatory smack on the back. “Nice work.” Then he strolls off.
Wiz looks at Bennett. “Can I have my camera back?”
“No. I’m putting it into evidence.”
I’m not sure if Bennett really needs the camera or if he’s just being petty for my sake. I kind of hope it’s the latter. His eyes are saying it’s the latter. Triumph and lust mingle in his gaze.
We share a hot, intense, elated moment. Yes, Mr. French. I’m good at this. So good you want to take me back to your place and celebrate. His eyes shout, ‘Hell yes! I want to celebrate until you scream!’
“We’re still broken up,” I whisper. Because? I don’t know why. Because my stupid mouth is hemorrhaging words, okay? I’m an idiot. Pride. The worst emotion ever— and I’ve got a lot of it—that right now I want to rip to shreds so that Ben can go to work ripping my clothing to shreds. Holy hell. I did not think working together would be so hot. Like not at all. I’m just as stupid as this killer.
Bennett’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. I think he can sense my internal monologue. “At this rate, not for long. Good work, Fox. Keep it up.”
Chapter 10
Bennett speaks with the medical team about the dart in Bernard’s neck. They instantly light up and start discussing potential antidotes. The relief of at least narrowing down the cause of death is palpable.
“A dart means liquid. There are only fifty-seven liquid potions or poisons known to kill shifters,” a brunette elf medic states. She tucks a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. Long and lithe, she looks more like a ballerina than a medical examiner. “Of those, only twenty-five are single-dose lethal. But, if we can extract the dart and get it to the lab, hopefully we can get enough residue to test for all of those. Thank you.” She places a graceful hand on Ben’s forearm. My eyes are drawn like magnets. Or lasers. The kind that burn the hands off stupid little—I stiffen when Bennett smiles. At her or at my response, I’m not sure. But I do not like it.
“Here, I can show you where the dart is,” I take a deep breath, tap the elf on the shoulder, and lead her toward the body. I want to get her back to the lab and away from Bennett ASAP. I show her where the dart seems to be placed, on the left side of Raspberry’s neck. She tosses on some blue gloves, then grabs some crystal magic-resistant tongs and gets to work.
I step back to watch her.
“Jealous?” Bennett whispers in my ear.
“Just trying to be helpful,” I make my voice sweet and innocent.
Damn. He caught me. I can’t be possessive. Stupid. Stupid. We aren’t together. He made it official the other day. A hot moment during a case doesn’t mean I’m not still right. I need some separation. To learn how to do this myself. To make my own way. I’m not into hand-holding and nepotism. None of that makes me feel much better when I watch the elf delicately extract the dart and give a gorgeous nerdy grin to Bennett. He gives a thumbs up.
I turn away. I have to get over him. I try to cheer myself up. I do have a semi-date coming up. A study date. Yeah. I’m calling it that. Like some stupid high schooler.
I spot Tabby and Sarah Snow and wave at them, trying to escape Bennett’s speculative gaze at the side of my face. Sarah eagerly waves back. Tabby’s still a cat, but she twitches her tail, so I take that as a hello. (Note to self: I need to tell Sarah to tamp down on her excitement at murder scenes. It could be taken the wrong way.)
Bennett summons Seena and tells the pair of us to shadow him. He fills Seena in on the dart discovery as we head toward Giancarlo Russo, who’s lounging in a chair stage left. Jackie Hanna’s sitting next to him and sliding her hand along his arm.
I catch the last couple words she says, “…just a little comment on the record.”
Mr. Russo looks relieved to see our group and quickly stands.
Bennett politely makes Jackie get lost while I linger in the background, a few steps behind. Not avoiding Bennett. Avoiding Mr. Russo. Vamps are too much like
candy for me. Delicious. Endlessly tempting. I’m just being professional. Not a coward. Or an idiot who’s tempted to beg the boss that just terminated our relationship to reconsider. I am absolutely neither of those. Right.
Mr. Russo runs a hand through his silver flecked hair, catching my attention. I swallow a sigh. Maybe this is what I need. A beautiful distraction. But then comes that Italian accent.
“How can I be of a’service?”
A million dirty responses immediately jump to mind. And like that, depressed self-pity—gone. Poof. If it’s that easy, maybe I need some recordings of Giancarlo’s public speeches. You know, for mental health purposes.
“You like hunting, right?”
“Yes. It is a hobby.”
“Which hunt club do you belong to?”
“Benne Notte.”
“And you go regularly? Enough to recognize the sound of a dart gun?”
Giancarlo’s eyes widen a bit as he sees where Ben is going.
“Did the noise just prior to Mr. Bell’s collapse sound like a dart gun to you?” Bennett asks.
Giancarlo raises his eyebrows. “Now that you mention … perhaps yes. You think this was what killed him?”
Bennett doesn’t answer. “You previously spoke about your plans for later today. You were going hunting, right?”
Giancarlo’s eyes narrow. “I believe this is where I invoke my rights, yes? To an attorney? Silence? Those things?”
This could be bad. Very bad. We do not want to get on the wrong side of the City Council. They make the laws. They set our budget. We just got a coffee machine. Because, apparently, the government doesn’t like to pay for frills. You know, like stimulants to keep the day shift people awake through their god-awful hours. Our machine’s been named. Gloria. Because she’s glorious. Before that, everyone had to order Broomer delivery. Do you know how hard it is to get a full cup of coffee delivered by a witch zooming around on a broom? The look in Giancarlo’s eyes says that Gloria’s in danger.
Seena and I share a scared glance.
My eyes flick back to Bennett. I don’t think I breathe as I wait for him to speak.
Bennett’s face is as calm as a lake. “I would never accuse you, sir,” Bennett responds. “You were onstage the entire time.”
Giancarlo nods in agreement. But I think he’s taking the fifth pretty seriously.
“What I’m interested in knowing is who on your staff might have had access to your weapons.”
Giancarlo raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I am interested in this as well. All the same, I would prefer to have my attorney present. I need a phone call.”
“You aren’t being detained, Sir. You’re free to call whomever you please. Note that my team has set up spelled surveillance of the building as this is a murder investigation. If you make a call, you are required to inform the other party of this fact before you speak to them.”
Mr. Russo gives a brief nod.
Bennett leads us to the hall outside the main room. “That was helpful.”
“What?” I peer back at the vampire. “He didn’t tell us anything.”
“He seemed worried he might say the wrong thing,” Bennett replies. “Seena, Lyon, please begin a search of the premises. Lyon, show Seena how to use the camera. Based on the angle that dart penetrated, it was a downward shot. My investigators already did a preliminary sweep of the balcony. Didn’t find a weapon. Only a camera clipped to the railing from that idiot news team. Search again. I’m guessing the weapon’s got the cloaking spell too.”
I nod.
Seena interjects. “Excuse me, sir. Why’d you warn Mr. Russo about the spelled surveillance?”
“California is a dual-party consent state. Tres Lunas has its own laws. Too many immortals gaming the system. We’re single-party. But since Russo’s not the one doing the recording, he could take out a civil suit against us if I didn’t tell him. Any place someone might have an expectation of privacy, better to let them know.”
“Oh.”
He waves us toward the staircase. I grab the two cameras my friend Wiz had to leave behind and we head up. Seena slides his eyes sideways toward me. “So… the vampire or the boss, huh?”
“What’s the Persian phrase for shut your pie-hole?”
“Khafeh sho.”
“Yeah. That.” I bitch-slap him with my eyes.
But he just laughs. “I’m glad you figured out the murder weapon.”
“Medics seemed like they were confident they could figure out the poison or whatever,” I respond, thinking Seena’s glad about Becca.
His response is not what I expect at all. “But you know I’m gonna catch the murderer.” He says it like it’s a fact of life. A foregone conclusion. Nerdy analyst just smacked me with a challenge.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you just throw down, pony boy?”
“Bet your ass I did.” He winks behind his glasses as we finish ascending the stairs.
I fix the speed settings and hand him a camera. “What dya’ wanna bet?”
Seena thinks for a minute. “I win, then there will be no glitter pony Halloween costume.”
“And if I win?”
“I’ll let you dye my hair pink.”
Oh man. It’s on.
We spit on our hands and slap each other’s cheeks. (Leftover dueling gesture. From the gory glory days of shifter fights for territory.) The challenge is official. No backing down.
“I take left, you take right?” I try to keep a straight face. I’m suddenly super-glad that Bennett didn’t happen to mention to Seena that Bernard was shot on his left side.
Seena sees right through me and dashes over to the left.
“Khafeh sho!”
“Improper use!” He calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah, well I hate you!” I grumble. Then I start shooting the place up—with my camera. The balcony overlooks the mayor’s speech podium perfectly. Too bad there aren’t any security footage spells up here. Would’ve made our lives easier. It woulda’ been wham, bam, case closed m’am. But … then I’d be out of a job instead of waving my hand through space looking for an invisible gun and taking pictures trying to see black specks and determine if they’re ants, dirt on the carpet, or something more sinister.
As expected, Seena’s the one to find the weapon. An army of brownies tumble over themselves as they come up the stairs to collect it and take it for fingerprinting. Brownies are about two feet tall, with pug noses. So it basically looks like Bennett’s sent a wild pack of children to bag evidence. I have to smother a grin. Because no self-respecting brownie likes to be called cute.
Also as Bennett expected, Giancarlo confirms it’s his gun once he sees the photos. Of course, he claims both he and his assistant had access to the gun case this evening. But his attorney, a man roughly the size of a semi-truck wearing a zebra-print suit, does one of those ‘cut it out’ throat slash gestures.
“Do you think we could open your gun case to confirm, sir?” Bennett asks politely, ignoring the Mac-truck in the suit.
The vamp looks at his lawyer for approval before nodding and leading us backstage. We go down a long hall and turn right. His office is lush. Copper-colored velvet drapes. He obviously had his claw-footed desk brought in. Two mirrors. (I don’t know why he has those either.) A vase that looks like it’s worth more than my apartment holds white roses. In the corner, there’s a rolling suitcase, a locked metal ammo container, and a gun case.
Giancarlo pulls the gun case onto his desk and reaches for a hidden inner pocket. His eyes cloud over for a moment. He pats another pocket.
“Is there something wrong?” Bennett has the balls to ask.
“No, no. Here it is. Justa’ forgot which pocket,” he pulls out the key and unlocks the gun case.
His attorney takes a step closer to Giancarlo and reminds him, “You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s alright, Charles. I’m innocent,” the vamp throws open the gun case.
I have to lean around Bennett to
peer inside. The case is empty.
Bennett sighs. “I’m going to need to collect this case as evidence. And I’m going to need to meet you at the station in twenty for some more questions.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet, Mr. Russo. But it doesn’t look good.” Bennett rubs his forehead.
The vamps lips thin to a tight line, but he gives a curt nod.
Ben snaps on some gloves and picks up the case. “See you there.”
I follow Bennett into the hall. Once I’m fairly sure we won’t be overheard, I ask, “Why are you letting him go in on his own?”
For the first time in hours, Bennett’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Fox, you should have figured that out already. I’m giving his lawyer a chance to speak with him.”
“And that’s good for the case, why?”
His grin just stretches farther. He pulls an earbud from his ear and hands it to me.
I toss it in my ear and hear Charles, the stripe-y semi truck.
“Is there anything I need to know about?”
“No.”
“You had nothing to do with this?”
“No.”
“How did they get access to your gun?”
“That, I would like to know. I dunno. Maybe my assistant? Secretary? She has keys also. This is what disturbs me most.”
“Someone setting you up?”
“That would be their mistake.” Giancarlo’s voice is eerily calm for someone who thinks he might have been set up for murder. Of course, as a vamp, maybe this isn’t his first rodeo. Most of the immortals in town have some kind of experience with the dark side. It’s why murder doesn’t carry a life sentence here.
“You need me to look into it?”
“No. I know someone.”
“It better not be the someone I’m thinking of.”
“No. I know someone who can do the job for me.”
“Who?”
“The dragon has a lie machine at the station, no? Let him test them first.”
“You think that thing works?”
“I have full confidence that if you and I say it works, my secretary and blockhead assistant will believe it. You will bring them, yes?”
