Otherworldly [McKnight, Perth & Daire 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Beth D. Carter

  “Hello,” said the man, “you’re Detective Daire, right?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “May I help you?”

  “We worked with Zach,” he said, gesturing to all of them. “I’m Clyde, this is Anna, and that’s Daisy.”

  “We just wanted to give our condolences,” Anna said, looking as if she were about to cry. “Zach was a very good friend.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Clyde held out his hand, and Jonas shook it. Anna and Daisy nodded and then turned and walked away. Jonas stared after them.

  ”Are you okay?” Charlotte asked.

  He nodded. “I never thought about his friends. A funeral. Hell, where do I start?”

  Just then a doctor appeared at the end of the hallway, snapping Jonas out of his grey mood.

  “Mark,” Jonas greeted, holding out his hand.

  “Jonas,” Dr. Roozie replied, shaking it in greeting. “This is a helluva thing.”

  He was younger than she expected, she thought as she stood quietly to the side and observed him. Mark Roozie seemed like a perfectly groomed man. He wore gray pressed dress pants, a pressed white-collared shirt, and a gray tie. Even his white lab coat had been starched, the creases falling in perfect sync with the ones on his legs. A smattering of gray flecked his temples, matching his wardrobe color.

  “Mark, this is Charlotte, a friend of the family,” Jonas introduced.

  The good doctor turned blue eyes on her and held out his hand. His smile held a saddened quality to it, turning the corners of his mouth down. Charlotte took his hand and shook it, his fingers holding a cold quality to them. A faint air of chemicals lingered on him

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “I saw you at the warehouse.”

  “Really? I’m sorry. It was a stressful day.”

  “I was wondering if we could talk,” Jonas asked Mark.

  “Of course,” Mark replied. He let go of her hand and gestured back the way he came. “Let’s go to my office.”

  He led the way, and Jonas placed his hand in the curve of Charlotte’s back, guiding her forward. The coroner’s office was a sterile building, all white and chrome and black linoleum floors. She realized Mark Roozie blended perfectly with the décor.

  Mark took them past the autopsy room and past several closed doors to a back office that held a desk, many file drawers, and a couple of chairs. He gestured for them to sit as he moved behind his very neat and organized desk. Out of the monochrome simplicity of Dr. Roozie’s office, one bright object grabbed Charlotte’s attention, a red glass paperweight apple with a brown-tinted stem and a single green leaf. She picked it up and smiled at it, but a second later Dr. Roozie snatched it from her hands.

  “This is mine,” he told her.

  “I’m sorry. I was just admiring it—”

  “My wife gave it to me,” he told her and placed it back at its original position. “When I graduated medical school.” He settled into his chair and looked at Jonas, skirting over Charlotte’s embarrassment. “I just want to convey my deepest sympathies. I’m very, very sorry. Zach was a great guy.”

  Jonas nodded. “I read through your report, and there was something I wanted to ask about.”

  “All right.”

  “I think there was a cut on his forearm,” Jonas told him. “But it wasn’t listed on the report.”

  Mark frowned. “I don’t remember a cut on his arm, but I’ll take a second look.”

  Jonas nodded and took a deep breath. “Did Zach leave any belongings here?”

  “In his locker. Do you want to take them?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “All right, give me a moment and I’ll get them for you.” Mark rose and left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Charlotte leaned close to Jonas. “I don’t know about him,” she whispered.

  “You don’t know what?” he whispered back.

  “Doesn’t it seem odd that he’s too clean?”

  “You prefer him to be dirty?”

  She smacked his arm. “No, he just blends into everything.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s an off-putting thing. He’s a blender.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve really grasped the difference of nouns and verbs.”

  “I don’t think you grasp what I’m saying.”

  “What is there to grasp except your imagination is running away with you?”

  “What about that paperweight, going all seagulls from Finding Nemo on me?” She pursed her lips and tapped her foot as she glanced around the office. “Has anyone seen his wife recently?”

  “Oh, no,” Jonas said, holding up his hand. “Not again.”

  “Granted, he doesn’t have a spirit attached to him—”

  “Like that worked out well the last time,” he said sarcastically.

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Do you need me to find something to do with that tongue?”

  “If you need ideas, Detective Daire, I’m sure I can provide a few.”

  He winked at her just as Mark Roozie walked in carrying a plastic bag.

  “Here you go, Jonas,” Mark said, holding out the bag. Jonas took it, gripping the handles gently as if the bag were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off the vague dark shapes inside.

  Jonas had to clear his throat before he could talk. “Thanks, Mark.”

  “Anything else?” Mark asked.

  Jonas shook his head and stood up. “You’ll, uh, check into the cut on Zach’s arm?”

  “Of course,” Mark said and held out his hand.

  Jonas shook it. Charlotte just gave him a smile and a head nod.

  As they walked out, leaving Doctor Mark Roozie staring after them, Charlotte couldn’t help the little shiver that traveled down her spine.

  “I have to get back to work,” he told her quietly. “Would you take the bag back home?”

  The pull on the bag drew her, but she hesitated on touching it. “Are you sure?”

  “This isn’t a matter of trust. I just can’t…look at it right now.”

  “All right,” she murmured and took the bag. Her palm itched to explore the vision attached to the items.

  As they left the coroner’s building, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder where their next unofficial move would be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They were only a block and a half away from the police precinct, and Jonas reached down to hold her hand as they walked slowly back. It made Charlotte’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Are you going to be all right?” she asked.

  Jonas nodded, but he squeezed her hand a little tighter than usual. “Just when I start to believe it’s all been a bad dream, I get another piece of Zach’s life handed to me in a plastic grocery bag. It’s like a nail in the coffin.”

  “Are there any leads yet?”

  “Technically I can’t discuss anything about an ongoing case, but then again, technically I’m not on the case. All Degas has been working on is gathering eyewitness accounts and going over statements until the forensics come back.”

  She heard the frustration in his voice and squeezed his hand.

  When they approached the front entrance of the police building, she tugged on his hand to pull him down to her height. He leaned over far enough to allow her to kiss him on the mouth, and he lingered a second, allowing her a quick swipe of her tongue over his lips. He gave a low moan just before he pulled back.

  “Don’t give me any tempting ideas, Miss Perth.”

  “Two of my favorite words, Detective Daire. Tempting and ideas.” She winked at him before twirling away, holding up her fingers, and wiggling them good-bye.

  She slid behind the wheel of her car and sat for a moment. Logically, she knew the police wouldn’t tell her their progress on the investigation, and logically, she knew she could no longer be much help. So why was she really staying in Alecia Falls? Because she really, really
liked Jonas? And it bothered her that she was making excuses to stay in town. Perhaps she should make plans to return to Santa Fe. But thoughts of leaving brought a small pang in her chest and made her heart beat uncomfortably. One more day, she promised herself. Just to hear the report of Zach’s arm. After that, she’d make plans to go home.

  She started her car and pulled out of the parking space, heading toward Jonas’s home. The grocery store caught her eye, and she decided to give cooking dinner one more try, baked chicken curry round two.

  Charlotte made her round through the grocery store, knowing exactly where to find the ingredients she needed. She paid for her items and thanked the clerk, swinging her purse over her shoulder as she walked out the store toward her car.

  And then, out of nowhere, she was pushed from behind. Charlotte went sprawling facedown, her knees connecting painfully with the concrete. As she tried to push herself up with her hands, she was knocked down again. She felt a tugging on her arm as the person tried to take her purse.

  “Hey!” someone called out, and a second later she felt the strap on her arm ripple downward as the man held onto her purse and ran at the same time.

  Gentle hands helped her to stand, and it took a moment for her to catch her breath.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Charlotte blinked and looked up. A young man, perhaps no older than twenty, wearing the grocery store uniform apron held her arm. “Ah, no. He stole my purse. God dammit! He stole my purse.”

  The employee immediately pulled out his cell phone from one of the apron’s pockets and dialed. “Hello, I need to report a mugging in front of Talbot’s grocery store. One of our customers just had her purse stolen. Okay. Thank you.”

  Charlotte winced as she took a step. She looked down and saw that the knees at her pants had been ripped.

  “Darn, I liked these pants,” she muttered.

  “Come on, miss,” the young man said. “Let’s go inside and wait for the cops. I know my manger will want to talk to you.”

  “Where’s my chicken?” Charlotte asked. She spotted the plastic bag several feet from her. As she limped over to it, she realized it had fallen out of the bag and had skidded over the concrete sidewalk. The plastic covering had broken, leaving the meat strewn on the sidewalk. “Just great. My purse, my pants, and my chicken.”

  * * * *

  Jonas sat at his desk, staring at Degas as his partner laid out several folders. He felt like he felt the past couple of days, utterly useless by catching up on paperwork and helping out the other detectives with theirs. Jonas bet there wasn’t another precinct in the nation now more organized than them.

  “Are those leads?” he asked.

  Degas grimaced. “Yes. Calls flooded in as soon as the news broke.”

  “I could help you.”

  “Gotta clear it with the lieutenant.”

  Jonas frowned and didn’t answer. He already knew the answer he would get. As Degas went back to sorting out the stack of his pile of calls, Jonas kept his sigh to himself. There had been a cooling between them ever since Charlotte had shown him her craft, and Jonas wasn’t sure if it was because Degas was a devoutly religious Catholic or if it was because he didn’t want his cop mind tainted with psychic tricks.

  “Detective Daire?”

  Jonas swung around and saw the officer from Charlotte’s hotel break in. “Officer George, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Another call came through. I didn’t take it, but I thought I should come down and tell you about it.”

  Jonas had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “Does this call involve Miss Charlotte Perth?”

  “Sure does.”

  What now?

  * * * *

  Charlotte stood talking with a man in uniform when Jonas pulled up. He jumped out of the car and hurried over to her, nodding at the cop taking her statement before pulling her into his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I banged up my knees,” she told him.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around at the spectators. “Witnesses?”

  She pointed toward her Good Samaritan, and the cop walked over to him.

  “I came to buy some more chicken,” she told Jonas. “I was outside walking to my car when someone pushed me from behind. Down I went, ruining my favorite pants, ruining my chicken. And he took my purse.”

  She sniffed.

  He leaned back to look at her. “Hey, you crying?”

  “No,” she said defiantly. “Well, maybe. My knees really hurt.”

  He gave her a tender smile. Just then his cell phone rang. Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He frowned. “It’s you,” he told her.

  “What?”

  He showed her his cell, and caller ID glowed her name.

  “Oh, that’s spooky.”

  Jonas hit the talk button and answered. “Hello?” He listened for a few seconds. “Yes, this is Detective Daire. Okay. I’ll send over a policeman right away.” He closed his phone. “Your purse has been found.”

  He stepped away from her and walked up to the officer, saying something before gesturing to her to come.

  “We’re going to get your purse,” he said. “This officer will stay here and speak to the manger and clerk.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh, Miss Perth, wait,” the young clerk said. He raced back inside and a moment later he came back with a cooked rotisserie chicken wrapped in a heat bag. “So you don’t have to cook tonight.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Thank you so much. That’s so thoughtful. And it’ll save me from having to face another poor bird.”

  With a wave, she limped back to Jonas, who helped settle her into his car before jumping behind the wheel and starting it up. As he pulled onto the road, heading toward the gas station, he glanced at the bag on her lap.

  “At least it’s cooked,” he replied. “That’ll save my fire alarm.”

  She shot him a dirty look. “Just for that you aren’t getting any of these tender, juicy breasts and thighs.”

  Jonas didn’t say a word, but he shot her a raised brow.

  Her face heated up. “Hm. Funny how you can say something in your head and it sounds fine.”

  He chuckled and pulled into the gas station, parking the car near the front door. Once the engine had stopped, he turned to face her, sliding his arm along the back of her seat.

  “You know the best part about getting a rotisserie chicken?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head.

  “Licking off the spice.”

  As he pulled back to exit the car, Charlotte fanned herself to bring down the hot flash that suddenly engulfed her body. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was grab Jonas by the collar and drag him to the nearest bedroom, forget the darn purse! But even though her body was primed and ready to go, sanity rushed in to remind her that a crime had been committed against her, and she needed to follow through with that.

  So she opened the door to the car and limped after him into the food mart. A young girl stood behind the counter, her badly dyed blonde hair in a ponytail and too much blue eye shadow coating her eyelids.

  “I’m Detective Jonas Daire. Thank you for calling me,” he told her. Charlotte’s purse lay on the counter in front of him. “Where did you find Miss Perth’s purse?”

  “By the dumpster,” the girl said as she chomped on her gum. “I had to throw out the bathroom trash out and saw it on the ground.”

  “Do you have surveillance cameras?”

  “Not in the back.”

  “And Miss Perth’s cell phone was inside the purse?”

  “Actually, it was lying on top of it. It wasn’t locked, so I looked under her last calls and saw the word detective, so I called.”

  “Thank you for that,” Jonas said as he used his pen to move the purse around. “I obviously need to talk to Miss Perth about identity theft. She doesn’t quite grasp that it only takes four numbers to secure against a
major annoyance and high legal fees.”

  “Hey now, don’t you get smart with me,” Charlotte retorted and picked up her purse.

  “Don’t touch anything!” he said, groaning since it was too late, and Charlotte started going through it.

  “Look,” she told him. “Everything’s here. My phone, my debit and credit card, my passport, my tablet. Hell, even my twenty bucks. Every…wait, my driver’s license is gone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean, are you sure? Of course I’m sure! Look, here’s the see-through sleeve it goes in.”

  “I’m just saying he took your license but left your tablet?” Jonas questioned, frowning.

  “What? Don’t you have kids trying to buy beer from fake, or in this case, stolen licenses?”

  To emphasize her point, Charlotte looked at the cashier, who gave a half-nod, half-shrug kind of answer.

  “All right,” Jonas said with a sigh. “Put the wallet down and get me a plastic bag, please.”

  The girl plucked one from her stand and gave it to him. Jonas used it to pick up the wallet and purse.

  “What are you going to do with them?” Charlotte asked.

  “Let’s go see if there are any fingerprints left over.” He gave a nod of thanks to the girl, took Charlotte’s hand, and left the gas station.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Did you have to put the black crap all over my fake Coach purse and wallet?” Charlotte demanded as she used the wet paper towel that had once been on her kneecap to wipe off the fingerprint dusting powder.

  “I didn’t put it on there,” Jonas reminded her.

  “Semantics. When I say you I mean it as all-encompassing,” she told him with a wave of her hand around the room. Then she scrubbed furiously at a stubborn dark spot. “Boy, this stuff goes everywhere.”

  “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and wash it off?”

  “I did. Twice. It’s like…sand in bathing suits.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You know, after a day on the beach you find sand in places you didn’t know existed, all up in your—”