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

by Beth D. Carter

  “That actually scares me a little.”

  “And did you find out anything?”

  “Not counting internet auction sites that sell Louboutins, there is only one authorized seller in Alecia Falls, and without knowing the exact name of the shoe the manager couldn’t help me narrow down a buyer. In Seattle, there are eight places that sell them, including a few resale shops, but again, I hit a brick wall.”

  “You called all the shops?” she asked, slightly stunned.

  “Did you forget the word detective in front of my name?”

  His phone buzzed, alerting him that a text message had come through. He reached over her shoulder and plucked it off the night stand. “Seems like your Agent McKnight managed to jump through some hoops on the wallet.”

  She shot him a dark glower. “Again, McKnight is not mine. Don’t make me punch you.”

  “He’s going to video chat with us tomorrow.”

  “Dear god, I have to see him again?” she grumbled.

  Her continued grumblings about the man irked his nerves. He’d taken psychology through school and knew love and hate walked a fine line. Jonas wasn’t sure how he felt about knowing unresolved issues remained between Charlotte and McKnight.

  “Since I hired HS, this is one report on Zach’s case that I can’t be barred from being a part of.”

  “Well, I have to admit that was fast. But some men are, I suppose.”

  He pulled her back down to the bed and loomed over her. “I hope you are not shuffling me into that reference.”

  “How about I say every moment with you is not long enough.”

  “Why, Detective Daire, is that a police baton in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

  He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. “I don’t have any pockets,” he whispered in her ear. And for a little bit, he forgot all about Nash McKnight.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When they arrived at the precinct the next morning, Degas was already video conferencing with Nash and gestured for them to pull up chairs.

  “Ah,” Nash said from the image box on the monitor. “Good morning, Charlotte. Detective.”

  “I’m really surprised at the quick turnaround,” Degas commented.

  “I called in a favor,” Nash replied. “I’m e-mailing you the analysis right now, but basically the paper of the business card had deteriorated beyond repair. However, the card’s logo was embossed, so the lab techs were able to photograph the impression. When I cross matched the logo in our database, I came up with only one hit, a lawyer by the name of Michael Parkinson.”

  Degas wrote the name down. “We appreciate this, Agent McKnight.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll collect at some point. Tootles, Charlotte,” he said and ended the video stream.

  “Asshole,” Jonas muttered.

  “Yes, and you wondered why I didn’t want to continue dating him,” Charlotte said sweetly. “So, are we going to visit this Michael Parkinson now?”

  Jonas glanced at Degas, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  Degas sighed. “All right. Since you hired HS on this piece of information, I’ll let you tag along. But I ask the questions, understand?”

  “Awesome,” Charlotte said.

  “Not you, Charlotte,” Jonas stated.

  “What? Oh, come on—”

  “No, she can come with us,” Degas replied, and both she and Jonas looked at him in surprise. Charlotte smiled widely. “You never know when she might pick up on something, you know, off.”

  Jonas sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  The feel of Michael Parkinson’s office seemed a stark contrast to his profession. Charlotte always pictured divorce lawyers as having a sterile environment, lots of whites, black, and silver, but this waiting room held earth tones, warm and inviting.

  They only had to wait for a few minutes before Michael walked out of his office to greet them. He held out his hand.

  “Michael Parkinson,” he introduced himself, shaking each of their hands.

  Degas held up his badge. “I’m Detective Villarosa. This is my partner, Detective Daire. And Miss Perth.”

  “Please, come in my office,” Michael said, gesturing to the room he just exited.

  The décor was just as comfortable as the rest of the office, and Charlotte sat down in soft brown leather chair in front of the desk. Degas also sat, but Jonas remained standing.

  “How can I help you?” Michael asked.

  “We’re here investigating the death of Zachary Braddock-Masters,” Degas told him. “Inside his wallet your business card was found.”

  “Yes, he had a consultation with me about two months ago,” Michael stated.

  “Zach wasn’t married,” Jonas replied.

  Michael glanced at him. “He came asking questions about a female friend who was in an abusive relationship and wanted out.”

  “Did he tell you her name?” Degas asked.

  Michael shook his head. “No. Since it was a consultation only and the woman wasn’t with him, I didn’t pry too much into the situation. Now, of course, I wish I had so I could give you something to work with.”

  “Did Mr. Braddock-Masters give any indication he felt threatened by the husband?”

  “None that I can remember. I did urge him to talk with his friend about pursuing, at the very least, an order of protection from the state. It would have prohibited contact from her husband, as well as removed him from their shared residence.”

  “And he gave no hint of who this woman was?”

  Michael Parkinson shook his head. “None. If you wish, I can have my secretary provide you with the transcript I took during our consultation.”

  “Please,” Degas said and rose. He held out a business card. “You can e-mail it to me at this address. Please call if you think of anything else.”

  “Of course,” Michael said, taking the card.

  “Thank you for your time,” Charlotte said, rising as well and holding out her hand. Michael took it, but she didn’t feel any pull or coldness settling in her bones.

  As they walked out of the building and toward the parking lot, Degas turned to her.

  “Nothing?”

  “Are you expecting me to shake everybody’s hand, Detective?”

  “Seems too extreme, huh?”

  “Your case was unique,” she told him. “Not many spirits attach themselves to a person. Usually it’s to their belongings.”

  “Well, my brother watched me from the time I was born, so maybe he did consider me his. I take it Zach is still around?”

  Charlotte looked at him, puzzled, before glancing at Jonas. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “Tell me what?” Degas asked.

  Jonas ran a hand through his hair. “She’s had a few visions. I wasn’t sure how you felt about all this.”

  “You mean, learning that things that go bump in the night really do go bump in the night,” Degas clarified.

  “Exactly. Listen, Degas,” Jonas said with a sigh. “Off the record—”

  “Off the record she freaks the hell out of me,” Degas said, pointing at Charlotte before turning to her. “No offense.”

  Charlotte gave him two thumbs up.

  “But on the record a lead is a lead, even if it’s an anonymous tip,” Degas replied, stressing the information.

  “You know,” Charlotte said, interrupting them, “you two have a lot of catching up to do, so I’ll hoof it.”

  Jonas frowned. “We’re on the other side of the city.”

  “Ever heard of public transportation?” she asked him. “Besides, I have to phone hunt now since I’m disconnected from the world.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’m a big girl, Jonas,” she told him firmly. “I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

  “And we both know how that can be a little dangerous,” he shot back.

  Her mouth compressed into a tight line, and she turned her back on both of them, w
alking away with stiff shoulders. The last thing she needed right now was a guilt trip. Let the two men sort out Jonas’s lack of communication and Degas’s lack of faith. She had other plans.

  A few blocks away she finally found her cell phone carrier and walked into the shop. About half an hour later, she walked out with a brand new phone, a sporty new model with all the bells and whistles. She’d have to read the manual just to figure out how to turn the damn thing on. But for now she had enough battery life to call Holly.

  “What the hell is going on, Lottie?” Holly asked by way of a greeting.

  “And good morning to you, sister dear,” Charlotte replied. “I got a new phone, and you were the first person I called.”

  “I feel so special. Nash told me the killer called you.”

  “Yeah, that was a little unnerving.”

  “I want you to go home. This isn’t your job anymore.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I know. I just…can’t. He’s too insistent.”

  “Who? Detective Daire?”

  “No. Zach. The woman he was having an affair with is pregnant, and I think she’s in danger.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “About ninety-nine percent.”

  Holly was silent for a moment. “No. I want you out of danger.”

  “Holly, this is case is different. It’s made me…different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I’ve always walked away,” Charlotte said. “Even from my own, you know, thing. This case is making me realize that there’s a depth I’ve never fully acknowledged.”

  “A depth to what?”

  “My own fears.”

  “Lottie—”

  “And you’ve kept my secret. You and Al. I appreciate that. But maybe I need to grow up a little.”

  “Whatever you decide to do, we’ll always support you,” Holly said quietly.

  “Thanks, Sis.”

  “You just be careful, okay? No heroics.”

  Charlotte had to laugh at that. “And what, pray tell, in our history together makes you think I’d even remotely be heroic?”

  “Because you have a good heart.”

  That made Charlotte pause. “Oh, now you you’ve gone and done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “Made me think of being heroic.”

  “Goof.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Gotta run. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She hung up with Holly and flagged down a taxi, reciting Jonas’s address as she settled back in the cool vinyl seat. Alecia Falls passed by in a blur outside the taxi’s window as she thought about her conversation with Holly. This trip had changed everything for her. Suddenly the world was no longer painted in black and white, and the past rolled through her mind as she recalled the night her world shifted off its axis.

  Her trainer had hated that she practiced alone every night, but it had been a habit from her early childhood. It had driven her parents crazy, but Charlotte had never feared the water or her ability to command it. Her mother had spouted drowning statistics, and they’d even erected a locked fence around their backyard pool, but the obstacles had never deterred her. Nothing had shaken her focus on becoming an Olympic athlete until the week before the tryouts were to begin. She was due to fly to Omaha, Nebraska, the next day, where the tryouts were to be held. But keeping with her regime, she’d gone back to her training pool that night to get more practice. At eighteen, Charlotte had lived and breathed swimming. Her college plans had been put on hold until after the Olympics trials, and even though she knew she had a good chance at making the team, the competition had been fierce. Just because she held a world record didn’t guarantee she’d race a smooth race or that she’d be on top of her game. Nerves and focus were a big part of handling such a huge arena, and Charlotte knew she had to get a tight rein on her emotions.

  She’d swum until her arms had been lead weights. She’d taken off her swim cap and had been leaning with her head resting on the edge of the pool, letting the water lap over her skin, when she’d felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn, however, a hand had been on her head, pushing her down.

  She remembered panic had set in immediately because she couldn’t propel herself up. She tried to push the hand off her head, but the hand wouldn’t budge. The fingers had wrapped in her hair, keeping a firm grip on her to hold her under.

  Her lungs burned. Dots appeared before her eyes. Already tired from swimming so long, the strength to fight deserted her quickly. Even while her mind rejected what was happening, she’d opened her mouth, and the chlorinated pool water rushed in. Her body tried gagging the water from her lungs but only met more water. She’d fought hard against the hand but then her body betrayed her, and it just gave up. She’d stopped fighting, stopped flailing about, and everything dimmed. The hand left her head, but she stayed under, falling to the bottom. Her eyes were open, and she’d seen the few overhead lights streaming through the blue water. She’d seen the shadow of the person who had killed her.

  In the darkness, a light had grown and a hand presented itself. Charlotte remembered looking up to see a beautiful being, neither man or woman or even person but rather an entity of pure, warm light, smiling at her. She’d felt treasured, loved, so she took the hand and the…angel?... helped her to stand. Charlotte saw the pool, saw herself at the bottom of it, and regret filled her. Her life had been stolen, and it made her sad to know that she’d never get to do the things she’d always wanted to do. Be an athlete, fall in love, become a mother, all of her dreams now gone.

  She remembered looking down on herself, seeing Tucker Martell, the owner’s son, calling out for help as he administered CPR. She watched as he pushed air into her unmoving lungs, forcing her heart to beat, forcing the water out. He never stopped, urging her to come back. She had wanted to go back, be alive again. And then the being leaned down, kissed her forehead then pushed her forward, toward her body, and just like that Charlotte went.

  She’d gagged as air rushed back into her body, pain exploding through every cell. But she welcomed the pain because that meant she was alive. An ambulance had shown up, had taken her to the hospital, and Charlotte had told them that her side had cramped and she’d slipped under. One little lie, because how could she ever face the fact that someone hated her enough to want her dead?

  Holly had known right away something was wrong with her story and had urged her to tell the truth, but somehow Charlotte had managed to talk her into keeping her secret. But everything had changed now, and she knew she’d have to go talk with both Holly and Al about opening up an investigation twelve years old.

  She was ready now to confront the past.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The first thing Charlotte did when she entered Jonas’s house was start a load of laundry. She’d put on her last pair of clean underwear that morning, thankful that she didn’t know how to pack light. Even when she planned to only be gone two days, she stuffed her suitcase until zipping it closed was next to impossible.

  While she waited for the spin cycle to complete, she got out her tablet and opened her notepad. One by one she laid down the facts that she knew of Zach’s murder, frowning as something began to nag at her. Something seemed off, as if missing a piece to the puzzle. She knew Degas and Jonas probably had everything down pat and she should trust them to handle it, but she’d come so far into the investigation, and she hated to just sit back and see how it all played out.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that Zach needed her for something. He’d shown her bits and pieces because he wanted her to figure it out…to find his married, pregnant girlfriend. That was a lot for any normal person, but to add losing her lover on top of leaving her husband, how heavy that must weigh on her.

  The spin cycle finished, and Charlotte rose to move her load into the dryer. Just as she hit start, the missing piece to the puzzle finally hit her. The girl from Zach’s work, the pregnant girl who had come up to give her condolences. There’d been three of th
em, but the young girl had seemed timid and afraid.

  It had to be her. She’d seemed so sad, so lost. Zach’s girlfriend had been under their nose the entire time! With a muffled curse, she hurried to grab her purse, wanting to get back to the coroner’s office ASAP.

  Racing somewhere without actually speeding proved more difficult than she would have guessed. The last thing Charlotte wanted to collect as a souvenir was a ticket. As she pulled into the parking lot of the coroner’s office, she pulled out her cell phone and rang Jonas, but the call went right into his voice mail. She hung up, not bothering to leave a message.

  When she walked into the reception area, she got hit with the pulling sensation again of souls wanting to be known, forcing her to concentrate. She looked around but couldn’t spot the girl from before, so she stepped up to the girl behind the desk.

  “Hello,” she greeted. “I was here the other day with Detective Daire—”

  “Oh yes,” the girl replied. “Did you want to talk to Dr. Roozie again?”

  “No, no, I’m here to talk to a girl, a little shorter than myself, pregnant. She had long brown hair and wore a lab coat.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  Charlotte wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember. “I did. But I can’t remember it.”

  “Hmm, okay. Do you know what department?”

  “I don’t know that either, but how many pregnant women could there possibly be?” Charlotte demanded a bit impatiently.

  “Miss Perth?”

  Charlotte started and turned to see Mark Roozie standing behind her. She put a hand over her heart. “You startled me, Dr. Roozie.”

  He smiled at her. “Sorry. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes, I’m trying to locate a young woman who works here. She’s pregnant, maybe four or five months.”

  “Why do you need to contact her?”

  Charlotte looked around and pitched her voice low. “I think she’s Zach’s girlfriend. I think she’s in trouble.”