Wolf at the Door

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “The DNA was Rachael’s,” the detective said. “But it had been planted by someone who isn’t that good at such things.”

  “Fingerprints, maybe moved with something like Scotch tape?” Rachael guessed.

  “How the hell do you even know that?” Edward demanded.

  “Because I forgot and then forgot I forgot.”

  “In English, por favor?”

  “I left my travel guide in her office.”

  “Whose?”

  “Mrs. Cain’s. The woman at the chamber of commerce. The one who got things ready when she knew I was coming. The one who set me up for murder. The one who lifted my DNA from anything in her office I’d touched and brought it to crime scenes and”—Rachael spread her hands and looked wry—“spread the wealth.”

  “But . . .” He looked around. The rest of them looked just as blank as he felt. “But why?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachael moved—flowed, almost—to her feet. If he’d blinked, he would have missed it. Girl could move when she wanted to. “But I’m going to go ask her.”

  Forty-eight

  “It’s over, you know.”

  Mrs. Cain sighed. “Yes. I know.”

  “Even if you hadn’t called, I’d have come for you.”

  “I know. I didn’t think it would really work. I told him that.”

  Rachael’s head began to throb in time with her heartbeat. “But you did it anyway, Mrs. Cain. You did it anyway.”

  The older woman’s head came up proudly. Rachael had never seen her in casual clothes: black jeans and an orange long-sleeved T-shirt. Athletic socks. Tennis shoes. “I was asked. They were family. What else could I have done?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not committed multiple murders?”

  “You should see the smug look on your face right now. Pretending if your precious Michael asked you to kill, pretending it’d turn out any different.”

  I am dealing with a crazy person. “If that’s what you want to think.”

  “It isn’t what I want to think,” Rachael flashed. She’d crossed her small living room in half a blink, more than a little annoyed she’d allowed this person into her den. “It’s what is. I didn’t call you to sit in judgment.”

  “Then why did you?” The time. She had to be careful of the time. Edward would miss her soon. Worse: the queen might. She did not want the queen of the vampires anywhere near Pack business. Bad enough that Cain had pointed fingers that led vampires this far . . . and hopefully no further.

  “I must know. I felt I—we—had been careful.”

  “He wasn’t careful at all. And you knew that.” She tilted her head, studying the other woman. “What an odd time to start lying.”

  “I was never much good at it.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said dryly. “You covered pretty well before . . . half-truths got you through it. If you were tense about the murders, you saw me when you could explain how you were tense about something else.” The new ad campaign. Deadlines. An old Pack trick, but a good one—scents can’t lie, but you can misrepresent their source.

  “It was the only thing I could think to do.”

  “When you were pissed I was going to see the vampire queen, you discussed it when I would assume you were pissed over a possible scuffle for territory. You were mad; I knew you were. But you were mad because trying to make friends with the vampires was not the plan. If your goal was to sow mistrust, the last thing you wanted was open communication between their people and ours.”

  “You have a reputation for being standoffish,” Mrs. Cain said sharply. “Frankly, it never occurred to me that you would be so sociable.”

  “I’m thrilled to disappoint you.”

  Cain muttered something that sounded like itch. (It probably wasn’t itch.)

  “You knew I’d smell a lie on you . . . so each time you had to lie, you made sure you had an explanation.”

  Cain just looked at her for a long moment. Annoyance. Shame. Irritation. “Yes, which brings me back to my question . . . how did you know I was involved?”

  “Who else would it have been, Cain? I’ve been in town less than two weeks, and besides my landlords and Edward, you’re the only one I know here.”

  “Except for the vampires,” she snapped.

  The time. Keep an eye on the time. “The pool of suspects was quite shallow.” Murder mysteries are never like this. There’s usually more than one suspect. Ah, now I’m sounding like Edward . . . clearly, I fell for the hype. If the whole murderous mess hadn’t been so wasteful and tragic, she would have been amused. “You created a list of people for me to meet. Then you helped your man kill his way through the list. Then you dumped them in the Summit Avenue area . . . what a Pack member would consider vampire territory. Even better, what a vampire would consider vampire territory.

  “You knew I’d be right in the middle of it all, keeping an eye on the vampires and unwittingly keeping things stirred up. When the queen looked into the murders happening so near, she’d wonder what had changed. I was the change. A Pack member, set right in the dead center of her territory. And with things between our people and hers still in a bit of an uproar . . . well. It wouldn’t have taken much to set off those fireworks. And I’d be gone . . . killed by a vamp, maybe. Or arrested by a human... which would bring my name to their attention. Word would also get back to Michael. And there’d be a mess. A big fat mess in the last place any of us wanted it.

  “And once the hurricane whipped through our lives, you’d have what you wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  “Except you couldn’t. Because you killed him. Didn’t you?”

  A long silence, finally broken by her sigh. “Yes. I had to. He’d shamed the family. He’d endangered the Pack.”

  She’s gone insane. Absolutely flipped her lid. I should feel worse for her than I do. What a waste! All of it, pure waste! Oh God, God, what was it all FOR?

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  That was so absurd, Rachael had no idea what to say. There’s something very wrong with this woman. And then, of course, she realized what it was. I should feel sorry for you. I don’t, though. I guess . . . I’m a bad person after all.

  “I didn’t,” she repeated.

  “You did, actually. And you’re not even a bad guy.”

  She actually smiled at that. “No?”

  “No, Cain, you’re not a bad guy.” Rachael spoke gently, with what little pity she could manage. “You’re the worst kind of bad guy. You think you’re the good guy. So in your mind, every terrible deed is justified for the greater good. It’s why you’re so dangerous. It’s why my cousin will most likely kill you.”

  “To come kill me? Here?” She laughed, a grating and ugly noise. “What, and leave his precious Cape Cod and his precious monkey wife—”

  “Cain!” Rachael’s usually mild temperament left her; her shout was part growl, part roar. Monkey was a vicious pejorative to describe their brothers who had evolved on the far side of the world. It was just about the worst slur a werewolf could use. “Watch your filthy mouth!”

  “Oh. I see.” Cain’s upper lip was curling and lifting, curling and lifting, showing Rachael quick flashes of sharp, white teeth. It was unconscious but spoke volumes. Anger. Anger. Anger. Anger. “You’ve met one. You’re fucking one. I can smell him on you.”

  “I doubt it. Most likely you’re smelling yourself. When was the last time you showered?”

  “Traitor.”

  “You’re not going to do the sad and stupid our-bloodlinemust-be-kept-pure nonsense, right? First off, it’s not true, and second, it’s just so pathetic. Please, please . . . if you’ve got a gun, shoot me in the face.” Not as nasty as monkey, but a sly shot all the same. Using anything but teeth and claws to kill was considered lazy and contemptible. “Shoot me in the face, the knee, throw me under your car and then back up a few times, whatever, just don’t start with the race-traitor crap. Because I can’t think of anything s
illier to discuss.”

  “Well, you are one! You’re the one running around banging monkeys.”

  “More than that, even,” she said, staying calm. This woman is insane. You know why. You know what’s wrong with her. It doesn’t excuse anything . . . but it bears keeping in mind. Don’t rise again. Don’t. “I’m taking him for a mate.”

  “Other than trying to induce me to vomit in your wastebasket, why would you ever tell me that?” Lift. Curl. Lift. Curl.

  “So I can see your face when I explain that he’s ten times the person you’ll ever be, Cain. He wouldn’t set up an innocent for murder. He wouldn’t sit back while bystanders were targeted and killed because he got homesick. And he’d never turn on family . . . he wouldn’t kill the killer.”

  “Oh, yes, please tell me more. It’s so fascinating to me. The monkeys are so civilized.”

  “Only compared to some. But what I’d really like to know, Cain, the reason I bothered to come back here at all . . .” The reason I sent Edward and the queen on a wild monkey chase . . . “Why? You must tell me, because that’s what eats at me (so to speak). Your motive. You’ve never done anything like this before, correct? And that’s what troubles me. Settled middle-aged office employees don’t just suddenly plan, aid, and abet felony murder. So what happened? Why now?”

  Anger. Shame. Anger. Anger. Anger.

  “Because they’re my cousins,” Cain said, her expression making clear she thought it was a stupid question. “They’re family.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “I was afraid it was something like that. Cousins.”

  “Their business is their life. It’s everything to them.”

  “And I was in the way.”

  “You were in the way.”

  “You didn’t need me to be convicted, or even tried. Just inconvenienced enough to muddy the waters.” Over an audit? Of all the stupid, pointless . . .

  “It was working. You were out there, like a goat staked for bait. You weren’t—you shouldn’t have—”

  Made allies of the people who were supposed to condemn her. Yes, I can see how that would really screw up your plan.

  “Aren’t you ashamed?” She could hear how plaintive she sounded. It was the sort of question a child asked, but Rachael couldn’t help it. When she thought of the wasted lives, she wanted to weep. “All this mess, and for what? For nothing, in the end.”

  “For everything. For my family.”

  When Cain went for her, Rachael was ready. Almost relieved, really. Not that one could ever really be ready for a fight to the death, but Rachael had walked through the door knowing there was a 94.62 percent chance she would have to fight for her life if she ever wanted to leave her den under her own power, rather than hitching a ride in a body bag.

  So Cain dived across the desk, the small quaint rolltop desk that had seen more action in the last seven days than in the last seven years, and Rachael managed to avoid the woman’s grasping, clawing hands. She was more than a little relieved. She was an accountant, not a warrior, and it was good to see the woman was much slower than she was.

  Cain recovered quickly and slashed at Rachael, forcing her back. “Can’t you try to have some dignity here at the end?”

  “What”—grope, slash—“do you think”—claw, grab—“this is?”

  “Pathetic. That’s what I think this is.” But Rachael was relieved, too. She hadn’t really wanted to fight to the death. She was fine with merely overpowering the woman and turning her over to either the envoy of Michael’s choice or the local police, who would—

  —be delighted to find the murder weapon. Which Cain had brought with her to Rachael’s hobbit hole. Shamed, yes, but not nearly enough. Should have foreseen that, yes you should have, and you’ll pay for your arrogance now, won’t you, you silly bitch?

  “You brought the gun?” Cain’s hands had gone to the small of her back and now, yes, now Rachael could smell gun oil, now that Cain was lifting her shirt and bringing the weapon out to bear, now she could smell it, but now was going to be too late, and she had no one to blame but herself. “You brought a gun into my den? You actually brought one of those things into my den, you faithless bitch?”

  She would be too slow, and her only consolation was that she’d kept Edward out of it. Edward was safe. Yes, he was—

  There.

  “No!” she screamed. “Oh, no, don’t, don’t, don’t come in, don’t you dare come in!”

  But he did dare.

  Forty-nine

  “I don’t know who Rachael thinks she’s kidding with all this meet-me-all-the-way-across-town-in-half-an-hour bullshit,” Edward informed the king of the vampires. “It’s so obvious she’s going to go to her place to either look for the chamber lady, or is setting up a meeting so the chamber lady comes to the hobbit hole where all will be revealed . . . something stupid and brave and really illogical.”

  Eric Sinclair, beloved of Betsy and king of the undead, grinned. Edward had to make an actual, conscious effort not to flinch from that look. “Brave and really illogical would accurately describe Her Majesty.”

  “And a lover of all things smoothie.”

  The king chuckled, a sound that was somehow light and dark at the same time. “Yes. That, too.”

  “Thanks for helping me split them up.”

  “Not at all. I prefer my queen to be half a city away from possible felony assault. And she takes justifiable pride in knowing she can go out into the world earlier in the day than I can. So it was a fine thing, letting her leave first.”

  He’d thought that was kind of weird but had decided not to say anything yet. But yeah, Betsy could go outside while it was still light out. Sinclair couldn’t. He had to wait until it was almost full dark, like now.

  Edward pointed at his chest as they rolled silently into the driveway for the hobbit hole. “Knew it. Totally called it. You asked Betsy and Tina and Beriberi to go where you’re pretty sure the bad guy isn’t.”

  “It was not a question of pretty sure.”

  “No?”

  “No. The killer is there right now.”

  “Wait, you knew she’d be at her office downtown?”

  Sinclair just looked at him. Edward almost heard the click as he got it: “You knew she’d be here, laying here for Rachael in her very own hobbit hole! Oooh, your wife’s gonna be soooo pissed at you!”

  “I am aware, Edward.”

  “You’ll be on Sofa Sentry for months!”

  “I am aware, Edward.”

  “All right, sheesh, calm down. So what’s the plan?”

  “You stay here while I suavely save the day.”

  “Yes, and here on Planet Real Life, what’s the plan?”

  But then things got unpleasant really, really fast, because King Sinclair said, “Gun.” (Everybody called him Sinclair, even his wife!) And all Edward could do was run in after him and hope he was somehow in time or, barring that, that he could somehow help.

  As it turned out, no one needed his help.

  The king of the vampires had rushed in fast enough to knock the gun away without doing any real damage to a frowsy, middle-aged woman in an orange T-shirt. But Orange T-shirt wasn’t inclined to meekly surrender, because she was going for Rachael.

  And Rachael! Rachael had a look of fury on her face that Edward had never seen on anyone, ever. He had time for a confused thought/prayer (please don’t let me be dumb enough to ever make her that mad).

  Then Rachael was reaching for Orange T-shirt, and Orange T-shirt was reaching for Rachael with just as much hatred and intensity on her face, and for a second everything was all sharp teeth and razor-sharp nails and blurred limbs and then Rachael . . . Rachael grabbed her. Dragged her. She—

  Edward had to think about it and, though it happened right in front of him, he didn’t have senses that had evolved in a way for him to take in every point of action. So after he had thought about it for a while in his careful, planning, tool-making mind, he realized what he had seen.

>   Orange T-shirt, reaching. Rachael, also reaching . . . and grabbing, and seizing, and hauling the other woman hard and fast, dragging her across the desk and then lifting her in the air and slamming her back down, only she slammed the woman’s head on the edge of the desk; Rachel shoved her down so hard and so fast her neck broke instantly with a crack Edward would hear, on and off, in nightmares for the rest of his life.

  Rachael had broken the woman’s neck on the edge of the desk, and done such a thorough job that when the woman’s ass hit the carpet, she was already dead.

  “Um . . . look out?” he managed. The vampire king was holding the murder weapon the way he’d hold a dead garter snake. Better remember to tell him to wipe his fingerprints off. Maybe he’s got his own secret police to worry about stuff like that. “We’re here to save you?”

  “Oh, my, now look at this,” the king said mildly, but he was giving Rachael a sharp look, one with more than a little approval. “That was unexpected.”

  “It was my right.” Rachael was breathing hard. Edward realized the woman was actually shaking. “She defiled my den, where my mate sleeps. It was my right. She defiled our den. Where he sleeps. It was my right, Edward. It was my right.”

  “Sure it was, Rache. I know. She had a lot of nerve, huh? It’s all right.”

  Trembling, a Rachael he had never seen before crept into his arms. She was shaking so hard he had a little trouble holding her at first. “If she would bring it when you weren’t here, she’d bring it when you were.” Rachael made a small sound, like a dry sob. “Oh, Edward, what if you’d been here when she brought that thing?”

  “Never happen, not with Rachael Velveeta on the case. Listen, when you’re done having your nervous breakdown, can I have mine? Because I just watched you kill someone in a really awesome way, and although it’s a good thing, I think, it’s also freaking me out.”

  “Okay, but I get to go first.”

  “Naturally.”

  “And my turn’s not done yet. Please hold me and make those dumb soothing noises like you do.”