Men in security uniforms filed down the hallways, one pausing to step into the bar. He took in the Elvis on stage then scanned the crowd. He paused briefly to look at Vanessa and me. I calmly finished off my drink and raised my glass to our waitress to request another. His eyes dipped over my cleavage then down over my exposed legs. Maybe the ridiculous outfits were a great idea.
He took a step toward me, lust bubbling up as he drew closer, before someone barked at him from the door. Dejected, he left, and I let out a breath I had been holding. I wasn’t sure of the exact repercussions of getting caught. Vin had asked us to do it. But at the least, the marshal would wonder who we were and why we were involved. At the most, I could be outed as Ramono the Bull’s daughter. What that would mean was an even bigger unknown and not one I wanted to discover except on my own terms at the right time.
“He was kinda cute.” Vanessa handed her glass to the waitress as she deposited two more drinks in front of us.
“Not exactly the point. Maybe you should slow down on the alcohol. Your judgement is a mess.”
She blew a raspberry at me and sucked down her drink. “So what do the papers say? Do you have a motive? The name of the killer?”
“Not much. Most of this is the car rental info and flight info under the name William Underwood.”
“Who?”
“An alias, obviously. It’s a standard rental car contract. You have to show it to the people when you leave the lot. The only other thing is this printout of his plane ticket to go back on the first flight in the morning.”
“There’s writing on it.”
“The word ‘local.’ Wow, such a clue.” The liquor was officially in my bloodstream and melting away the apprehension.
“Maybe it means the person is local.”
“Or they had a booth in the local exhibit. No, wait. That doesn’t make much sense. We know where he was killed, and it wasn’t in the local exhibit area.”
“They said that he mostly dealt with people in Northern California and around here. He was too busy to mess with the rest of the country.”
I finished off my drink. “Good point. Okay, let’s start with the local exhibit area. We might as well. I can’t believe you blew up a car to get this information. We were already investigating there.”
She downed her drink then pulled a face as she struggled to swallow it all, her eyes watering. “You also discovered you can make us invisible.”
“If only I had discovered how I did it. It’s late. Let’s grab lunch and get back to it.” I threw a wad of cash on the table to cover the drinks plus tip and headed out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After a leisurely lunch at a very crowded Thai restaurant in the casino, we made it back to the cheese convention a little unsteadily. The third drink of the day had probably been a mistake. The fourth one definitely had been, but we had justified it by saying the sugars would help replenish our magic, and surely mages could handle their alcohol better than lightweight humans. Plus these hadn’t been just any drinks. They had contained cucumbers and therefore were practically healthy.
I pulled a tiny umbrella out of my pocket. It was no taller than the width of my palm, made of wood with pink crepe paper. Our drinks had been decorated with the novelty items, and I used both hands to lift it over my head.
As we walked, I tap-danced and improvised a song. “I’m singing in the casino, just singing in a casino. What a wonderful feeling to be drunk again.” I jumped and managed to click my heels together then land and give a bow.
Vanessa burst into laughter then hung onto me when she stumbled. Patagonia meowed impatiently, racing ahead of us then sitting to wait until we caught up. She led us back to Granner’s booth, though how she guessed our destination was beyond me. I slid the folded papers from the car into Vanessa’s boxes of wine.
Before I could stand up fully, someone grabbed me and pulled me to his chest. I yelped slightly but instantly felt calm. I wasn’t surprised when I looked up, craning my neck back until it pinched, to look Vin in the eyes. I felt safe wrapped in his arms despite the glowering expression on his face. I nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent. After a moment, I realized I was rubbing my face on his shirt, leaving behind a smear of lipstick.
Vanessa grabbed my ankle, and I realized she had tipped over when Vin had grabbed me. Her face was a little green, and she had to smooth her skirt back over her unmentionables.
Vin raised an eyebrow at her then offered her a hand to assist her to her feet. When she was finally standing, she burped loudly as a thank you.
Still in Vin’s arms, I arched my back. “Hi,” I said in a breathy tone that aimed for sexy and seductive.
He jerked his head back and twisted his nose away from me. “Oh, man, I hope there are no open flames around here.”
Still pressed into his chest, I mumbled into his shirt, “Don’t be dramatic. It was only a drink.” Or four.
He peeled me off him, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders as he maneuvered me into a chair. “I’m just glad to know that you guys had nothing to do with the car totaled in the parking lot. You must have been drinking for hours.”
“Oh no, that was us. Vanessa blew up the car.”
He buried his face in his hands and scrubbed it. He muttered some curses. “At least you didn’t get caught. Right?”
Vanessa turned to grab the papers from the wine box and stumbled. Vin grabbed her elbow and hauled her up.
She smacked the papers against his chest. “Of course we weren’t caught. Ella even—”
Vin cut her off as he flipped through the pages. “This was it?”
I sidled in next to him and then under his arm to look over the papers. “Unfortunately. The car was completely clean.”
“No luggage? Carry-on bag?”
“Nothing. And not really anything useful here either except maybe that.” I pointed at the single word scrawled on the return ticket and covered my mouth to hide a hiccup.
“‘Local’? Interesting. That works with what the marshal found out. He isn’t doing much of an investigation, but people are offering up their own opinions. He spent a lot of time in this area. But this whole investigation may be a waste. If the killer was smart, they would have packed up already. Why bother hanging around?” He folded up the paper and stuck it back into the wine box. “I need to get back, but you guys need to go get ready for the cheese ball.”
“What cheese ball?” I pictured a cheese ball covered in nuts with a wine pairing and some little crackers. I had always been a fan of the thin wheat crackers that held up well against an aggressive hard cheese. Though delicate buttery crackers with herbs baked in would go nicely with a soft, delicate cheese. Maybe a brie. I had such a soft spot for brie. Maybe it was time to branch out a little. I found myself off balance.
Vin pushed me back up before I fell. “Where the cheese queen and the cheese court preside? There’s a big dinner, and they hand out the yearly awards?”
“Wow, not at all what I was picturing.”
Vanessa pulled a face. “Tiffany was elected cheese queen again. Yack! I had to sit with her last year.” She leaned over and pretended to vomit then got a case of the giggles. “Yack. Hurl. Upchuck.” She grabbed her middle, her face twisted in silent laughter.
“You’re drunk. She’s not sitting with us this year.”
“She was the worst. And she’s dating some guy that she’s always trying to rub in Vin’s face. Probably trying to make him jealous.”
“Your feelings have been duly noted, Vanessa. Now go get something to sober you both up before Granner catches you and makes you try her recipe from the old country.” He squeezed my arm, and as he left, his fingers trailed over my skin, sending tingly warmth all through my body.
I suppressed a shiver as I turned to Vanessa. “Recipe from the old country?”
Vanessa had gone a bit white at the mention and darted from the booth, answering over her shoulder. “It’s terrible. I think it’s made from turpentine an
d old socks. It works, but I would rather suffer a hangover.”
She stumbled a few booths down to a booth of cheeses and meats. It was still in the local vendors’ area. “Excuse me, Mark. Do you have any sobering-up salami?” Her tongue twisted around the words, but she got her point across.
A man turned around. Middle aged, brown hair, with a green apron and a smile. “We’re almost sold out, Vanessa, but I think we have a stick around here. I’m guessing you want to use it right away?”
“That obvious?” I quipped as I tried to get a better read on him. Tuning into a particular person’s emotions was getting easier and faster.
He radiated a congenial warmth that probably at least partially accounted for his nearly sold out inventory. Even if people couldn’t read emotions, they would be affected by them. And the decision to buy was less based on the product itself and more on how the product made people feel. A good salesman made customers feel good, and then they wanted to buy from him.
He grabbed a dark-red stick of salami and cut off two slices with a knife from the cutting board. “It’s Rambler. The alcohol tends to sneak up on you.” He handed us each a slice. “I’m Mark Deekson.”
Vanessa bit hard into her slice. Unfortunately, in her enthusiasm, she bit down on her fingers as well. Her reaction occurred in slow motion. First her eyes flew wide, then her mouth curled into an O before she shook her hand in pain, flinging the slice across the aisle. It landed in the middle of a man’s cup of beer, splashing the amber liquid across his shirt.
“Sorry about that,” she called before taking another slice from a chuckling Mark. This time, she carefully bit into it with her front teeth and slowly chewed.
I transferred mine into my left hand in order to shake Mark’s hand. “Ella Marie. Nice to meet you. I’m working in Granner’s booth.”
“I guessed from the outfit. How is she holding up?”
I bit into the slice of tough salami. The flavor of spices and meat rolled over me. The salt enhanced the flavor as I chewed. With each bite, the taste exploded, and the haze of the liquor slowly retreated. By the time I finished, I was clearheaded, though I had lost the train of the conversation.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
He chuckled. “I think you’re good, though Vanessa needs another slice. I asked how Granner was doing. It’s not every day that you discover a sleezebag dead in your booth.” He cut off more salami to hand to Vanessa then got out a sheet of waxed paper to wrap around the rest, securing it with a piece of brown string.
There apparently had been no love lost between Mark and Michael, which would make it easier to poke around. “Granner seems to be holding up pretty well. I never met Michael. What was he like?”
Eagerness bubbled out of Mark as he leaned in closer to gossip. “A real jerk. I don’t think too many people are genuinely sad to see him go. He was one of those guys that only had interest in you if you were of use to him.”
I leaned in, matching his body language and trying to give off a cozy, it’s-just-the-two-of-us-chatting vibe that invited conspiratorial information. “Did he have interest in you?”
He barked with laughter. “Yes, he did. You’re not in line to take over his job, are you?”
“Not even close.”
“Good. He liked to use the letter of the law to screw over honest business mages. I hope Sheila, the new president, isn’t like him.”
An uneasy feeling prickled across my back. “Was he blackmailing you too?”
“You already heard about that? I was another victim. My sober-up salami, in fact.”
“Illegal dragon spit?”
“No, siren milk.”
My stomach turned. Sirens were sea creatures, humanoids, if I remembered my mythology correctly. Similar to mermaids that lured men to their deaths. Were they like people or fish? They had milk, so apparently they must be mammals, though I had learned that in normal biology class. Maybe magical beings had different rules. The image of a mermaid being milked briefly crossed my mind. It was a good thing that I was sober, or my lunch might have already been on the floor in front of me.
The shock must have shown on my face. “Are you okay? It’s just siren milk.”
I couldn’t keep showing people that I had no knowledge of mage culture. I tried to think of an excuse for my distaste at what was apparently a normal ingredient. “I’m not supposed to be having milk. I’m trying to be vegan.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me and looked at the hunk of meat in the wrapping in front of us. “You’re vegan but ate salami?”
“Oh… I’m not a very good vegan.” I managed to squeak out the weak excuse.
Mark bought the lie, and a mix of humor, matched by a laugh, and a bit of superiority wafted off him. “Clearly.”
I needed to get back to the investigation. “You were saying about Michael?”
“I don’t know how he found out about the siren milk. I suspect it was his wife, but he threatened to turn me in. Technically you have to mark the salami as having seafood products, but that is not good for business. No one wants a fishy salami. But he said he would force the issue, and it was easier to pay him off than to change the recipe.”
“He must not have wanted much money.”
“He didn’t want any at all. He just insisted on a free sampling of products every once in a while. He’d call, acting all chummy, and start hinting around about our product line. Then I’d offer to send him a box for free. It was so dumb. We both knew what was going on, but I guess it made him feel like some bigshot to play the game. But he wasn’t too bright. I always sent him stuff that didn’t cut muster in the shop. I hope he enjoyed the salami with sour siren milk.”
Sour milk of any kind was disgusting—chunky and sour with a smell that permeated and clung to any surface it touched. My stomach attempted to heave at the idea. I forced a swallow down. “You said that you thought his wife was involved. How so?”
“It’s pretty dumb in hindsight. I bought the siren milk from them. They are the number-one distributor of it. Their family crest has a siren on it.”
I nodded. “So he somehow put two and two together to discover you were using it without declaring it. That seems simple enough.”
“You’d think so, but I know that Bethenny’s dad hated Michael. Bethenny married him in a fit of youthful rebellion, and it seems that she grew tired of her oily husband. I heard that the father hated Michael so much that when the family vacationed, they all flew in a private jet, and Michael had to fly commercial.”
Vanessa had finished her sober-up salami despite knowing the ingredients, and her glassy eyes were once again bright and mischievous. “That’s brutal. They must have really hated him.”
He nodded. “They do. I hear that he’s a bit of a ladies’ man. He swept Bethenny off her feet, but after they were married, he kept at it with every woman nearby.” He checked his watch. “I need to start packing up.”
There was only one day left of the convention, and I couldn’t miss the opportunity to squeeze every last bit of gossip from him. Plus I could never forget that everyone was a suspect. “So you’re not bummed he died?”
“Not really. I don’t want to sound cruel, but he was playing a dangerous game. Not so much at this level, because who cares? The fines were manageable if he had turned me in, fifty thousand or something. But he was headed to the big leagues. I bet he crossed the wrong person.”
I tried not to gape at fifty thousand being treated like pocket change.
“Talk to Martha. She was dating some guy, Will or Bill or something. I think he knew about Michael. She might have some gossip. She loves to talk.”
Vanessa tugged on my sleeve as we left. “We should get ready.”
We circled back to Granner’s booth, where her neighbor Martha was starting to close down her booth for the day. Martha was putting sheets over the products in her booth, a scowl on her face.
“Let’s talk to Martha real quick. We can’t count on waiting until tomorrow.” I
jogged across to her booth, avoiding Patagonia.
Martha was fighting with a sheet that was caught on a display piece. I grabbed the fabric and helped her arrange it. When our eyes met, a flare of annoyance radiated off her. I resisted the urge to step back from the sensation.
“Need any more help?” I cheerfully offered.
“No,” she barked and turned her back to me.
Obviously a quick gossip session was not in the cards. I debated my approach and figured victory would go to the bold. “I heard your boyfriend might know why Michael was killed.”
A flash of fear spiked in her, though her face never betrayed it. “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, and I don’t know anything about Michael.” She didn’t flat-out refuse to talk, which was as good as I could hope for. She easily could have told us to get stuffed.
Vanessa pushed past me to get between us. “Michael was blackmailing you, wasn’t he? Just like everyone else?”
I pinched her. She was showing all our cards at once.
Martha, on the other hand, laughed. “That’s what this is about? Yes, he was blackmailing me just like almost everyone else.” The fear trickled out of her until there was just a low baseline buzz of trepidation.
I looked around her booth, mostly covered with sheets. “Siren milk? Illegal dragon spit?”
“No, all my dragon spit is legal. I even buy it in person. The moose milk I use in the mozzarella isn’t pasteurized. It kills the natural moosey flavor.”
I was never going to eat any mage dairy products again. Veganism wasn’t looking like such a bad option after all.
Vanessa gasped. “Whoa, that’s crazy. How do you milk a moose?”
“Very carefully.” She laughed. “I’m good with handling heavy creatures.”
She started to edge away, and I needed a follow-up question to keep her attention. “Not pasteurizing your milk isn’t a big deal. Why not just turn him in?”
She blinked at me. For a minute, I thought she had figured out my lack of dairy-related knowledge and would call me out, but eventually she answered. “He only wanted a couple hundred bucks in gold every few months. It was worth it to avoid the hassle.”
Which Mage Moved the Cheese? Page 8
