by Tasha Black
“But I’m not,” he replied, his eyes fixing on hers with a burning intensity. “Not anymore. Every choice in my life, good and bad, has led me right here, to this moment.”
“The butterfly effect,” Dulcie murmured.
He looked at her strangely.
“It’s where one tiny thing can affect the future in a big way,” she explained.
“I know what it is,” he replied, leaning closer to her. “And it’s why I’m not sorry. But I have a feeling if I mess things up with you, I will be.”
The air between them hummed.
Van’s dark eyes turned to amber and he looked up, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
A moment later, people began approaching the gravesite. The mourners were arriving at last. Dulcie couldn’t help but feel their arrival was perfectly timed to prevent her from falling prey to the attraction again.
She made an effort to be grateful, but just couldn’t do it. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she wanted him, plain and simple.
The priest began to speak. They were far enough away that she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it seemed like standard fare, a deep voice, speaking slowly.
Dulcie scanned the guests. There weren’t as many as there had been at the funeral. None seemed particularly broken up. A general haze of soft blue feelings hung in the air, the peaceful kind of sadness you would expect at a funeral.
A handful of guests glowed with a garish orange curiosity. Those must be the ghoulish by-standers. They probably hadn’t really known Selden. They were just hungry for gossip.
Apart from the crowd, she sensed rather than saw a deep thrum of anguish.
She scanned the whole cemetery. Sure enough, a mist of intense purple grief exuded from a man half obscured by a gravestone.
She touched Van’s arm and inclined her chin.
He examined the man, and then looked back at her.
“He’s doing what we’re doing,” he said.
“And he’s very upset,” she said.
“Let’s check it out.” Van stood and pretended to brush off his pants.
Dulcie grabbed the quilt and folded it quickly, putting it back in the large canvas bag she’d brought.
She remembered to lean down and pat the tombstone before them so as not to be suspicious.
I hope you and Dorothy are happy someplace, Patrick, she wished sincerely.
Van took her hand, and they crossed down the row, toward the other observer.
Van looked over at the burial happening as if he had some mild curiosity. Dulcie assumed it was feigned, in order not to scare the person they were approaching.
But with her dark sunglasses, she was free to look all she wanted.
The man behind the tree shimmered with forlorn purple. He glanced up at them, but then returned his attention to the casket being lowered into the ground.
Van squeezed Dulcie’s hand hard.
A moment later they were close enough for her to recognize something about the man. Something about the perfect posture of that silhouetted figure seemed familiar…
Then he was up and running.
“Shit,” Van cursed, and began to run as well, dragging Dulcie along behind him.
Chapter 20
Dulcie had never been one for high heels when suede clogs would do. And moments like this one made her appreciate the wisdom in that choice.
Sadly, she was in disguise today, and the cute little heels she’d chosen were already filled with mud and falling apart as they pursued the mystery man into the woods surrounding the cemetery.
He was losing them among the trees, and it was all her fault. She was one trip on a tree root away from being that stupid girl in the horror movie that got everyone killed.
The woods grew deeper, they must be getting close to the old convent. If he managed to mingle his trail with others, they’d lose him for sure.
“You should go on,” she panted to Van.
“No,” he replied, not even winded. “ Just shift.”
“You can,” she offered. “I’ll follow at my own pace.”
“The woods are dangerous,” Van hissed. “This man could be a murderer.”
“We’re losing him,” Dulcie pleaded.
Van growled in frustration.
“Go on, I’ll keep up the best pace I can. You’d hear it if anything happened to me,” she said.
“Fine. But I can’t shift, not with everyone on the lookout for a big white dog,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Be careful.”
“You too,” she replied.
A moment later he was streaking through the woods. Dulcie could only imagine how fast he’d be going if he were in dog form.
Just as she set her pace again, one foot slipped out of a muddy shoe.
When she tried to hobble over to retrieve the shoe, she slipped and fell in the mud. She really was that girl in the movie. She glanced around, but didn’t see anyone. At least her fall hadn’t cost her anything but her dignity.
And her fancy outfit.
Dulcie slipped the shoe back on, stood, wiped the debris from her dress as quickly as she could, and then continued, even more carefully than before.
A few minutes later, the trees thinned again and the afternoon sun shone brightly in a clearing just ahead.
Dulcie exited the woods and stepped onto the emerald lawn of the old convent.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Van on the ground on top of the stranger, just a few yards away under a copper beech.
Only it wasn’t a stranger.
It was Rudolph Barrymore’s companion.
Jack Wenderly.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he yelped, echoing the sentiment he’d expressed when they found him alone in the trunk room of the Barrymore estate.
Van tightened his hold.
“Then why were you running away?” he demanded.
Wenderly closed his eyes, tears leaking at the corners. The violet fog of despair smothered his form.
“Van,” Dulcie said gently.
“I’ve got this,” he replied.
“Let him up,” she said with uncharacteristic steel in her voice.
Van took one look at her and eased off the man.
“I’m going to let you sit up,” he told Wenderly in a calmer voice. “But you can’t run away again.”
Wenderly dragged himself up to a seated position, not bothering to brush the leaves and debris off his impeccable clothing.
“What’s wrong?” Dulcie asked Wenderly kindly.
The purple lightened to lavender.
“I - I don’t know why you chased me through the woods,” Wenderly stammered.
Van moved behind Wenderly, tensed and ready to spring.
Dulcie gave him a look, and he relaxed.
“Of course you do,” she said plainly. “You were hiding behind a tree at the funeral of a man who was killed. A man who was murdered, in fact, in the exact same manner as Rudolph Barrymore. As far as I can see, you’re the only thing linking the two men together. It would be easy for someone to think you were somehow involved. And I think the police would agree.”
Wenderly gulped.
“But I have a feeling you’re not the one responsible,” she said kindly, helping the man to his feet. “The problem is that I have nothing to back that up. There has to be a story here. Can you help us understand?”
Wenderly paused. He studied his hands, then looked up at the sky.
“How did you know Marcus Selden?” she prompted.
His eyes locked on hers, and though he wasn’t a shifter, they flashed with fiery intensity.
“I loved him,” Wenderly said.
“Was he your brother?” Van asked.
Wenderly allowed himself a small chuckle, as dry as the fallen leaves.
“No,” he replied. “Not a brother”
“A companion?” Dulcie asked, understanding dawning on her.
“That’s right,” Wenderly said, meeting her eyes in chal
lenge, as if he expected her to be shocked or horrified.
She was neither.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said sincerely.
Behind Wenderly, Van was putting it together as well. Dulcie could see the exact moment when the light bulb went on.
Wenderly put his hand on hers and dropped his head down, as if he were trying not to sob.
“Sorry, man,” Van said, touching the older man’s shoulder. “That sucks.”
“First Rudolph, now Marcus, everyone I’ve cared about… Is it my fault?” Wenderly asked. “Could it be some sort of hate crime?”
That didn’t seem likely, Woodland Creek, by its very nature, was a pretty diverse place. She’d never heard of anything like that happening before.
“It’s not your fault,” Dulcie assured him. “Can you tell us more about Marcus? Maybe you can help us find a reason for the attack.”
She shivered involuntarily. Dark clouds had moved in as they talked, blocking the sun, allowing the chill of the autumn day to take hold. It probably didn’t help that she was still damp from her fall.
“Here, take my jacket, dear,” Wenderly replied, the picture of a gentleman, even in his grief. “You may as well get comfortable. It’s not a short story.”
Chapter 21
Dulcie took it gratefully. She stood and spread out the blanket from her bag. They all sat down, and she spread the jacket across her legs, warming them. As an added bonus, she no longer had to worry about showing anything she didn’t want to show.
“That’s better,” Wenderly said.
He studied his hands once more. Then he began to speak.
“I met Marcus at the Fall Festival five years ago. He was so handsome, such a funny person. He’d had a few pints that night, but of course we all had. It was the first time I met someone and just knew. I didn’t have to wonder if he played for my team, or if he liked me.
“He came home with me that night and for months we were so happy. He worked at the university, he was part of the maintenance crew that planted flowers and reset brick walkways and that sort of thing. He always had this gorgeous tan, and he smelled like a forest.”
Wenderly had been smiling, his eyes on the horizon. Now he pressed his lips together.
“But as time passed, he let me see more of his demons. He would come home late, stumbling drunk.
“I begged him to stop. Tried to get him help. None of it mattered.
“One night, I told him he couldn’t come back to my place if he drank again. I knew he loved me. I gambled it all on the idea that he would do it to save us. But he came home later than ever that night, screaming drunk. And when I tried to help him get back to his own place, he hit me.
“He passed out in the car, apologizing until his eyes shut. When I got him to his place, I went home again and wept until daybreak. But it was done.
“After that, things were very dark. I didn’t get out much except to work. Some nights, Marcus would call me over and over, or come to the house and scratch and pound at the door, but I managed not to let him in.
“I realized I couldn’t keep going that way. I decided that instead of feeling sorry for myself, I should do something to help others.
“That’s how I met Rudolph. I went to the community center to volunteer, and saw a note from him, looking for someone handy for a project. I went out to that incredible house, and rang the bell. He came to the door himself. He was an older gentleman, of course, but he had the most kind and playful soul.
‘You know how someone can appear one way on the outside, but inside, they seem like a totally different person?” He met Dulcie’s eyes. “Sometimes like an entirely different species?”
She nodded, and exchanged glances with Van. She’d often wondered how the mundane inhabitants of Woodland Creek could live in such close proximity to the shifters and magic, but never notice what was really going on.
Had she been the one being naive the whole time?
“That’s how it was with Rudolph,” Wenderly continued. “Most of the town saw him as some kind of recluse. Children told scary stories about his haunted mansion. But he just wanted someone to repair bicycles and donate them, for poor children to enjoy.
“I had always liked to tinker with tools in my spare time, so it seemed like a good fit. We set up shop in the old stables, and gave bicycles to about fifty children that first year.
“The time I spent with Rudolph made me feel alive again.
“When he made his move, you could have knocked me over with a feather I was so stunned.
“But I was happy.
“We were happy.
“He asked me to leave my job so that I could help him help the town full time. And of course I did. We planned out how he could make his large financial contributions more meaningful. We started with the big projects, and worked all the way down to buying Girl Scout cookies, participating in the volunteer clean-up of the parks, and repairing more bikes.
“And that is how I became his full-time companion.”
He paused for a moment, the dark weight of the grief returning.
“But poor Marcus,” he continued. “My newfound happiness only added to his sadness. He drank more. He eventually lost his job.
“And I never stopped feeling… sorry for him.
“Finally, he was out on the street, and dealing with more than just the booze.
“I wouldn’t give him money, I knew what he’d use it for. But I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. I wrote him a letter, risking everything I had with Rudolph, to let him know that I couldn’t watch him starve. I told Marcus I would signal him from the house to let him know when he could pick up a package of food or clothing.
“He didn’t have a real place to stay, or even a cell phone, so I had no other way to signal him. I had to be secretive. For all his generosity, Rudolph could be the jealous type.”
“So that’s what you were doing the other night in the trunk room,” Van breathed.
“Yes, exactly,” Wenderly admitted. “I had some of Rudolph’s cast off clothing for him. I would have let him sleep in the trunk room if he had no place else to go. There was a storm coming.”
“Did he have any enemies?” Dulcie asked.
Wenderly shook his head.
“None that I know of, though of course his habits may have gotten him into some trouble.”
“And what about Mr. Barrymore?” Van asked. “Did he have any enemies?”
“What enemy could Rudolph have?” Wenderly sniffed. “He was generous, kind-hearted, and lived only to help every person in this town.”
Dulcie put an arm around him.
“Thank you for helping us understand,” she said. “We’d better get you home.”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “My car is back there.”
He stood and brushed himself off, then turned to leave. At the last moment, he looked back at Dulcie.
“Are you really going to solve this?” he asked her earnestly.
“I hope so,” she said.
“I hope so too,” he replied, his eyes haunted.
Dulcie supposed hers would be too, in his position.
Chapter 22
“Did you really believe him?” Van asked, as soon as Wenderly had disappeared into the trees.
Dulcie was quiet a moment, considering.
“I don’t know about the motive, but he certainly had the opportunity,” she admitted. “He’s the connection, although I don’t think he knows how he’s connected. And I know he didn’t do it. Just like I knew from the beginning that you had nothing to do with these murders either.”
“You’re not just a shifter,” he said, realizing that maybe he had known all along.
“No,” she confirmed. “I’m something else as well.”
“What?” he asked, figuring that she wouldn’t tell him about this either. He didn’t understand all the unwritten rules of their hidden world, and he didn’t much care.
“I’m an empath,” she admitted.
“No, that’s a telepath,” she said with a mischievous grin that made his heart rate double. “Being an empath means you’re good at reading other people’s emotions. It’s not a science though, Van, it’s just a feeling. I can’t always trust it. Especially if my own emotions are clouding it.”
She studied him, waiting for his reaction.
“Cool,” he said with a smile. “You must be a hell of a poker player.”
She relaxed a little. It occurred to him that she must have always known he was attracted to her. So much for playing it cool.
“So, if it wasn’t Wenderly, who was it?” she asked.
Van considered.
“Henry Barrymore was here pretty fast to read that will,” he said.
“But he’s already got money from his books,” Dulcie pointed out. “And he seemed pretty eager to give most of his uncle’s fortune to the town.”
She leaned closer as they talked. She smelled like fresh bread with honey. It was hard for Van to concentrate. His dog was captivated by the fancy, albeit slightly dirty, dress and the way her hands moved under Wenderly’s jacket, which still covered her lap. He wanted to snatch it off and nuzzle her. Then he remembered that she could read his emotions, and he struggled to keep his thoughts away from the melting sweetness of her body.
“Barrymore had money,” he offered. “But why would someone murder Selden?”
“That’s a great question,” Dulcie replied. “Who would want Selden out of the picture?”
“Wenderly might, if he thought Selden would risk his relationship with Barrymore,” Van said. “But that doesn’t hold up, since Barrymore’s already dead.”
Wasn’t he?
He thought of the smell that night. He’d been so sure it was Rudolph Barrymore, and his nose rarely let him down.
“Barrymore might have,” Dulcie offered. “If he found out that Wenderly was exchanging messages with him. Wenderly told us he could be jealous. But the murders are in the wrong order for that to work.”
