by Renee George
The store was unsurprisingly busy for a Saturday. “Hey, there,” Wanda, according to her name badge, the Walmart greeter said as I walked through the automatic sliding doors.
“Hey,” I said back, but she’d already moved on to the people coming in behind me. I bee-lined down the aisle between women’s clothes and the grocery side then took a sharp right to electronics.
The phone section had fifteen options. I gravitated toward the cheapest smartphone. I didn’t need a ton of bells and whistles. Besides, I couldn’t really afford to drop seven hundred dollars on a phone, not when I needed every last extra cent for reconstruction on my fixer-upper home.
“Can I help you?” A woman with straight brown hair and a blue vest stood on the employee side of the phone display. It took me a second, but I recognized her as the woman from the bar who’d fought with Donnie. Her badge said, Rachel.
“Hi, yes,” I said, quickly recovering from my initial surprise. “I’m looking for a phone.”
“Then you’re in the right place.” She gave me a tight smile. Her red-rimmed brown eyes gave me a cursory glance before she turned them down toward the counter. “Any phone in particular, or do you want me to help you pick one?”
Even though I’d already made my choice, I said, “Sure. What do you recommend?”
“It depends on what you want.” Rachel shrugged then sniffled. “I’m sorry. I’m crap help today.” She met my gaze. “Do you want an Android or iOS?”
“I’m not sure,” I lied. I pushed my ancestor’s mojo into my next words, searching for the truth. “Are you okay?”
Rachel grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “Not really. I lost someone recently.”
“I’m so sorry.” I touched the back of her hand. Most likely, she was talking about Doyle, but just in case her mom died, too, I asked, “Was it a relative?”
“No.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He…he was my…” She stopped short of a definition. “I loved him.”
True. But you can love someone and still kill them, especially if spurned. What I’d seen go down between them at the bar had spurned written all over it. “I don’t mean to pry…” although, I really did, “…but how did he die?”
“I don’t know,” she said despondently. “I’ve picked up my phone to call the police so many times, but I can’t. My husband…” She held her hands out in a gesture of hopelessness.
Damn. Rachel was married.
“Did your husband know?”
“No,” she said before her gaze turned sharp. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
I’d been pushing too hard, and her subconscious pushed back. “Of course.” I looked down at the phone I’d already chosen. “I’ll take this one. It’s in my budget.” Barely. Even as one of the cheaper models, it would take a decent bite out of my checking account.
I told her my carrier and signed a phone agreement, giving Rachel a moment. I could sense she was holding something back. My ability encouraged the truth from people, but there are some secrets that even magic can’t reveal. “I found his body.”
Rachel dropped the phone she’d retrieved and stared at me with something akin to pain and horror. “Who? Whose body?”
“Donald Doyle.” She winced as if slapped, and I cringed at my own cruelty, but finding the truth wasn’t always kind. “He’s the friend you lost, right?”
She wrung her hands together, and her eyes narrowed at me. “How did you…”
“I saw you with him at Dally’s last Tuesday night.” When she gave me another startled look, I added, “You were fighting with him. It was hard not to notice.”
Rachel shook her head. “I…he…” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself. When she was composed, she said, “We’d had a simple misunderstanding.”
My skin buzzed, the hair standing on end. Her claim of a “simple misunderstanding” was a lie. I put compassion into my words because my aim wasn’t to hurt her more. “You were very upset. Look, my best friend is a deputy at the sheriff’s department. If you’re uncomfortable coming forward with information because of your husband, I could help you.”
“How did he die?” she asked suddenly, as if my earlier words about finding the body had just sunk in. “I need to know.”
As a Shifter, touch was a comfort. I didn’t know Rachel, but I knew the pain of loss. I placed my hand on her forearm. “I don’t know how he died. There is some evidence it was an accident.” There was also some indication he was killed, and the scene staged, but I kept that to myself. If the sheriff caught wind I was spreading rumors about an open case, he’d probably find a way to lock me up for obstruction of justice. “When was the last time you saw him?”
She blushed. “Not since that night at the bar.”
It was a partial truth. I gave her forearm a squeeze. I kept my voice gentle as if she were a fragile eggshell. “You know something, don’t you?”
Rachel tensed then opened the new phone box. “Do you have your phone with you? I’ll switch over your SIM card.”
I was close to the secret she didn’t want anyone to know. Secrets ate at most people. The fact that she was holding on so tightly meant it was horrendous, or at least, Rachel thought so. “There’s a memory card in there, too.” I pulled my broken phone from my purse and handed it to her. “I have pictures of my baby I don’t want to lose.”
She smiled, the creases around her eyes lessened. “You have a kid? How old?”
“She’s about three now.” I laughed. “And covered in fur. My baby is my dog.”
“Oh,” Rachel smiled. “I’m a cat person, myself.”
“I like cats too.” After all, I was a werecougar.
Rachel nodded. She held up the new phone. “I can move your memory card over too.”
“Thanks. You really know your stuff.” I watched her practiced hand open the back of one phone and move the small parts over to the other. “You were telling me about Donnie.”
She raised her brow, snapped the back onto the new phone, and smirked. “Was I?” She handed me the phone. The screen was lit. “It will only take me a minute to activate it.”
I held up my hand. “All right. I get it.” While she was typing responses into her computer screen, I picked up a pen from the counter and pulled a scrap of paper from my purse. I scribbled my name and number. “Now that I have a phone again, you can call me if you want to talk.”
Chapter 10
The knot in the pit of my stomach doubled as I walked into the testing center. The directions on my confirmation email had said to not bring in anything but two pencils and a calculator. I didn’t have the money for one of those fancy, advanced scientific-math ones, but I’d managed to get a cheaper version from the internet. How schools expected people to spend more than a day’s wages on a piece of technology that would only get used for a brief period of time was beyond me. It seemed like something schools should have available to check out for people with modest means.
Calming my jitters would have been easier if I was more confident. I knew the material, I told myself. I could do this.
Mr. Kirkshaw, the financial aid manager, stood by the door to the testing room. I recognized him because he was the person I’d paid my ninety-five dollars in order to take the test.
He tapped a computer pen against his tablet. “I need to see your confirmation paperwork.” He barely made eye contact with me. His scent was a mixture of bathroom deodorizer and acidic body odor. His halitosis made me wince. Mr. Kirkshaw needed to take better care of his health. There was a slight yellow tinge to his skin and sclera, and he had broken blood vessels over his nose. The bulge around his middle, on such a thin man, was prominent. Combine the odor, the color, and his belly bloat, and you had a man who probably drank too much on a regular basis. Whatever the cause of his ailment, his liver was certainly damaged.
He looked over my paperwork. “Go on in and find a seat. The testing will begin in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Kirksha
w was probably close to my age in actual years, but I’d been taught to respect authority.
“Good luck,” he said before turning his attention to the lanky guy behind me. “Confirmation,” I heard him say as I went inside and sat at one of the middle desks. Not too close to draw attention to myself, but not so far back I missed any information.
In the back right, I noticed a familiar face, one I certainly hadn’t expected. Lacy Evans.
I knew three things about Lacy. She worked as a legal secretary, was a bit of a party girl, and she was a crap mom. Thank heavens Freda, her mother, played a huge role in the boy’s life. Once, Lacy had wrecked her car running to the store while her baby was home alone. Did I mention she’d almost hit me as well?
I wondered if I could get a refund on the test if I snuck out. Lacy was also a gossip and a mean girl. I could see her using my lack of education as a way to poke at me. Of course, she had dropped out of school as well, obviously. Maybe we could call for a Reagan throw-back Mutually Assured Destruction if either of us told anyone.
Frankly, I was surprised she was a dropout. How had she managed to get her job with Jock Simmons? I hated to hazard a guess because that sleazeball probably had ulterior motives. Maybe she was really trying to change her life. Kind of like me. Hell, I admired Lacy for trying to get her GED. As a matter of fact, I admired everyone in the room. It was no easy task taking steps backward to move forward, but that’s what all of us were doing here this morning.
I decided to pretend like I didn’t see Lacy. If she wanted to approach me, so be it, but otherwise, I would ignore her.
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, placed my calculator and pencils on the desk in front of me and waited for the instructor to tell us what came next. At a few minutes to eight, Ms. Lovell walked inside.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Are we all ready to embrace the future today?”
That seemed an ambitious task, but I nodded my head, along with most of the students.
“Excellent.” I need you to store jackets, phones, and purses or backpacks under your chair. You can retrieve them when the test has concluded.”
Two people put light jackets under their chairs. It had been warm out today, so the jackets made no sense. But my body heat ran higher than a human’s, so what did I know.
We’d been given short breaks in between the three sections we were tested on, but come three o’clock in the afternoon, I’d had my fill of test-taking to last me a lifetime. Or until I had to take the damn test again. I stood up from my seat and walked out of the room feeling dejected. There were too many questions that I had gone back to multiple times to change the answer, and I was certain I’d blown it.
I turned my phone on as I made my way out onto the campus toward the parking lot. I had a missed call from Parker. I called him back before I reached my truck.
“Hey, Parker. Did anything come up missing from the break-in?”
“No,” he said. “I got the locks changed out. Do you think you can come by the shelter this evening? Jerry got called in to take an extra shift at the fire department, and I’m having trouble getting anyone else in on short notice. I would do it myself, but I promised Dad I would meet him for dinner. He has something he wants to talk to me about.”
“Sure. I’m happy to help.” Besides, it wasn’t like I had a hot date, considering my hot date was taking his dad to dinner.
“Have you heard any more about Doyle?”
“Nothing.”
After a brief pause, Parker asked, “I’m sorry you’re the one who found him, Lily. It had to be awful for you.”
“Thanks.” His words were like a hug, and one that I sorely needed. “What time do you want me there?”
“Five-thirty or so.”
“You got it.”
By the time I picked Smooshie up from Nadine’s, I had about two hours until I had to be at the shelter. Just enough time for a short detour. I headed out of town and drove out toward my house and turned down Doyle’s road, knowing it was a bad idea but doing it anyway. I’d spotted something shiny through his window the night before, but Parker’s arrival had stopped me from investigating further. Well, that and the fact that I was on all fours and covered in fur. I know the police had done a cursory search of Donnie’s place, but they might have overlooked something that I could detect with my enhanced senses.
In the bright morning light, Donnie’s house once again looked like a place where a retired couple might live. The flowers were well tended, the grass slightly overgrown but neat, and the ranch-style home. I pulled into the driveway. Smooshie began to whine, her tail swishing with expectant and excited energy. I sometimes think that the dog enjoyed it when I put our collective noses where they didn’t belong.
I opened the driver door, and Smoosh was on my lap and jumping out before I could get a foot down. She ran to the door of the house. Maybe she was hoping for another dead body.
I reached into my purse for the training clicker and gave it a push. Smoosh barked once at the closed front door then ran back to me. “You have to stay with me, girl. No snooping around on your own.”
She cocked her head sideways, her right ear twitching, as a big smile cut her broad jaw. I clipped her leash onto her collar, thankful Doyle lived out far enough to avoid nosy neighbors, you know, like me. The front door was locked. No surprise there. I searched around the porch, under the welcome mat, and in the pot of a plant near the door. No extra key. Maybe Doyle hadn’t kept one.
A hard tug from Smooshie nearly yanked me off my feet. She began digging in the flowerbed. “No,” I chided. “Not here.” I didn’t mind her digging, but I wasn’t trying to advertise our attempted B&E.
I stepped down into the dirt, squatting to fill in the area Smooshie’s big paws had scooped, when I noticed a smooth rock like what you’d find in a creek bed, near the brick skirt. On instinct, I turned it over, a surge of triumph rising inside me when I saw a key holder on the bottom.
Smooshie leaped onto the porch like a bull in a rodeo. I retrieved the key and tried it in the door. “Hah!” I did a minor celebratory shimmy and scratched her ear. “Good girl, Smoosh!”
Inside, the smell of death was less pungent, but it still made me queasy. I locked the door behind me just in case anyone stopped by while I was here. It was bad enough finding the body, I didn’t need the police catching me snooping around.
I stepped around the area where I’d found Donnie’s body and made my way to the sink. The cup I’d noticed was still there. I picked it up and sniffed it. There was a faint citrus odor, but more like a detergent than actual fruit. Nadine had been right about the cup in the sink. It was squeaky clean. The entire kitchen shined. Living on a gravel road meant constant dust, and I didn’t see hardly any in Doyle’s kitchen. I opened drawers under the counters. Even his utility drawer was neat and organized, and I didn’t see any personal items like photos or mementos. The Donnie I’d met at the bar had seemed warm and friendly, approachable, but his house was sanitized.
And yet, a clean glass sat in the sink. It seemed out of the ordinary for someone who labeled their dry goods and put them in alphabetical order. If he had OCD, he hid it well as a server in a crowded bar. I thought of the noise, the spills, the sticky floors, and empty beer bottles. Nope. No way was that kid the OCD type. This cleanliness felt unnatural.
I tugged Smooshie back from the oil spot on the ground, the one Donnie had supposedly slipped in, and knelt down next to it. “What do you make of this?” I asked the dog without an expectation of an answer. I touched the middle surface and rubbed it between my fingertips. It was thicker than regular vegetable oil. I smelled it. It had a slightly sweet and nutty aroma. Hazelnut? Unusual, but nice.
After I finished in the kitchen, I made my way to the office since it was the first room when I entered the hall. I could still hear the mechanical sound of the computer fan blade as it whirred around. I sat down in the desk chair and moved the mouse around the pad to wake up the monitor.
The police would have already fingerprinted this place, and the fact that I found the body and used the phone in here to call nine-one-one made wearing gloves moot.
Wow. I think I’d gone past nosy and right into none-of-my-business. I was thinking forensically—I wondered if Hazel would be proud or horrified of me.
Smooshie crawled under the desk and shoved her big head between my knees so she could rest her chin on my thigh. Chances were Doyle’s computer was password protected, which meant I’d find a fat lot of nothing.
As I’d suspected, a bar came up, and it asked for a passcode. I had a basic knowledge of computers and the internet, enough to look up stuff on a search engine and send emails. Cracking passwords was not in my wheelhouse. I opened the drawers starting from top to bottom. All but the third out of four drawers slid out with ease. The third had a lock with tool marks and scratches at the opening. Picking locks wasn’t in my wheelhouse, either, but it looked like someone had tried to jimmy the drawer before. I found a paper clip in the middle drawer and tried wiggling it around the damaged keyhole to see if that got me anywhere. I even extended one of my claws and tried to open the drawer that way.
Nope. Nada. Not at all. I might possibly be the world’s worse private eye or criminal. Sure, I knew how to break in, but the “entering” part was not my forte. Still, I was no quitter. I began looking through the drawers more thoroughly, looking under the organizers, paperwork, and books. The open drawers where getting me nowhere. I had to get in that locked one. I thought about the way Donnie had hidden the house key. I felt under all the drawers, and on the last one, I found a magnetic key holder.
I took the key out and slid it into the lock. It took a little jiggling, probably because of the damage, but it finally turned. Inside the drawer, I found four new, unopened 500GB USB drives and a receipt from Walmart for them. Why would he have those locked up? They hadn’t even been used.
I placed the drives on the desk and noticed a small dark object at the back of the drawer. It was a plastic cap, and it looked similar to the tops of the unopened drives. Had the person who’d damaged the lock actually manage to get inside and take whatever used drives had been in here? That didn’t make sense—if they’d managed to break open the drawer, then it wouldn’t still be locked. Maybe they’d found the key like I had. And tried to put things back. You know, like I was.
