The Nefarious Necklace, page 9
As she ushered him into the room, Gabe assumed a neutral, inscrutable expression. “So if I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch.” He pulled his wallet out and extracted a single business card, which he handed to Star. Meeting her gaze, he added, “And if you have any information for me, give me a call. My cell number is at the bottom.”
Star accepted the card, nodded briskly, and then moved toward the door.
Wembley pointed to the back door. “If you’ll let me out, I’ll just go check on Bradley.”
Bradley—I’d forgotten all about him working diligently in the car. Hopefully he hadn’t been ambushed by Gabe. And clever of Wembley to make sure the coroner’s assistant didn’t accidentally stumble on him and try to strike up a conversation. Bradley could usually keep his mouth shut, probably better than me, but he seemed to be in a strange place right now.
Star punched in the code to open the door, and after Gabe had left, she told the assistant to pull around back where he could get closest to the door.
After the assistant had disappeared through the back door, Alex said, “And here I was thinking that your impulse-control issues were so improved.”
“Ugh, I know. I’m sorry. Maybe that date on Friday isn’t such a good idea.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “No comment.”
“You haven’t changed, Alex,” Star said from across the room. “Still can’t see what’s right under your nose.”
I spun around to look at her. “Does every enhanced being running around in Austin have fabulous hearing?”
“Many, but mine’s not even switched on right now. You’re just not that quiet.” Star turned to Alex with an expectant look.
He met her gaze evenly. “I see just fine, Star.”
The assistant returned, and it seemed like a great time to skedaddle. I might still have some hurdles on the impulse-control front, but I was becoming a master of avoidance.
On another avoidance front, I decided it was probably best to forget Star’s tirade over alchemic symbols, Alex’s stupidity, and me being his last hope. Who knew what that meant? And I didn’t think Star or Alex would be eager to rehash the conversation. Star, because she was back to her brisk, no-nonsense self, and Alex, because he was Alex.
Star hustled us out the back door, and as we exited, said, “Don’t call me; I’ll call you. And not until after we’re closed.” Then she firmly shut the mortuary door behind us.
I squinted up at Alex. “Was she talking about my Grand Cherokee or the rest of the autopsy?”
He switched to stand on my left, so I wasn’t staring up into the sun. “Probably both. Your Jeep’s in the funeral home’s garage, by the way. Anton texted me earlier.”
We were passing the coroner’s van, halfway to the Vanagon, when Alex stopped. He looked at me, even opened his mouth, but then he took a breath and just kept walking.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d considered—ever so briefly—explaining Star’s tirade. But I did know better, and Alex wasn’t about to share his personal life with me.
14
Whodunit?
Wembley was tooling down the freeway, headed back to Austin, when Bradley broke the silence. “So who did it?”
No one jumped to answer, and I was pretty sure I knew why. “Let’s get a head count. Who thinks the evidence points to Blaine?”
Wembley kept his right hand on the steering wheel and raised his left. Alex and I both raised our hands. Bradley kept on typing.
I wrinkled my nose. “And who thinks Blaine did it?”
Bradley stopped typing and raised his hand. He was the only one.
I groaned. “You’re probably right, Bradley. It just feels wrong.”
“If the clues lead to Blaine, Blaine did it.” Bradley paused. “Or the clues are false. Or we didn’t interpret the clues correctly.”
“So we need to disprove the clues or reinterpret them,” I said. “You’re right, Bradley. Sometimes it’s helpful to boil everything down and make it simpler.”
Bradley looked over his shoulder at me. “Simpler is changing your vote, and you’re welcome.”
Since I didn’t want to change my vote, or rather my gut didn’t want me to, I considered which clues we might disprove or could be false. “As an exercise only, let’s exclude the vampire angle.”
“The one solid lead we have?” Wembley grumbled. “No, no. I get it. It doesn’t quite add up.” Then he grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “And I have great faith in your intuitive precognitive abilities.”
I laughed. It was getting to the point of ridiculous, how firmly he was convinced, even in the absence of proof… I stopped laughing as I remembered our magicked car ride earlier.
Alex cringed. “Don’t. Just don’t. He doesn’t need any encouragement.”
I nodded. Probably best to keep those angsty precog feelings of impending doom to myself. “Like Bradley said, let’s look at the evidence. Do we trust our clues?”
Bradley raised his hand. He did that occasionally, though we’d been weaning him off it. “We don’t know who sent the text to Gladys. I gave you the owner of the phone, Blaine Waldrup. The owner isn’t always the person who uses the phone. Also, I was unable to retrieve the text message. We don’t know what the message said.”
“That’s true,” I said. “We only know that Gladys had knowledge of Tabitha’s death. I didn’t think to ask her how she knew.”
“I wouldn’t trust what she tells you, not with all the time she’s been spending with her glamoured-to-the-gills boyfriend,” Alex said.
I whipped my head around to look at him. “What? What do you mean glamoured?”
Alex didn’t say anything.
“You forgot our little gal sees past most minor glamours without realizing it.” Wembley looked at Alex in the rearview mirror, and it was hard for me to read the expression on his face. “Maybe there’s an overdue conversation you should have with her.”
Alex didn’t seem to appreciate the nudge. “What Wembley is referring to is a genetic hiccup that I inherited from my mother’s side of the family. I have a very minor glamour that I can’t shake.” He shot Wembley a look that predicted serious payback. “Not that I haven’t tried to remove it. Blain has one as well, but his is intentional.”
“And I don’t see them,” I said. “I don’t get it.”
“Some people are immune.” Wembley waggled his bushy eyebrows at me. “And you hit that jackpot.”
“Uh-huh. And how do you know that?” I was trying to choose my words carefully. Mostly because Bradley was in the car, and I suspected I was about to be properly pissed off.
Alex shot me an apologetic look.
Wembley looked entertained by the whole thing. “What did you see when you looked at Blaine?”
I didn’t think twice. “Oily used car salesman.”
Alex chuckled. “Spot on.”
“Okay,” Wembley said, “but give me some specific physical attributes.”
“Medium height, dark blond hair, bland features.” I tipped my head, thinking back to his interview earlier that morning. “Posh clothes, beautifully cut but not expensive enough to hide the beginnings of a beer gut. Oh, gross. I guess that’s a blood gut.” My scalp crawled. I shook off the creepy-crawly feeling and tried to recall some other detail. “Maybe brown eyes? Or hazel? I don’t remember.”
Wembley snorted in amusement and the van swerved. “I’m not immune, and I’d say tall, light blond hair, tan, trim, and athletic.”
My mouth opened as he listed attributes I wouldn’t attach to the sleazy guy I’d met. “Uh—no.”
“And what about Alex?” Wembley asked. He really wasn’t worried about retribution. I know if I was him, I wouldn’t be looking forward to my next training session with Alex.
It was just about impossible for me to imagine Alex, a man very uncomfortable with illusion and especially it’s stronger cousin persuasion, walking around with some kind of glamour stuck to him. I gave him a speculative look, and decided I’d be brutally honest.
“Six one??” I looked at him for confirmation.
“A little over six two.”
“Okay, either way, tall. Not particularly big, but broad shoulders. Dark hair with a touch of gray and always a few weeks overdue for a haircut, rarely clean-shaven but more than a five-o’clock shadow. Frequently rumpled.” I pursed my lips, examining him. “Blue eyes and lots of lines, likes he’s been out in the sun and refuses to wear sunglasses.”
He didn’t look thrilled to be the center of this kind of attention, but, honestly, he was hot and confident, so I wasn’t sure why.
Wembley startled me out of my musings with his next question. “Ever seen him naked?”
I pointed at Bradley and made a face at Wembley.
Talking about nudity and anything remotely like sex in front of Bradley was like taking your kid brother to a movie with sex scenes. Ick.
Alex coughed. “He means without a shirt. Right, Wembley?”
Oh. Ooooh. I looked at Alex, and he nodded.
“Yes, and he’s covered in tattoos.” I omitted the fact that I’d been tempted to inspect them up close and personal. I didn’t mention it, because I’m a hulking big coward.
Wembley snapped his fingers. “See. Most people can’t see those. Not unless you already know they’re there.”
“Wait, do different people see you in different ways?”
Wembley pointed at me. “A prize to the little lady with baby fangs.”
A few pieces fell into place. “That’s where the weird ‘clean-cut sheriff’ comment came from.”
Alex looked at me like I was nuts.
I wagged a finger at him. “No, no. I am not the crazy person here. My designer said you looked like one of those sheriffs in an old western—clean-cut, strong, and silent. And I thought she was crazy, because you’re always a little rumpled.” I gave him a stern look. “Hang up your T-shirts when you pull them out of the dryer. Or fold them. One or the other.” I lifted my hands in exasperation. Over his shirts. His glamour. Whichever.
“I can’t help it.” Alex gave me a disapproving look. “Not the shirts, the glamour. Except for the tattoos. I push the glamour to hide them when I can.”
It was like he could read my mind. And why was I obsessing over wrinkled T-shirts? I didn’t feel any of my previous OCD traits resurfacing. No, it was just easier to displace than deal with the fact I’d been bamboozled by someone I considered a friend.
He looked sorry.
I sighed. Maybe not bamboozled. But he’d perpetuated a monster-sized lie of omission.
“Are we going to solve the case? We’re getting close to my exit.” Bradley didn’t even look up from his computer.
“You’re absolutely right, Bradley,” I said. “We need to focus on the case. Why don’t you come home with us, so we can finish discussing the clues? And if you want to work for a little while, we can set you up in the study. You’re not still working on the case file, are you?”
“No. I’m trying to find the person who broke into my apartment.”
I did a quick rewind to make sure I’d understood. Nope, couldn’t be right. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“The break-in at my apartment,” he repeated, “I’m trying to find the perpetrator.”
Wembley winced at the nasty look I shot him. How could he not find some way to tell me that? Poor Bradley. The guy had to be devastated.
“One more secret today and my head might explode,” I mumbled. I knew Wembley and Alex would hear. Louder, I said, “Bradley, I am so sorry that happened to you.”
“That’s okay. I think I found him. I’m posting a bounty now. I should have it all taken care of by tonight.”
Maybe I was unwell and hearing things. Maybe someone had slipped me a massive, hallucinogenic—for vampires—dose of caffeine. Or maybe the world was about to end, and I’d just missed the signs. “Wembley! Pull the van over now.”
15
Bounties, Bad Guys, and Bingo
Wembley exited the freeway immediately. It turned out to be the exit for our house, anyway, but then he pulled into the first gas station we came upon. “I’ll just fill up while you sort out…this.”
Some former Berserker Viking he was.
Granted, I’d have jumped out of the van myself if I could, but I couldn’t abandon Bradley to the mafia or the cops. If hiring a contract killer didn’t put you in the sights of one or the other, then all of those based-on-a-true-story, made-for-TV movies were a big, fat pack of lies.
This was Bradley, so a carefully considered strategy—with close attention to detail—had the highest probability of success. And if I had more time, I’d have tried, but he kept typing, so I leapt on the first reasonable argument that popped in my head. “Bradley, you know that hiring someone to kill another person is illegal.”
Bradley was all about the rules, and laws were just a bunch of rules.
Alex looked like he was about to explode with laughter, and that made me want to murder him. Counterproductive, since I was trying to prevent a murder. Just to make myself feel better, I punched him in the arm. Unfortunately, that just made it worse.
He muttered, “Bathroom,” then hopped out of the car quicker than a flash. I eyeballed him a few feet from the van, chuckling to himself.
Bradley stopped typing. “I said bounty, not hit. A bounty is a reward for a specific task. A hit is when you hire someone to kill another person.”
Relief flooded through me, right up until I realized he might have played around with the words to justify his less-than-legal plans. “What is the bounty for, exactly?”
“The name of this man.” He lifted up his laptop to show me a high-quality profile shot of a stranger standing in his study. The picture looked like a screen capture from security footage.
I could have wept in relief. “You have a security camera.”
“Of course.”
Then another troubling thought occurred. “What are you going to do with his name once you have it?”
“Talk to Cornelius. I promised to let him know who it is, and then he said we could discuss options.”
I exhaled in relief. “You’ve been in touch with Cornelius.” I really didn’t give Bradley enough credit.
“At four-oh-five yesterday when I came home and discovered the break-in. I promised when I signed the confidentiality contract with the Society to report any future suspicious activity connected to the gaming project app.” He frowned. “The contract didn’t define ‘suspicious.’ I had to infer.”
Now my head really did hurt. That stupid app. It just had to keep coming back and causing trouble.
“Someone breaking in to your condo counts as suspicious. What made you think it was related to the app?”
“The intruder didn’t appear on the security footage from the garage.”
“Oh, gotcha.” I’d learned a few weeks ago that vamps could mask themselves from electronic recording devices, but I hadn’t gotten around to figuring out how they—we—did it yet. “He masked himself from the garage footage, but he didn’t know you had a security camera, so he didn’t know to mask himself from it.”
Bradley nodded. “My neck is starting to hurt. Do you have any more questions?”
I leaned over the edge of the front seat, so he didn’t have to twist around to speak to me. “Why couldn’t you find this guy yourself? You’re like Superman on the Internet.”
He almost smiled. “I had your case. But mostly because my client moved up the deadline for a project.” Bradley blinked at me. “I’m charging him lots of money to do it early.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “It’s cheaper to pay the bounty.”
“Yes. I’m expensive.”
Then I did grin. “I bet you are.”
He looked longingly at his computer.
“Get back to it. I’ll fetch the guys. They have to be done filling up by now.”
Bradley didn’t look up. “They finished three minutes ago.”
Lesson learned. Bradley was not only more of a sleuthing ninja than me, he was also a rock star among his own kind. Then again, I’d known that. He really was like Superman on the Internet.
I opened the door and waved at the gossiping men of action. When they didn’t hotfoot it back to the van, I got out and joined them. “It’s safe, promise.”
“You’re not gonna make me pull off the road again?” Wembley asked.
“Knock it off. How was I supposed to know he was just outsourcing a little bit of face-recognition work?”
“I figured it was something like that. Bradley’s a good kid.” Alex didn’t even blink to call a thirty-something-year-old man a kid. But when you were as old as dirt…
“How old are you, exactly?” I asked, trailing behind him to the van.
“Emotionally or physically?”
Since I got a nice rear view as he climbed into the van, I almost made a cheeky remark about aging and appearance. And he deserved a little razzing after keeping me in the dark all this time about his glamour problem. I was thankfully saved from an embarrassing remark by the bell, or a bell. Bradley’s computer, which had been completely silent throughout the trip, dinged twice.
“Bingo,” Bradley said.
That was a decidedly un-Bradley-like word, so I couldn’t help asking, “You finished your project?
“No. I’m meeting my source at bingo this evening. At the senior center.”
“I’m assuming this is some shady hacking-type source?” When Bradley reluctantly nodded—probably because my adjectives weren’t as concise or precise as he’d like—I said, “Looks like we’re all going to the senior center tonight, boys.”
Wembley and Alex groaned.
Bradley frowned at me. “You can’t all come. It doesn’t work like that.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You think we’ll chase off your shady information dealer? Why does he have to see you in person, anyway? Can’t you just pay in bitcoin or PayPal or something?”
