by Noel Cash
He waved away the subject. “It will have to wait until this thing with Kix is resolved. I meant you looking into Frank Bothwell’s involvement in Evelyn Fletcher’s murder.”
“I never found her murderer.” Thank you so much for rubbing salt into that wound.
“No, but you exonerated him.”
I nodded, pleased he’d found my efforts worthwhile. “What do you want me to do?”
He leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Find Becky Turner’s killer so Kix can get back to living a normal life.”
I opened my mouth to accept, but he cut me off.
“I’ll hire you. The same rate as the other case I have open with you.”
Palm forward, I stopped him. “You’ll have the same answer as before. I won’t take your money. Not when it comes to Kix. Did you think I wouldn’t investigate?” What kind of idiot did he think I was?
His eyes narrowed. “What is your involvement with her?”
I threw all the cards on the table. “Not enough.”
We stared at each other, an old-fashioned pissing match, broken when the waitress brought his food and my second beer.
“Hmph.” I couldn’t tell if he said it in approval or disgust.
Let him think what he wanted. I knew the chances of an emotional reward with her were slim, but how could I not take them? I’d live with the consequences as I had for the last six months.
Involving myself with Myth wasn’t the answer to independence. The curious need to prove my skills clashed with the resources they provided. Why did the Gods continue to throw the organization in my path?
We ate. When I finished, I pushed my plate aside with an abruptness sure to catch his eye. He looked up and raised one eyebrow.
“Here’s the deal,” I said, plunging into risky territory. “I’ll work on the case. In return, I want access to M.I.C.U.’s files.”
“I can make you an ad-hock member of the team like you were before.”
I didn’t like the victory or compromise. “That won’t work. To put it bluntly, I have no confidence in them, Max Brady or no Max Brady. Their files will tell me where they’re looking and where they’re not.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not going behind their back.”
Like you haven’t before? What does Brady have on you that you’ve stopped deceiving the head of the department?
I nodded. “Fair enough. Tell him you’ve hired a private investigator the same as Rex Haegar did when Scarlett kidnapped his son.”
The specter of that investigator hung in the air.
Hugh breathed life into him.
“David Bennett broke off with Kix last month.”
I gulped my beer to stop from grinning. Kix no longer had an excuse of her affection torn between us. I could pursue whatever it was we had before he arrived on the scene.
Unless she doesn’t want me.
Nope. Not going to go there.
“All the more reason to investigate the case.”
Hugh made another non-committal grunt. “I’m still going to write you a check.”
“I’ll still donate it to charity.”
He reached across the table to shake my hand. “When can you start?”
“Already have, Burrowes. Already have.”
Chapter Twelve
I spent most of Friday at The Nose Knows, catching up on the work I’d missed since Monday. Lucille was in a mood, as usual, but I cheered her up with a giant box of chocolates. Trolls are suckers for chocolate.
“These aren’t leftover from Valentine’s Day, are they?” she asked with a shooting glance at me and the label on the underside of the box.
“Nope. Not an early St. Patrick’s Day sale, either.” I tapped the box. “See? No green.”
“Humph,” she said, as close to approval as she’d ever get. “Are you in all day, Mr. Harper?”
For the life of me, I couldn’t get her to call me by my first name. “You can go home at three. I thought I’d stop at the hospital and visit.” I shuffled through the messages she’d taken. “Anything in here needing my olfactory powers?”
She glanced at my nose. “Not yet, sir.”
I’d opened the doors two months earlier and hadn’t caught a case yet where I could use my nose. I’d toyed with calling the business Rory Harper, Private Nose instead of Private Eye. Now I had to rethink The Nose Knows.
I hated to pull out an unethical big gun, but I kept a list of the heavy-hitters who’d used my services at Myth. Was it time to send out an announcement that I’d moved? I’m sure my replacement, Aaró Karvonen, hadn’t satisfied them as well as I could.
Think about marketing later, Harper.
I closed out a couple of contracts and opened three more by the time I saw Lucille out the door. Most people are lazy and either don’t want to do the work or are afraid of the answers. Eighty percent of my business consisted of internet research rather than sulking around at midnight taking covert pictures of cheating spouses. People are stupid when posting on social media.
Kix did not call. I wasn’t stupid enough to ring her.
I arrived at West Haven General a little after three and greeted my mother with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. She felt fragile in my arms.
“Are you eating?” I asked, holding her at arm’s length. “Do you go home at night?”
She swatted me away. “I’m fine, but I’m worried about your father. He just came back from physical therapy. Can you believe they have him walking already? Muscle ‘re-education’ and balance ‘re-training’. I never heard of such poppy-cock.”
“Recovery is going to take a while.” I led her to a chair and made her sit before I leaned over the man who’d become my father the day after I turned twelve.
“How are you, Da?” I stroked his white hair, normally tied back in a man-bun, but loose around his shoulders.
Blue eyes stared at me, fighting for recognition. A tentative smile stretched the corner of his mouth. “Arthur?”
I gulped. Arthur was my birth father’s name. He and David were good friends, best friends. After his death, David had taken us in based on that friendship.
I enclosed one of his hands in mine, the veins prominent under the almost translucent white skin. “No, Da. It’s Rory.”
“Of course you are.” He pressed my hand, his grip weak, then his eyes closed.
I turned to my mother. “How long has he been this way?”
“Oh, Rory,” she said, her hands fluttering. “He’s tired because of the therapy. How could he not know you?”
He’s old. Maybe he had a stroke. I didn’t voice my thoughts. She had enough worries. I vowed to talk to the doctor as soon as possible and get answers.
I pulled a straight-back chair next to her and sat. “Is there any news on when he can come home?”
“It’s too early,” she said in a rush as if defending his condition. “Maybe next week. It depends on how well he responds to the therapies.”
I nodded, making a note to ask about his treatment as well. My mind had knotted around the shock and his operation, not to mention everything else outside the hospital, that I’d not thought about what was needed to get him home and his recovery after.
“What are you going to do once he’s home? He can’t climb the stairs.” I took her hand and turned her head. Looking in her eyes, I said, “Do you want to move in with me? My place is on one floor, and I have the room. I can help with his day-to-day care.”
“No. He’ll want to be home, but it’s generous of you to offer.” She patted my arm. “You’re a good son.”
“If you’re staying home, you’ll have to rearrange the house.” I knew she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Millie Harper Sullivan lived for the moment.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll order a hospital bed and adequate staff to help you 24/7.” As she opened her mouth to protest, I shook my head. “No, Ma. Listen to me. You can’t handle him alone. I have the means to pay for people to relieve you of the bulk
of his care. It’s important for you to stay healthy, supportive, and loving. Can you do that for Da?”
Her brown gaze wavered, but she shook her head. “What do you mean, rearrange the house?”
I blew out a breath. “We can make him comfortable in the dining room or his study. Either way, I’ll come over and move the furniture into storage.”
“Oh, Rory.” She sagged against me. “Is that necessary?”
I held her for a few moments, our relationship reversed. The reality of Da’s mortality ate at me. I owed him so much. Worse, his health affected Ma, and I hated for her to go through the turmoil.
“I’ll be over in the morning,” I said, righting her in her chair. “Can you stay home? I’ll need you to tell me what to keep and what to store in boxes.”
Her gaze on her husband, she nodded. “Come early so I won’t miss too much of his day.”
“Eight o’clock. I’ll bring coffee and doughnuts.” I’d buy half a dozen at The Mythic Path before class.
“Nonsense. I’ll make you breakfast. I miss making breakfast for someone.”
“Are you eating? Sleeping?”
She touched my arm. “Now, Rory, don’t worry about me. I fix toast each morning, and the cafeteria here has enough variety that I won’t starve. Today they had fish and chips. Not like back home, but good.”
I recognized her babbling as an excuse not to tell the truth. “Are you sleeping, Ma?”
She sighed and glanced at me. “I’m upset about your father’s illness. I’m upset about Kix getting hit in the head. How is she, poor girl?”
I allowed her delay in giving me a straight answer. “The hospital released her yesterday.” Why hadn’t she called? Was she all right?
“Good. That’s good. I keep seeing—”
“What?” Had her second sight made another prediction?
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
“It might be. What did you see?”
Her hand trembling, she touched her cheek. “The same man, Rory. The older elf. I can’t stop thinking he means trouble for our Kix.”
I ignored the “our Kix” and hugged her in reassurance. Over the top of her head, I watched Da’s steady breathing.
An overwhelming protectiveness roared through me. My parents and Kix meant more to me than anyone else. Whatever or whomever their enemies—illness, age, a deranged myth—I’d stand before them and make sure nothing happened.
I vowed to the Gods above.
I released her and caught her hands. “Don’t worry about Kix. She’s strong. Her brother is watching over her.” He’d better be. “And I’m sure her coworkers are keeping an eye on her until she can go back to work. If it brings you any peace of mind, I’ll tell her about your vision. She’ll take it to heart, you know she will.”
Ma nodded, believing me. “She’s such a nice girl.”
I ignored the romantic speculation in her eyes.
I walked her to the cafeteria, and we had an early supper together. I made light of the investigation and regaled her with tales of Lucille, knowing her fondness for the troll.
At five-thirty, we parted, but I didn’t immediately drive to the Mythic Path. Sitting in a cold car in the sub-zero parking lot, I dialed Kix.
She picked up on the sixth ring, at the exact point my brain switched from why-isn’t-she-answering to something-has-happened.
“Rory?” she said after she heard my voice. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call. The room’s spun around most of the day. I can’t stand or sit, and can only lay on my right side.”
Alarm bells rang, and I shoved the key in the ignition, ready to screech over to her place and save her life, no matter that I had enough medical training to impress no one ever. “Are you all right? Did you call the doctors? What did they say?”
“Relax. Yes, I did call, and they said it’s normal. Hugh is picking up some medicine to help and is bringing it along with some food, though how I’ll keep it down is anyone’s guess.” She stopped, and I pictured her closing her eyes and swaying.
“You talked to Hugh?”
Duh, Harper. Don’t be jealous because he knows where she is and you don’t.
“Mmm. He called my cell before I arrived here. Safely arrived, by the way. Stop worrying about me.”
“I’m not—” I lied.
“I can hear your mind working. Listen, I have to go. Talking too long makes everything worse. I’ll call tomorrow.”
I nodded though she couldn’t see. “If I don’t hear by noon, I’ll track you down.”
“Promise. Bye, Rory.”
I hung up, sick with worry and getting nowhere fast.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t know what to expect when it came time to find my inner brownie self. Despite being myth, I’d had no curiosity to delve into my different heritages. I believe a vampire ancestor gave me a heightened sense of smell. My troll blood controlled my appetite. I could conjure fire and a few minor magic tricks from the elf part of me. The brownie side? I’d have to take Delanna Storm’s word it existed.
After purchasing the end-of-the-day bargain doughnuts from the Harbor Bakery, I followed Delanna upstairs to a large room. Silk scarves lined the walls in soothing colors of light orange, purple and yellow. Cushions of various sizes and colors lay on a scuffed floor, the wide, hardwood planks original to the building. Calming music of bells, harps, and flutes drifted from concealed speakers.
Six other myth stood around, barefoot or in socks, munching tarts and brownies and cookies—whatever leftovers Delanna hadn’t sold. Two of the participants were witches, both women, one older, one young; a goblin woman, who hovered near the treats; a male dwarf; and two male elves. The oldest, much older than my parents, grabbed my attention.
He wore a porkpie hat, green trousers, a dark green vest, and a pink bowtie that matched the handkerchief in his vest pocket. A right dandy.
Before I could edge across the room toward him, Delanna clapped her hands together.
“Gather round, my lovelies,” she said with an inward sweep of her arms. “Rory, if you please.” She nodded at my shoes.
I untied them and lined them up against one wall with the others. By the time I rejoined the group, they’d formed a circle and held hands. The older witch, who wore a black and purple tie-dyed tunic, a black beret and enormous earrings that looked like strangled leopards, opened a space for me. I clasp her hand and that of the goblin then turned my attention to Delanna.
“Ah, my lovelies, the fates have visited our little group. Our spiritual companion, young Rebecca Turner, has slipped her mortal bonds and traverses the eternal realm. May she journey in peace and harmony.”
“May she journey in peace and harmony,” everyone but me echoed.
I’d never heard murder described as slipping mortal bonds, but, hey, I was here to learn.
“And young Kathleen Burrowes recovers from a frightful attack perpetrated by a most vile demon. May justice prevail for both of our brethren.”
“May justice prevail,” the group repeated.
“We join as myth and family, brothers and sisters, to delve into our deepest self to discover joyous enlightenment. Pray to the deity that comforts you and join with it to guide you on this incredible journey. Be clear and specific in your intent. Ask your guide for what you wish to accomplish. Ride the rhythm of the drums into an altered state of consciousness.
“Don’t force the answers. Travel with the sound of the drumbeat to the realm and follow it to the timeless plain, where all questions are answered.
“The drumbeat will increase to call you back to the confines of your mortal body. Complete your work. Thank the spirits who have helped you. Ask if you may return and visit with them again.
“The drum will signal you to open your eyes. Take a deep, cleansing breath, then immediately write down what you have experienced. Paper and pens are provided on the refreshment table.
“Once we have reassembled, you may share or not. You may feel rejuvena
ted, cleansed, or exhausted and in want of rest. Each individual and occurrence will be different, but know one thing, you will be changed.
“We call upon our guides to join us in our journey to the truth. Blessed Gods.”
“Blessed Gods,” intoned the group, then they broke the circle and drifted away.
I grabbed the nearest cushion, a beanbag in forest green, and settled into a comfortable pose. I’d meditated before, but not in a long time, and not to call my guides to help me find joyous enlightenment.
Almost immediately, the harps and flutes switched to a fast-paced drumbeat with no pauses between beats, nothing more than a rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. I closed my eyes, released most of my doubts this hokey act would work, and asked for a break in the Turner/Burrowes case.
I must have dozed. The drumming stopped then resumed with a quick repeat of seven beats followed by a faster drubbing, which grew fainter, then stopped. The seven beats repeated, slower, slower, until they ceased.
I opened my eyes. The journey to enlightenment held the other participants in various states of consciousness. Some swayed, some looked locked in place, and one, the goblin woman, had risen and stood near the food table. Not, as I presumed, to write down her experience, but slide a tray of cookies into a satchel.
I hadn’t dreamed anything, so I didn’t bother jotting down my thoughts. I stretched my legs and watched as the others mentally returned to consciousness.
Delanna walked among them, crouching at their sides to offer an encouraging word, then offered pen and paper.
Another ten minutes or so passed with the only noise scratches on paper and the low chime of bells. With the last word written, Delanna resumed her spot in the middle of our little circle.
“Blessed be, my lovelies. The spirit energies are strong tonight, due, I am sure, by the presence of the power of seven. Seven myth reaching out for their true selves. Would anyone like to share their journey?”
Not me. I’d not found my inner brownie, but I’d enjoyed a good nap.