by Noel Cash
“Celso Coriander,” Mickelson said in greeting.
The goblin smiled, even white teeth startling against ashy skin. “Lt. Mike, so good to see you again. How may I help you today?”
Mickelson reached through the window to shake his hand. “Celso, this is Rory Harper. He’s helping us on the Becky cases.”
Coriander’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “The Schnoz, am I right? We’ve heard of you and your amazing talent. I’m honored, sir. The department is honored to accept your help.”
I rarely met someone who knew me, my talent, and appreciated it. My ego inflated like a Thanksgiving Day parade float.
“Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”
His smile broadened. “How may I help you, sir?”
I glanced at Mickelson. “I’m here to see the cigarette butts found at Becky Thatcher #2’s crime scene.”
His green eyes twinkled. “You mean ‘smell’ the cigarette butts, don’t you, sir?”
“Yes. Exactly.” I like the little guy and his infectious upbeat attitude.
“I’ll get them for you right away. If you’d care to sit while you wait?” He indicated four chairs grouped in a corner. “I shouldn’t take long at all.”
“We’ll wait here,” Mickelson said.
Coriander disappeared. In a few moments he returned with a small cardboard box secured with red tape. He passed it through the window along with a form on a clipboard. Mickelson scratched the date, contents, and his signature on the form and handed it back. He opened a pocketknife, slit the tape, and pulled out two plastic bags. Each one contained a used cigarette butt.
I noted the evidence label on each bag listing the detective’s name, and the date and time collected.
“The moment of truth,” he said, an eyebrow raised at me.
“I don’t guarantee results,” I said as I opened the first bag. “All I can do is memorize the scent in case I encounter it in the future.”
How do you describe the scent of tobacco? Dimitri Romanoff would have the perfect words. Woody, nutty, a slight butter note. Some spice with an underlying sweetness. I had no problem recognizing the scent.
“Eddie Renart,” I said.
Mickelson shot me a penetrating look. “Are you sure?”
I opened the second bag and sniffed. “One hundred percent.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the butts I’d found in the alley behind Harbor Bakery. “Have your lab compare them to these.” I explained what they were and how I’d found them.
Mickelson shook his head. “We’ll need proof they belong to Renart.”
“So get a search warrant. My reputation will validate having one issued.”
He stroked his mustache. “I’ll run it by Brady.”
“Look, the man knew Becky One, and he left evidence behind at Becky Two’s murder scene. I don’t know why he targeted them, but a search warrant will give you answers.”
He nodded, but I knew he wouldn’t move without his captain’s okay. Mickelson had hesitated in the past with drastic results.
I handed the bags back to him. “He told me the tobacco was his own blend. Once you break it down, you’ll have another nail in his coffin. You can put him away and be the hero, Mike.”
He nodded but continued to pull on his mustache. He’d hem and haw until a third Becky died.
“Talk to Brady. I have to go.” My meeting with Hugh had reminded me of how much I missed speaking with Kix. What was she doing? What information had she found?
I turned to Celso Coriander. “Good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, sir.” The goblin’s eyes lit.
The sound of a door opening and voices pulled my attention away. Down the corridor, two men stepped from a room. They bent over a slighter figure, a pixie with dark hair tied into a messy knot at the top of her head.
I stepped forward.
“Kix?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Rory?”
Her eyes widened and she ran, stopping before me and placing her hands on my forearms. I didn’t dissuade the touch.
“What are you doing here?” I shot a glance at Mickelson, who looked as surprised as I felt. “Are you living here? I suppose there’s nowhere safer than M.I.C.U. headquarters but—”
She laughed, and my heart zinged. “I hope not. We’re here to meet with Gwendoline Indigo. Isn’t that the most delightful name for a witch? Gwendoline Indigo,” she repeated.
“It’s colorful.” I couldn’t believe Kix had manifested after I’d thought of her. “How are you? Headache gone?”
“Lingering.” Her nose wrinkled. “I’m bored, bored, bored. I’m ready to join you in the real investigation.”
“I’d like that very much.” I stared at her then Mickelson cleared his throat, and I snapped back to reality. “We need to talk.”
“Love to. I have so much to tell you.” She turned to her companions, trolls who had a decided ashen hue to their skin. “These guys are looking after me. Bodyguards. Guns for hire. Rory, meet Bruno and Mars.”
I choked. Mickelson slapped me on the back until I caught my breath. I nodded to the watch guards, unable to form a coherent, non-snarky comment.
Kix looped her arm through mine. “Come on. You can sit in on the session. I don’t know if Gwendoline Indigo will hypnotize me or spell me or whatever, but I’d feel better if I had a friend along.”
Great. We’d entered “friend” territory again.
“Sure. Where?”
“This way,” one of the trolls said and passed me, Mickelson, and Celso Coriander, whose eyes bulged with curiosity and amusement.
Kix fell in step behind him with the other troll taking flank position. Mickelson followed, whether through curiosity or to sit in as an investigator, I didn’t know.
We entered a conference room behind the secured, secondary door. It contained an oval table and six black chairs. Two people sat in the chairs—Anne Prairie, former receptionist turned investigator, and a young woman with blond hair, freckles, a painted star on each cheek, and long spears of black eye makeup at the corner of indigo eyes. She stood as we entered and rushed to Kix.
“Frustration,” she said in greeting as she circled her. “Intelligence. Mischievous, and confused.” The diamond hoop in her nose quivered over blood red lips. “There was a man, ah, but he doesn’t matter in the long run.”
Taken aback, Kix stared. “Hello.”
The witch chuckled. “I’m sorry, but your aura is so strong, I couldn’t help but pick up on your emotions.”
Damn, I hoped she didn’t look my way. I radiated adoration of Kix like a radio tower.
Kix scooted into a chair, her chin up. “I guess that will help when you try to determine what happened to me on the night of my attack.”
Gwendoline sat across from her, leaving me to take the place at the head of the table and Mickelson the end. The trolls stood, one at the door, one at Kix’s back. Anne Prairie sat poised with pen and paper, as well as her phone, to record the session.
“You’ve misunderstood,” the witch said, reaching across to take Kix’s hands. “I don’t determine anything. I coax the truth into the light where we witness its glory.”
I stopped from rolling my eyes. I’d lived as a myth for decades and hadn’t encountered so much mumbo-jumbo.
She should moonlight at the Mythic Path.
“Okay, I guess.” Kix flicked a glance at me. “What do I need to do?”
The witch released her. “Just relax.”
“I can’t be hypnotized.”
“There’s no need. The spirits will relay the truth.”
Gwendoline arranged a white candle in the center of the table in front of her and Kix. After mumbling something under her breath, she lit it and nodded to the troll—Bruno, I think—who killed the lights.
“Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax and open your mind.” She reached for Kix’s hands again. The candle glowed in their embrace. The light from the flashlight app on Anne’s
phone as she took notes ruined the overall spooky ambiance.
“To see the truth, to know the way, I cast this spell on this day. By the power of three, I compel thee to give the truth onto me.”
Her breath fanned the flame and flickering shadows played across her face.
“Moments lost make witches wonder.
“Evil plot or demon’s plunder?
“If this is not a prank,
“Help us fill in the blank.”
A bright purple orb grew from the flame, increasing in size until it engulfed us in a glittery brilliance. Gwendoline smiled, then leaned forward to blow out the candle.
The purple sparkle imploded into smoke. The witch spoke Kix’s name three times through the disappearing tendrils.
“Kix,” she said, her voice commanding. “Speak the truth. What happened on the night you last visited the Mythic Path?”
Kix shuddered. “We left by the back door, Becky and I. She lived close and wanted to walk, but I didn’t feel good about leaving her alone in the storm. I offered her a ride—”
I leaned forward as she hesitated. My heart jumped.
“A man approached as we brushed the snow off my car. I didn’t know him. He was older, an elf, all bundled up in furs. I thought it strange that anyone wore real fur nowadays, especially in that neighborhood.”
She stopped again, and her gaze sought mine in the dim light of Anne’s phone. I tried to pour as much confidence and reassurance into the look I returned. She continued, her eyes never wavering from mine.
“He said, ‘Are you Becky Turner?’ She looked at me like, who is this guy, but she said yes.”
Kix wet her lips and looked away. Her voice trembled. “Then he shot her. Just like that. Pulled out a gun and bang. She fell, and I screamed, I guess, and ran to her. It happened so fast, all I could think about was how could I help her?”
Her hand shook so hard I slid into the seat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this,” I murmured into her ear. “If it’s too much, don’t go on.”
“There’s not much left to tell.” She shuddered then straightened. “He didn’t stop me. I remember thinking, is this how I’ll die? Helping a friend?” She broke off and hugged herself. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know. He must have hit me on the head soon afterward.”
Anne, who’d not said a word, laid down her pen. “They found your car a block from the Lake Michigan shoreline. The detectives found her blood in the trunk. The killer must have used it to transport her body.”
“Leaving me to die on the sidewalk in a blizzard.” Kix’s chin jutted. Her muscles tightened under my arm.
“You said you didn’t know him,” Mickelson said, pulling on his mustache. “Are you sure?”
We exchanged a glance over Kix’s head. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about my suspicions about Eddie Renart. Her recollections had shot my theory into pieces.
“I’m sure. I couldn’t see much of his face, but it wasn’t familiar.”
“How old was he? How tall? Did he have an accent?” Mickelson peppered her with questions until I held out a hand to slow his enthusiasm.
Kix answered them in stride. “Old. Really old, and tall, about six feet, six two. An accent? British, I’m sure.” She held a hand to the side of her head. “I can’t think any more.”
“That’s enough,” I said, asserting my non-existent authority.
The witch raised a finger. “One more thing. A protection spell.” She waved her hand in the air. A white light shot from her fingertips and encircled us.
“Protect this lass, I beseech thee.
“Hold back any negativity.
“Reverse the bad you send her way.
“Upon yourself it shall lay.
“By day and night and the power of three
“This is my will, so must it be.”
The light popped like tiny fireworks then fizzled, sparkles falling, fading pinpricks of magic.
“That turns things in a different direction,” Mickelson said with a glare at me. He’d dismissed my theory of the slightly built Eddie Renart as the killer and thanked the Gods he hadn’t written my findings into evidence.
I didn’t care. I trusted my nose. Renart tied into the murders.
Kix lifted her hand and glanced at Mickelson. “I think I can work with Anderson in sketching what the killer looked like.”
He nodded. “I’ll go get him in.”
He left, followed by Anne Prairie. Gwendoline Indigo stood, but instead of leaving, she leaned toward me, her gaze intense.
“You must let it go,” she said. “Release the past and grab the future with passion and your whole heart. Happiness will elude you until you do this one thing.”
She stared at me for a moment longer as if seeking an answer in my eyes. Then she nodded, satisfied, and swept out of the room.
“What was that about?” Kix asked.
“Nothing. A parlor trick. ‘I see great fortune in the future. You will meet a stranger and go on a trip.’ Forget her.”
But as I said the words, I knew the importance of the message she’d sent me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kix glanced at Bruno and Mars, then leaned toward me.
“I’m not going to sit still any longer,” she said under her breath. At my sharp glance, she nodded. “I can’t when there’s too much to do.”
“I don’t want you working if you don’t feel well.”
She shook her head and frowned. “My headache’s manageable. I can’t let it stop me now that I can remember what happened.”
“Where are you staying?” An offer to stay at my place bubbled to the surface, but I quashed it down. Why make things more awkward between us?
“I took a suite at the Haegar Hotel, but now I’m wondering if I should accept Hugh’s offer until we catch the killer. It will give us a chance to spend time together, and he’s in a gated community.”
I must have betrayed how events might unfold in her brother’s household now that he knew of his wife’s lies because Kix frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I think you’d better check with him first.”
“Has something happened?”
“Check with him, Kix.”
“You know, I don’t like the obtuse side of Rory Harper.”
I held up my hands in helplessness. “But you like me, right?” It was the closest I’d dared come to asking. Had I regressed to middle school? What was next, passing notes?
She answered but avoided the true meaning of the question. “You’re a good friend.”
Again? Did I dream too far, or was I stupid? “Good enough.” For now. “What’s the plan? ”
She ticked off her agenda on her fingers, manicured in a peony pink. “Work with Anderson to draw up a composite of the suspect. Gwendoline’s spell jarred my memory, and I think I can give him enough detail for M.I.C.U. to catch the guy.
“Call Hughie and find out what’s happening as something obviously is. If I can’t stay at his place, I’ll go back to the hotel and keep Bruno and Mars on my payroll.”
She raised her hand again and touched a third finger. “Have a chat with Captain Brady about what I remembered. He’ll want my version sooner or later because a report is just words on paper.
“Fourth, fill you in on what I’ve found so far. We can trade stories, because I’m dying to know what you’re doing. Fifth, find a place to work. I shouldn’t be seen going in and out of Myth. If the killer stalked Becky Two after realizing his mistake with One, then he might stalk me. The media hasn’t shied away from telling the world my business.” She frowned.
“Is that a problem?” The Kix I knew embraced her uniqueness.
“Not so far because I’ve shut off checking in on social media. I don’t need more loonies in my life.”
The spring of anxiety in my heart loosened. “Good. For a minute I thought you’d offer yourself as bait.”
She frowned. “I can’t say it hasn’t c
rossed my mind, but I won’t put my parents through that kind of anxiety. It’s one thing to traipse around looking for clues in a murder or kidnapping. It’s another to put myself in the crosshairs of a serial killer.”
I doubted she’d told them the truth of our adventures the previous August. I hadn’t told my parents, falling back on the cliched “I didn’t want to worry them.”
“Are there more than five things on your agenda?” I asked.
She smiled a cheeky grin. “No. That’s enough for this morning. After you take me to lunch, I’ll let you know the rest.”
“I like your plan, and I know just the place.” Kix wasn’t pretentious, but she’d grown up in wealth. No matter how good the food, I couldn’t subject her to any diners or greasy spoons.
I checked the time on my phone. “When will you be done here?”
She wrinkled her nose. “A couple hours, I think. Why? Do you have plans?”
“I thought I’d check in with my mother and Da. He moved to Hill Valley Rehabilitation Center yesterday.”
Her face fell. “Oh, Rory, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. How is he? Forget lunch. You should go. I can muddle through on my own. I’ll text you with updates.”
I covered her hand with mine. “Nonsense. It’s not far, and he’s probably resting. I’ll make sure Ma is okay then come back here. Ten o’clock? We can go to my office if it’s too early for lunch. You need to meet my receptionist, Lucille.”
“I’d like that. And seeing where you work. The Nose Knows.”
I have an empty room. Did I hope too much, thinking we could work side-by-side?
“It’s not much, yet.”
“Don’t be humble.”
“I’m not.”
“No, you take pride in your work.” She frowned.
“Hey, your time is coming.” I knew she hadn’t found her passion yet and had issues of trying to please her family instead of herself.
She withdrew her hand. “First, we have to catch a killer.”
“Teamwork, Burrowes, teamwork.”