by Noel Cash
“Then he hired someone who mixed her up with Katie Leonard. If he was on trial for a murder-for-hire, then he probably called on one of his buddies to do the job for him. Thick as thieves, the saying goes.”
I sat in my chair and pulled up my email. “Brady and the other authorities can go where we can’t and see his financials. If he paid a hitman, they’ll find the payment.”
“If it was a hitman.”
I looked up from typing Brady’s address. “Do you have another theory?”
“Nothing concrete, but this,” she waved to the empty air, “seemed too easy. I do a search, and boom—I find her ties to a man accused of murder. It doesn’t feel right.”
“You connected the dots, that should make you feel proud.”
“It’s not enough.”
It never is with you. Why can’t you see your own worth?
“Let M.I.C.U. handle the rest.” I stared at the screen, mentally composing my note.
“Rory Harper, are you walking away from the case?”
“Not for a minute.” I glanced at her. “Are you?”
“After what he did to me? No. I’m going to nail the bastard and send him to prison for the rest of his life. Preferably one with no windows, a leaking roof, and a huge population of hungry rats.”
I chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
She picked up her laptop. “You’re not. You’re not at all.”
What is that supposed to mean?
I wrote the note to Brady, sent it off, then picked up my phone.
“Are you calling him as well?” Kix glanced up from another site displaying Katie Leonard’s picture.
“Texting him. How sad is it that I have to send a text to tell him to open his mail?”
“As sad as calling the victims Becky One and Becky Two. It dehumanizes them.” Kix shut her laptop. “What’s next?”
I finished my text. “You tell me. You’re the one with the brains.”
She stood and shoved the laptop into her purse. “A compliment like that and five bucks will get you a cup of coffee. I think we need to investigate the tobacco angle more. We keep circling it like water in a drain. I can’t shake the feeling it’s the key.”
“I agree. Where do you want to start?”
“Not start. Continue. Let’s visit to your ‘friend’ Dimitri.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
No interior lights shone at Leaf to Ash Tobacco Shoppe. Kix, her boots crunching on the worn snow, stopped and glanced at me.
“Do you think he’s scampered off?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Scampered, Burrowes?”
“Skipped? Scuttled? Skedaddled?” She tested the locked door. “Why would he leave in the middle of the day? You said he was a wizard, not a decrepit elf, so we know he’s not the one who killed Becky Two.”
“All roads lead to Oz.” I shielded my eyes and peered through the window.
“Do you think he has enough power to shapeshift?”
I gave up my futile search. “No one does anymore.”
“That we know about.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” I turned and glanced down the road, my eyes narrowed against the snow’s glare. “I suppose I could email him.” Opening that can of worms chilled me.
“You have his address?” She stomped her feet to keep warm.
“He sent me a note that he had a ‘special blend’ in stock for me.” I dug in my pocket for my phone but before I could access it, the door behind me clicked.
“There you are,” Romanoff said, a slick oiliness to his voice. “And you brought a little friend. Or three.”
I turned. Dressed in head-to-toe goth black, Dimitri Romanoff stood in the doorway, his head tilted, red cat-eye contacts regarding the bodyguards who flanked us. He did not seem pleased at the trolls’ presence.
“We thought you were closed.” Kix stepped in front of me, holding out her gloved hand. “I’m Kix Burrowes, an associate of Rory’s.”
An associate?
Romanoff accepted her hand and brought it to his lips. “Enchanted, my dear, enchanted. Any ‘associate’ of Rory’s is one of mine.”
I shut down a flickering thought of a ménage a trois.
“We’re working a case,” I said as I swallowed bile. His power pulsed around me like a tsunami, sucking me closer toward disaster. Unlike our first meeting, he didn’t dial it down to an imperceptible level.
“A private detective case,” he said. “You did not tell me your occupation on your last visit.” He held the door open and stepped back. “I’ve done a little research on you.”
His personal fragrance, vanilla, chocolate, and deep woods, lashed out and clamped me in its power. The intoxicating anger struck me between the eyes with such violence I struggled against losing my balance.
“A small deception,” I said as I slid past him after Kix, my fingers attempting a neutralizing spell, which failed from decades of neglect.
The trolls positioned themselves on each side of the front door. The tension between them and the wizard thrummed like a live wire.
“I do not forgive easily.” With a warning glance, Romanoff turned away, his mood flipping like a light switch as he targeted Kix in his sites.
“Oh,” Kix cooed, taking off her hat and gloves and stuffing them into her pocket. “This smells divine.”
“You’re divine, my sweet pixie. Let me show you something I know you’ll enjoy.” Romanoff flipped the sign to open and shut the door. He snapped on the lights and snaked his way to the far counter, reached under it and pulled out a carved, teak box.
“I know you don’t smoke and never will, but you know someone who does, am I right?”
Kix had fallen under his spell. She nodded, her eyes glittering, her mouth half open.
The scents of the shop and his power tightened around me like a lover’s arms, preventing me from rescuing her.
“My brother Vaughn smokes pipes,” she whispered as if in confession at the Vatican.
“Of course he does, and his favorite tobacco is Stonehaven, though it’s rare to find.” Romanoff caressed the box, his fingertips outlining the carved leaves.
“Do you carry it in stock?” Her eyes rounded, and she leaned toward him, the prey about to be snatched by the hunter.
“Only for you, my sweetest pixie. Only for you.” He flicked open the box with a black painted fingernail filed to a point.
A pale gold pouch with black and maroon lettering nestled on midnight velvet. The depth and complex scent, almost like dark chocolate in its richness, permeated the air. This time, I did step back then shook my head to clear it of the twin spells vibrating around us.
“Romanoff,” I said and glared at the wizard.
He looked up from his seduction with a wry smirk. “I’m enjoying myself,” he said.
“No. Not at her expense.” I placed a hand on her arm in warning, ready to haul her out of his reach.
“Oh, all right, but you’ve taken the fun out of my day.”
His power crumbled, level by level, as if he removed pieces on a chess board. The air grew less dense, and the band around my lungs suddenly eased.
Kix staggered and bent at the waist. I caught her and shot Romanoff a withering glance. “Look what you’ve done to her.”
He opened his hands in a half-assed apology. “My fault. Bring her back here.”
He glided through a curtained doorway. Kix leaning against me in a half-faint, I had no choice but to follow, the trolls behind me. They said nothing, but their anger radiated toward the wizard.
I expected a dark, dismal storeroom. The dazzling whiteness and gleaming counters and shelves shocked me. Where the store’s front room reeked of old-world elegance, the back room screamed science fiction.
Or a mad scientist’s laboratory.
Romanoff pushed a white vinyl chair towards us, and I helped Kix onto it.
“Water,” he said with a wave of a hand, and a goblet appeared. Concerned with re
turning her to normal, I didn’t argue with his antics.
“Drink this,” I said, holding the vessel to her mouth.
She drank, hesitant at first, then with the ferocity of a parched man in the Sahara.
I jerked the cup from her and vaulted upward, my fury zeroing on Romanoff.
“That’s enough. I said not at her expense.” My left hand curled in a fist, itching to make contact with his jaw.
“But she’s so delicious.” He stepped out of reach of me and the bodyguards. I’d lay money on the table they’d crush him before I could lift a hand.
“Not for you. Dial it down, wizard, or suffer the consequences.” The words sounded like they came from an Old West sheriff, but I wouldn’t have him messing with Kix’s mind.
“Grinch.” But he released the last of the spell.
Kix gasped and straightened. Tears spurted in her eyes.
“Rory?” She reached for me.
I caught her hand and knelt. “It’s okay. Romanoff is done playing games. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
She nodded and took several deep breaths. When she’d regained her internal balance, she stared at Romanoff, her eyes deadly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but do you know who my brother is?”
He probably did, knowing Vaughn’s devotion to Stonehaven, but I wanted to see him squirm.
“H.W. Burrowes,” she said, not giving him the chance to answer. “Vice-President of Operations at Myth. He can shut you down like this.” She snapped her fingers.
Instead of cowering like I wanted him to, he smiled. “I thought your name sounded familiar.” He bowed from the waist. “Mistress Burrowes, my deepest apologies for any harm I might have caused. I did not realize the sweet pixie in my shop was a woman of such notoriety.”
If he’d said it in a sarcastic tone, I would have punched him, but I sensed his sincerity and held back. One signal from Kix, however . . .
She continued to glare at him until he looked away.
“You will not do that again,” she said in a mom voice and nodded to the threat of Bruno and Mars.
“No, I will not.” He looked at the floor. I swear he toed it like a ten-year-old caught sneaking cookies from the bake sale platter.
“And you will answer all our questions.”
Who has the power now, jackass?
“What do you need to know?”
“About the tobacco samples you sold Rory.” She turned to me, in control again and tenacious as a terrier. “Which one best matches what you’re looking for?”
Eddie Renart’s brand.
I opened the mental compartment where I’d stored the olfactory scents from my previous visit. “Forged Blacksmith.”
“Forged Blacksmith,” she said to Romanoff. “Do you have any customers who buy the ingredients to blend something that resembles it?”
“I’m the largest tobacconist in West Michigan,” he said, puffing with pride. “If anyone makes their own blend, they’re buying the ingredients from me.”
“Not the internet?” she asked.
He made a derisive sound. “Amateurs. I sell only the highest quality.”
“Do you sell through the internet?” I wanted to catch him in his own hypocrisy.
His eyes narrowed. “Only to long-established customers.”
Kix stood and stepped between us. “Getting back to my question. Do you have any customers who buy the ingredients to blend something similar to Forged Blacksmith?”
He tapped his cheek. “I believe I do. The records are in the front room.”
We followed him through the curtained doorway, the trolls lumbering behind. The difference between the rooms was like stepping off an elevator onto another world.
Romanoff reached for a book on a shelf under the cash register and thumbed through it. “I’m breaking ethical and moral rules by showing this to you, but I understand your need to see it.”
“We believe two women died because of their connection to a certain blend of tobacco,” Kix said, giving him her most pleading look.
Who plays the game now?
“Far be it from me to withhold evidence.” Romanoff stopped searching at a page near the back of the book. He tapped the paper.
“Last purchased two weeks ago, a blend of dark burleys and . . . Yes, here you are.” He swung the book around so Kix and I could read it.
I stared in disbelief at the name scrawled on the page.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Beryl Tussett?” Kix asked.
The witch from Mythic Path’s woo-woo class.
“How does she fit into the puzzle?” I exchanged glances with Kix. Neither one of us knew what to do with this startling piece of information.
“Has she said whether she smokes it herself or if she buys it for someone else?” I asked. On both occasions we’d met, I’d not picked up any scent of tobacco from her. She’d seemed much more concerned with a healthy lifestyle and spending part of her time as an eagle than polluting her body with the evils of tobacco.
Romanoff closed the book and returned it to the shelf under the counter. “She has mentioned a friend on one or two occasions. I picked up a vibe that she uses it more as a bribe than a gift.”
Her back to him, Kix mouthed the word, “Eddie” at me.
I nodded. The elf had gone from a person of interest to a suspect. How did he tie in with Alex Reese and the older elf who’d killed the Beckys?
“There’s no one else who buys different tobaccos to make the same blend?” Kix asked Romanoff.
“Why not buy Forged Blacksmith? I always thought it odd that she bypassed the easier route, but some of my customers are purists. They want their smokes a particular way. Who am I to argue?”
He tilted his head, and his red contacts whirled, reminding me of Sam Simmons, my former assistant when I’d worked at Myth. He’d worn yellow cat-eye contacts that whirled. What had happened to him?
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Romanoff,” Kix said, as smooth as butter, as if he hadn’t played mind games with her.
“Dimitri,” he said, kissing the back of her hand while deftly sliding the packet of Stonehaven tobacco into it. For a moment, his attraction and power flared, then it died into red-hot embers. “It was my pleasure to assist you, dearest pixie.” His eyes met mine, and he winked. “Always a pleasure.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. I chose to ignore him.
“Have you tried the Golden Coale sample I sent home with you?” he asked.
“The what?” I had my eyes on the door and escape.
“My gift to you.” He kissed his fingertips. “Mystic and enthralling. I think you’ll like to explore its depths.”
Kix stifled a giggle.
I glared at him. “I don’t smoke any more.”
“Oh, you will. Never say never.” He released the air kiss in my direction.
“I’ll say goodbye instead.” His spell pulsated, and steel teeth closed around me like a bear trap.
Kix grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder.
The trolls opened the door, and she shoved me through the opening. When we’d walked a few steps, she whacked me across the back.
“Breathe,” she ordered. “Breathe like I just saved you from going down for the third time.”
I sucked in sharp, cold air, banishing the last vestiges of his spell. “I think you did.”
I grinned and hugged her close for the briefest moment. “We saved each other.”
She hooked her arm in mine and dragged me toward the parking lot. “I’ve never known anyone to have such intense power. I forgot who I was and what I wanted. No, I take that back. I wanted whatever he wanted.” She shivered and looked at me, her gray-green eyes puzzled. “Do you think he hypnotized us? Not just today, but last week when I witnessed the murder?”
“You said an elf killed Becky One.” As much as it pained me to do so, I pulled free of her grip to take out the car keys.
/> “Maybe I saw an elf because he wanted me to see one.”
I opened the door for her. “Why give us the information about Beryl?”
“To throw us off the scent?” She scooted into the car and stared at me.
“Nothing throws me off the scent.” I touched my nose. “We’re looking for answers where none exist.”
“I’m not giving up on him as a suspect.”
I circled the Cherokee and got in. “One thing’s for certain.”
“What’s that?”
I shoved the key in the ignition. “We have to find Beryl Tussett and ask her some questions.”
“Is that wise? If she knows the killer, he might be with her when we confront her.”
I glanced at her before shifting the Jeep into gear. “I’ve never known you to shy away from anything.”
Her mouth twisted. “My sense of adventure was hit on the head with my own gun.”
Guilt swept over me. “Are you all right? This isn’t too much for you—regaining your memory, working with a sketch artist, having a wizard put you under a spell?”
“I’m fine,” she said in a tone that said anything but.
“Headache? Dizziness?” I made sure the trolls followed us in their dark sedan.
“Fine.”
“Okay.” I turned toward my office. “Do you have a plan?”
“Working on it.”
I shut up.
“What does M.I.C.U.’s files say about Beryl Tussett?” she asked after several blocks of silence.
I dredged up what I’d read. “No husband. No children. She owns an herbal shop on Indiana Street. ”
“Herb Minister Gardens,” she said. “I remember her talking about it the first night at the Mythic Path. She runs it with a friend.”
“The killer?”
“She didn’t say man or woman, elf or wizard.”
“I don’t remember if the file mentioned it or not. M.I.C.U. would run that as a secondary investigation. They’ve a lot on their plate at the moment.”
“Mmm. We’d get more information from her on her home territory.”
I jumped on her suggestion. “Do you want to go there? Tell me now so I can turn off.”