Bound for Magic (The Tortie Kitten Mystery Trilogy Series Book 1)

by Constance Barker

A woman answered him. “Cattle mutilation? You’re barking up the wrong tree, Kade. The Hammer’s outside city limits. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is. Go to French Camp and talk to the sheriff.”

  “C’mon, baby, I know you have the inside dope.”

  “Call me baby again, and see if I don’t kick your ass all the way down the stairs.”

  I neared the door and looked in the office to find Agent Wallace leaning on a desk. Behind the desk sat a woman with sergeant’s stripes on her short-sleeve uniform. Despite her hair being pinned up, a fall of Shirley Temple curls escaped down the back. She had big blue eyes and full lips, boobs the size of melons, a zillion piercings in her ears and tattoos that crept past her sleeves and collar. No wonder Shen wanted to accompany me.

  Wallace assessed me with his bi-colored gaze. “Well, here’s someone else whose brain I need to pick. Inspector Garcia.”

  Josephine, her name tag read Gustafson, gave me the once-over. “New girl in CAPs, right?”

  “That’s me.” I stood there, awkwardly. “I caught a case today and I wanted to talk to you, Sarge.”

  Josephine narrowed her eyes at the agent. “Official business, Wallace.”

  Wallace took his hat from the desk. He frowned. “Ladies.”

  Chapter 6

  “What can I do you for, Garcia?”

  I stepped fully into Animal Control. There was one desk other than the sergeant’s. Gun lockers took up the rest of the space.

  There was a bandage and plastic wrap on her right arm. I nodded at it. “New ink?”

  “Cover up.”

  On the little shelf on the cubicle wall behind Gustafson sat a bunch of binders, some of them brown, but most of them purple. She caught me looking.

  “I don’t know who decided to color-code the department,” she said. “What case are we talking about?”

  I hesitated. “How do I put this without sounding like an idiot? I’m guessing I’m here for the same reason Agent Wallace was.”

  “How is that related to your case?” She hid a suspicious expression.

  “It’s not. It’s related to my house. I live in The Hammer.”

  All she said was, “Ah.”

  “It just seemed like the responders were pretty freakin’ blasé about an animal dragging a human body around. Even my neighbors acted like this was a thing.”

  Josephine crossed her arms. “You’re from the block, right?”

  “Grew up in The Hammer. My parents moved to Creekside before I started high school. Since then, I’ve been away.” As far away as I could get.

  “I’m assuming that you have some idea about what’s going on here, so I won’t bother with the coydog speech, or the fact that we’re an hour away from a national forest, with waterways that lead animals straight to DV and the surrounding farms. It’s always been a weird town.

  “Ten years or so ago, DV Metro was in financial trouble. The city was on the verge of bankruptcy, retirement funds were the big problem. There was a hiring freeze, with talk of actually laying off sworn officers. Most of the good cops found greener pastures, leaving us with a greener force. Then, the feds stepped in.”

  “Feds like Wallace?”

  She nodded. “Ol’ Walleye was one of the first.”

  I smirked at the nickname.

  “We also do a lot of legwork for the FBI.”

  “I’ve done some of that myself. Human trafficking.”

  She looked at me sideways. “It’s more the inhuman trafficking the feds are interested in.”

  I blinked. A lot. What the hell was she saying?

  “Used to be, when some bizarre event happened in Delta Vista, we did our best to cover it up. But now, we try to solve these things. Right across the hall is the Special Investigations Unit. That used to be our FBI liaison, but the last administration had a bunch of kooky shadow budget projects. I have no idea who the guys in that office work for. DARPA, the CIA, some black box cadre we’ve never even heard of, we don’t know.

  “Bottom line is: more purple binders mean more federal dollars. It isn’t spoken of openly. Some of the old school cops don’t like it at all. But everybody knows who butters their bread. You’re new here, so, I’ll tell you what. After you earn your Spooky Merit Badge, we’ll talk some more. This is the supernatural crossroads of the country, Garcia, and you’ve been appointed crossing guard.”

  I stood there, stunned. My family, especially my mother’s side, had The Gift. We could read people. There were some we couldn’t read—people who also had The Gift. I thought it over. It seemed when I was a kid, there were a lot of people I couldn’t read. A lot more than in the Army, or in Florida. The phone rang on the sergeant’s desk.

  “I have to take this. Nice chatting, Garcia.”

  Zombielike, I wandered back toward the elevators. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I got coffee from a machine in the breakroom and headed back to the bullpen.

  “You look like I look when I get to talk with Josephine,” Shen assessed me. “I didn’t know you swung that way.”

  “I don’t. I just...” I was still processing what she said.

  “Anyway, take a look at this.” Shen pushed a photo across my desk. “It was found near the scene, but CSU isn’t sure it’s one of the vic’s personal effects or not.”

  Sipping my coffee, I took a look. It had been photographed in situ or on site, a yellow marker next to it. It was a necklace lying in the dirt. The pendant wasn’t something I’d seen before, a long, narrow wedge transected by a C-shape. Flipping the image over, I read the label on the back. It had been found ten feet from Jane Smith’s body.

  “Well crap, not another creeper.”

  I looked up to find Lt. Danielson scowling at the purple binder. He gave Shen an accusing stare.

  “Jumper without a jumping-off point, Loot,” Shen shrugged.

  Why was Lieutenant Dan here at this hour? Like most of the brass, he was a nine-to-fiver.

  The Loot swung toward me. “A little birdie told me the victim was suing her ex for custody of the kids. Why isn’t he being sweated in the box?”

  “Because he didn’t do it,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Lt. Danielson’s face went a little red.

  I followed up, lamely. “He had an alibi.”

  “That checked out?” the lieutenant gave me a look of doubt. “You know the statistics, Inspectors. Pull him in and sweat him.”

  “Loot, we don’t even know if this is a homicide or a suicide,” Shen said. “Right now, this is just—”

  “Weird, right? Another unexplainable case in Delta V. A woman falling out of the sky. Impossible. Look, I don’t care what they say upstairs, I want that case out of a purple binder. Figure it out.” The lieutenant stormed off to his office. He grabbed his suit jacket and stalked out.

  Shen watched him go. “Well, he’s right that the husband has motive. What else we got?”

  “Did you hit up the local skydiving joints?” I asked.

  “Left messages.” Shen sorted through the binder.

  “Nothing from CSU or the ME?”

  “Still early.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s go back to the scene. Maybe we missed something. Oh, and I need to pick up some cat food on the way home.”

  Shen closed the binder and put in on his shelf. “When are you gonna get a car, Garcia? This is California. We drive here. It’s part of the culture.”

  “When I can afford it.”

  He gave me a look of disbelief, but didn’t pursue it.

  MEMORIES...

  When are you gonna get a car, Garcia?

  The morning after my first visit from the Angle Man, the name I gave the dude who woke me in the dead of night, I woke to the sound of a big engine outside my house. When I looked out the window, a tow truck driver waved up at me. He had my Camero hooked up. Grabbing a robe, I ran downstairs.

  “WTF, buddy?”

  “Repo,” the guy said, “For non-payment. I figured, as a cop, you wouldn’t try to sh
oot me. You might wanna call your bank.”

  “My payments are automatic. I have money. Hang on a sec.” I pulled out my phone and dragged up my banking app. In blinking red letters was a message that my account had been overdrawn. But that was impossible. Had someone stolen my identity?

  I faced the repo man. “Something screwed up here. Let me make a few calls and get it straightened out, okay? Please?”

  “I already have it hooked up.” He seemed to be on the fence.

  “Look, unhook me. Put me on the bottom of your list. If I can’t have this straightened out in a few hours, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll give you the keys, surrender the vehicle, whatever. Can you cut me a break?”

  The guy looked confused. “I’m not used to people being polite to me.”

  “Look, I swear I’m not a deadbeat. My ID must’ve been stolen or something. I’ll get this taken care of.” I punched the link to speak to a bank representative. If worse came to worst, I had a stash of cash in a lockbox beneath my undies.

  To my surprise, a voice answered right away. I gave my account number and password.

  “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for some time now, Ms Garcia. Not only have you missed several car payments, but your mortgage and home equity loan payments are also overdue. We’re considering foreclosure.”

  Repo Man raised his brows.

  I took the phone off speaker. “What do you mean, mortgage? My home is paid off. What home equity loan? Where’s the money in my checking, my savings?”

  “Withdrawn,” the banker said. “In cash, and several wired checks. Would you like the dates?”

  “I’m coming down in person, thanks.” I hung up.

  Repo Man shook his head. “You’re not ‘coming down in person’ in this vehicle, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “Can you wait for me to throw on some clothes and drop me at First Federal?”

  His head continued to shake. “No passengers in the truck. Company policy. I hope you get this fixed. I really do. You’re very sweet. But right now, I’m repossessing your car. Have a nice day.”

  “I SAID, ‘WHAT DO YOU expect to find at the scene, Garcia?’”

  Shen was staring at me from the driver seat. I shook off my reverie. “Sorry. Wool gathering. I’m not sure. What else could smash a person flat?”

  The intersection of East Webster and North Stanley was less than a mile from HQ. We parked on an empty street. Yellow tape vibrated in the wind. “A steamroller,” Shen said.

  “Be tough to kill someone with a steamroller.”

  Shen tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Austin Powers did it. I mean, given what we found, Jane Smith was killed here, not dumped here. Agreed?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said.

  He turned from the scene. “What are you thinking?”

  “Garbage truck. She could have been pressed by the compactor and then dumped here.”

  “Oh, good one.” He turned back to the scene. “Plenty of room to maneuver in the intersection.”

  “I don’t think it would mimic the spatter evidence,” I said.

  Shen put the car in drive. “Let’s take a look around the hood. See if you can access Waste Management through the MDC.”

  I pulled the computer toward me. “Seriously?”

  “We need to show Lieutenant Dan that we at least tried to pursue other possibilities.”

  The Mobile Data Computer was pretty advanced. I finger-moused around. “Other than our vic fell from the sky.” To my surprise, I actually found a pick up schedule for garbage. “This neighborhood gets commercial service on Mondays, and residential on Thursdays.”

  Shen made a bunch of right turns. He circled the scene in a widening path. There was no traffic at this hour. Pretty soon, we had searched an area wide enough to put us back at headquarters.

  “No roadwork in a one-mile radius,” Shen said. “So much for my steamroller theory.”

  Neither one of us bought either one of our theories, anyway. “Let’s knock off. Errol Smith is coming in to make a statement after he drops his girls at school tomorrow.”

  Shen headed for The Hammer. “I know you don’t wanna miss that. You’re hot for that guy.”

  “I’m not hot for a murder suspect,” I said. I was just a little warm.

  Chapter 7

  We were two blocks from the house when I remembered. “Oh, damn it, I still need cat food.”

  Shen sighed. “You want me to head back to the Safeway in Brookdale?”

  Brookdale was a swanky hood. The grocery store was close to I-5. It was a pretty good drive from The Hammer. “Nah. Take a left. Head down to 10th.”

  “Zelidon,” Shen said when we reached the pharmacy. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Lotta Zelidons in The Hammer.” Remy had three older brothers and three older sisters, I remembered, and a lot of cousins, nieces and nephews.

  “Something about a semi-truck full of weed,” Shen said.

  I saw Leo walk out of the front of the store. He grabbed a shopping cart and went back in. It looked like he was locking up. “I better run. See you mañana.”

  “What, you’re gonna walk home from here?” Shen gaped at me. “In your neighborhood?”

  “I’m a big girl, Chuck. Plus, I have a big gun.” I closed the door on the unmarked car and hurried into Zelidon Farmacia y Market.

  “Closing in two minutes,” Leo said from behind the register. He then looked up at me. “Oh, shit!”

  “Leo, be cool. I just need some cat food.” I thought about it. “And a TV dinner, if you have them.”

  He studied me for a moment from beneath lidded eyes. “I know you. You’re El Profesor’s girl. You and your sister were hot little redheads back in the day.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be offended by the objectification, or the thought that I was no longer a hot little redhead. My dad was actually a professor at the University of the Valley. I supposed my sister, Ellen, used to be a hottie.

  “You’re a cop now. Makes sense,” Leo looked thoughtful. “A bruja would make a good cop.”

  “I’m all locked up, Leo.” Remy came from the rear of the store. He stopped short. “Mary.”

  “Hey.” He had grass stains on the knees of his dress pants, stains that I had put there, and the blood stain on his arm. Still, he looked damn good. “Just need some cat food and stuff.” I’m such a smooth-talker.

  “Here, down aisle thirteen.” He walked with me. I found a bag of Meow Mix. “I really do need your help. Do you have time to talk?”

  “Let me grab some frozen food,” I said. “Walk me home?”

  “Yeah!” he said.

  I paid for the cat food and a couple frozen entrees.

  “What are you thinking, Rembrandt?” Leo hissed at his brother in Spanish. “She’s the law.”

  “She can help me, Leonardo. Shut up, I know what I’m doing.”

  Like the old Cheech and Chong song, I’d gotten Cs in high school Spanish. But I spoke enough to understand. For the time being, I didn’t let on. Remy took my bags.

  “Where are you staying these days?” We walked out of the parking lot together.

  “Not too far. Buitre Creek, at the end of West 9th.” I thought about what he’d said earlier, about killing that woman by the house. It was a short walk. For some reason, I couldn’t just jump right in. “So you’re a pharmacist now?”

  “I had a bunch of scholarship offers after high school. Took Franklin to the state finals.” He squinted at me. “You didn’t go to Franklin, did you? I remember you from...”

  Remy’s face colored and he looked away.

  “My parents moved to Creekside my freshman year,” I said. “I went to Lincoln. Go, Rail-Splitters.”

  “I chose Cal Berkeley. It was a full-ride. But the first play Coach put me in in a real game, a guy hit me so hard I dislocated my hip.”

  “Ow,” I said.

  “Ow for sure.” We walked past stucco houses, past concrete bungalows. The moo
n shone down with a halo. Dogs barked distantly. “I was done for my freshman season. When I came back my sophomore year, I was third-string. A bench-warmer. I figured I’d better use the academic part of the scholarship. No way was I going pro.”

  “Why work in a pharmacy? You could make more in a hospital, and do less work.”

  “My brother, Leonardo, is an ex-con, a felon. The family already owned a bunch of little markets in The Hammer. We just remodeled a pharmacy into the back of one. And Leo, well, he was so good at selling and marketing back when he dealt weed, he’s a great store manager. The place does really well.”

  We walked in silence for a time.

  “Why did you become a cop?” Remy asked.

  “For the opposite reason you opened your own pharmacy. I wanted to get away from my family. Army straight out of school, MPs, and after I mustered out, I headed to the closest police academy to the base.”

  He nodded. “You’re probably good at it. You have La Miel, like your mama and abuela.”

  La Miel? I gave him the squint.

  “Literally, it means honey. But it describes a certain kind of bruja, one who is not an old hag making potions, but a woman who draws thoughts to her like bees.”

  “I don’t like being referred to as a bruja,” I said.

  “Sorry,” he grinned at me. “What do you prefer?”

  Which sorta stumped me. “I don’t know. I never talk about it.”

  “Clairvoyant, seer, psychic, telepath?” Remy shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters what you call it. As long as it’s not witch or bruja.”

  Again, he smiled, the emotion altering the brutal bone structure of his face into something irresistible. I was forced to smile back. “I guess I never realized how weird Delta Vista is when I was growing up here,” I said.

  “Me neither.” We made a right turn. “I can’t imagine having this conversation anyplace else but DV. It wasn’t until I was living on campus in Berkeley. That’s supposed to be such a weird place, right? But the people there, while very focused on self-expression, are just people. Shadows are just the absence of light. Crime, murder, that was mostly gang-related, drug-related, not—”