Murder Once Removed

by S. C. Perkins

  I took another big bite and gave my friend the evil eye. “He could have been politer,” I grumbled.

  Josephine dabbed each corner of her mouth with a cocktail napkin that read I’M ONLY HERE FOR THE BOOS. “Listen, love. Fried Rats’ Eyeballs and Vampire Blood Pies are quite delicious, yes, but they don’t make me blind or you stroppy. It’s clear there’s a history lesson to be had between you and that cute guy. Care to share it?”

  She was trying to tell me I was being oversensitive and she was right. In truth, it was probably because Agent Turner had called my idea naïve and my actions immature, making me cranky.

  “Fine,” I said. “The Gatsby wannabe is really Special Agent Turner of the FBI.”

  To Jo’s wide eyes and questioning expression, I replied, “Yes, that Agent Turner.”

  “Good Lord,” Jo said. “Is he here protecting you, then? Is that why I keep seeing him glancing your way?”

  “Huh?” I said. “When was that?” Before she could reply, I waved it off. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Agent Turner is here because of his girlfriend, who’s an old work friend of Serena’s. It’s a simple, but exasperating coincidence.”

  “But there’s more to it. I can tell,” Jo said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, well, he’s also a history professor on the side, believe it or not. I tried to get him to help me figure out some things relating to Seth Halloran and the two candidates for C.A., but he was rude and unhelpful, and it galls me in every way. I tried to talk to him again tonight and let’s just say he hasn’t improved any in the personality department.”

  “Well, now that does make him a bit insufferable then, doesn’t it?”

  “Damn straight,” I replied.

  To that, she laughed at me, pulling on my ponytail as she did, making me laugh, too. “All right, then. Let’s go back downstairs so you can dance away your frustrations and whoopie-pie calories.”

  “Right on,” I said and we headed to the stairs.

  * * *

  I was back on the deck just before eleven, needing to cool off a little after dancing my guts out. The wind was starting to pick up and the guests were starting to thin out, the less-drunk partygoers aware that a storm was closing in soon. Gradually, the deck cleared of all but three couples who were too entranced with each other to notice anything else.

  With some slower tunes coming through the speakers, it would have made for a romantic, candlelit scene if the people in question weren’t dressed in Halloween costumes. Seeing SpongeBob SquarePants romancing Carol from The Walking Dead was a little too funny, in my opinion.

  I walked over near the topiaries in the far corner with a bottle of water and leaned on the railing, letting my ponytail blow around behind me as I took in the smell of the incoming rain. Far-off lightning was brightening up the sky at rapidly increasing intervals.

  There was another flash of lightning. I counted under my breath, “One, Mississippi, two, Mississippi, three, Mississippi—”

  The rumble of thunder came. If the old wives’ tale was correct, each second between lightning and thunder counted as a mile, which meant the storm was around three miles away.

  “Yaaar,” came a pirate’s voice in my ear.

  “Hey, Matty,” I said.

  “Are you staying here or going?” Mateo asked as he poured out the dregs of his Wicked Wassail over the railing of the deck. I could hear it splash onto a big rock that jutted out from about six feet down. “Alana and I are leaving and we can take you home, if you don’t want to wait for Josephine.”

  “Alana?” I said, confused. “Wait. The bumblebee—and your girlfriend, I take it?”

  The Rivas smile came out in full, wolflike force, but along with it came a very un-Mateo-like blushing. Holy cow, he actually liked this girl.

  “Good for you,” I said, giving him a gentle punch in the arm. “Jo and I are going to stay and help Serena clean up, so you can go and enjoy the rest of your night with Alana. She is one bee-utiful girl, definitely.” I poked his fake parrot so that it rocked back and forth on his shoulder. “Get it? Bee-utiful?”

  Mateo kissed me on the cheek. “You are one serious goofball and I love ya for it. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  As he walked away, I said, “And don’t bee late!”

  “Now you’re just a weirdo!” he called back.

  Giggling, I turned back to the night sky. Then I shivered. I’d finally cooled down—yet I also felt a different sensation. Electric, somehow. The coming lightning, maybe?

  A bolt of it lit up the night.

  “One, Mississippi, two—”

  A gloved hand closed over my mouth and pulled me backward, behind the lit-up topiaries.

  My left arm was wrenched behind my back. My water bottle dropped and landed almost silently in the dirt of one of the juniper pots.

  Shocked, I didn’t do anything for a second, but that second ended really quickly.

  I struggled against him. I could tell it was a him because my head had hit a hard, broad chest when he’d jerked me backward. My right hand clawed at his wrist.

  “Where is it?” he said in my ear. My struggling was having almost no effect on him, even though he was only about a head or so taller than me. He was that strong.

  “Where’s the page?” he said. He gave me a shake and loosened his hand over my mouth just a hair.

  Twice I yelled, “What page?” but it only came out as a muffled sound reminiscent of a large bird calling out from miles away.

  Wha-pay! Wha-pay!

  He pivoted to shove me against the railing, angling me slightly so that his back was to the other partygoers. The movement caused my head to twist leftward. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw black. On his shirt, pants, and on the glove he wore. It was all black except for a patch of white on his chest.

  The railing of the deck was wrought iron. It was hard and high, digging into my rib cage.

  “Where is it?” he snarled again. I could smell beer on his breath and the garlicky marinade from Entrails on a Stick. “It wasn’t in the case, so where is it?”

  I was confused; I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And then I realized that one of his gloved fingers was in range of my teeth. My lips could feel the gloves were thin and lightweight.

  I heard a rumble of thunder and a clap of lightning almost at the same time. The storm had moved in fast. It was right upon us. I bit down as hard as I ever had in my life.

  My assailant let out an angry, guttural noise and instinctively pulled his hand away from my teeth. My left arm still caught, I managed to swing around and kick him in the shin. He stumbled backward a step, letting me go in the process, but he landed against one of the topiaries.

  The guy who had come as a SWAT team member, who had opened the door for Josephine and me, managed to stay upright while the spiral-cut juniper fell over, its white clay pot hitting the ground and cracking. His sunglasses and cap hadn’t moved at all.

  I saw three people running toward us, one much faster than the others. All of them were yelling. My assailant saw them at the same time I did.

  “Move!” he yelled, pushing me aside. In a flash, he’d taken one big step, put his hand on the railing of the deck, and hopped over, dropping easily to the big rock a few feet down. As he did, a two-inch portion of a tattoo on the back of his neck was visible for a split second. It was all black and looked like a bird’s wing.

  I turned and for the second time in well under a week, I was looking at the dark barrel of a Glock 22 service weapon. Only this time, I was looking at the side of the .40-caliber pistol, which Agent Turner was pointing down into the black night, onto the rocks below.

  In the next instant, I was flanked by Queen Elizabeth I and a belly dancer.

  “Lucy! Are you okay?” Josephine asked.

  “Did he hurt you?” Serena said, looking me over for damage as the rain began to fall.

  “I’m all right,” I told them. My mind was whirling, though, reliving what
my assailant had asked me. Where’s the page?

  How did he know I’d even be here? Had he been stalking me and I didn’t know it? Or was he a hired thug working for the woman who killed Winnie?

  A zigzag of lightning lit up the sky with a loud crack. We looked over the railing to see a flash of a human form sliding down the rocky hillside. Another twenty feet or so, and he would be lost in the wooded area of the Greenbelt.

  Agent Turner swore and turned on me with a hard face as he holstered his weapon. He pulled out his phone, then bent to speak in my ear. “Was this about the genealogy stuff? Tell me, Lucy. Now.”

  Maybe it was the shock of Agent Turner referring to me by my first name that did it, but my assailant’s question suddenly made sense.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He moved away and put his phone to his ear. I heard him give a basic description of the guy who attacked me as I turned to my friends and their worried faces. The rain started to come at a steadier pace.

  “What in the world just happened?” Serena asked.

  “Blimey, Lucy,” Josephine said, “you scared us half to death when we saw you struggling with that guy. What did he want? Did you even know him?”

  I glanced at the remaining partygoers, who were starting to crowd around us. Dayna Nelms, whose wide eyes were flicking back and forth between her federal-agent boyfriend and me, was at the forefront of the group about fifteen people strong.

  “Okay if I explain later?” I said quietly to my officemates. “Now is not the time.”

  Agent Turner spoke to the guests. “Did any of you know or interact with the man wearing the SWAT outfit?”

  Everyone shook their head. One guy dressed as a soccer player said, “He just walked around the whole time, never talking to anyone. Weird guy.”

  A few of the other guests nodded in agreement and the group began murmuring among themselves, casting their eyes constantly my way.

  Then Serena, inspired by both her natural personality and her costume, turned and clapped twice. Her voice projected.

  “Friends, I’m afraid it’s time to call it a night,” she said. “Thank you all so much for coming. I hope everyone here had a wonderful time and please be safe when you’re driving home in the rain.”

  She pointed to SpongeBob.

  “Kurt, you are definitely not up to driving. If Walking Dead Carol can’t give you a ride, I’ll call you a cab.”

  Carol said she’d take charge of Kurt, and Serena, arms spread wide as if to guide the peasants, began slowly encouraging everyone inside. I glanced through the plate-glass windows to see Walter, who looked as if he’d sobered significantly in the past two hours, already showing the inside guests the door. Within minutes, the only people left were Serena, Walter, Josephine, Agent Turner, his girlfriend, and yours truly.

  Josephine handed me a new bottle of water. Agent Turner, who’d been off to the side making more phone calls, hung up and locked his Fed gaze on my face. Everyone was now looking at me.

  I glanced at Dayna, then at Agent Turner. He got the message and pulled her aside, whispering in her ear. Her lips pursed as she regarded me with the suspicion of a girlfriend prone to jealousy.

  Though I couldn’t blame her for being upset at her dismissal from the inner circle, I also wasn’t in the mood to consider her feelings. I was glad when she told Serena goodbye, grabbed her wrap, and left.

  Serena led me inside to the sofa and sat beside me. Walter turned off the music. Josephine sat in the chair to my right. Agent Turner remained standing, arms crossed, giving me a look that put my back up.

  I met his eyes and matched his look. So help me, if he lectured me, there would be another man tonight who got a hard kick in the shin.

  Serena, catching both looks, turned and used her queenly costume to block my view of Agent Turner. “Breathe, sweetie,” she said under her breath. “Let’s not add whupping up on a federal agent to your bucket list for the evening, m’kay?”

  “I could take him,” I grumbled.

  “Oh, clearly.” She grinned, and after a moment I followed suit, and my anger drained away.

  “Luce, what did that guy want from you?” she asked when she was sure my blood pressure had gone down a click or two.

  I looked at my friends’ expectant faces, then at Agent Turner, whose look sharpened as he waited for my answer.

  “Well, Ms. Lancaster?”

  We were back to the formal address, were we? I wasn’t so surprised.

  I said, “He kept asking me about a piece of paper. ‘Where’s the page?’ he said. At first I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but I’m thinking he was looking for the missing page from Jeb Inscore’s journals. From October 10, 1849.”

  “Do you have this page?” Agent Turner asked.

  “No,” I said, looking up at him. “It was missing to begin with.”

  “Do you know what’s on the page?” Walter asked.

  “Not in the least, unfortunately,” I said. “Though, after thinking about it, it’s likely the true identity of C.A. It’s the only important information that’s missing.”

  “Wow,” Serena said.

  I nodded, staring blankly at one of her decorations on the coffee table. It was a tattered copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” ensconced in a glass case for protection. One of Serena’s fake, creepy-eyed ravens was positioned so that it looked like it was trying to peck its way through the glass.

  It wasn’t in the case, so where is it?

  “The case,” I said.

  “Ms. Lancaster?”

  “He has the daguerreotype of Seth Halloran,” I said. “Or, assuming he’s working with the woman who killed Winnie, they have it. Just before I bit his fingers, he told me the letter ‘wasn’t in the case.’ That has to be what he was talking about.”

  Josephine asked, “How could there be something in the case, though? It’s really small, right?”

  Another revelation hit me. Aya Sato had said Winnie realized the daguerreotype was “more important than ever,” after she’d taken the time to really examine it. What if Winnie had taken the photo out of its case and found the missing journal page?

  “It could’ve been hidden behind the photo,” I told them. There’s enough room there for probably one sheet of paper, folded.” I felt breathless. “Do y’all know what this means?”

  My friends looked blank, but Agent Turner had already clued in.

  “That what Dr. Dell hid wasn’t the photo, but the journal page hidden behind it,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “But where?”

  SEVENTEEN

  “I need you to go to the Austin PD and give a statement,” Agent Turner told me. “You’ll also work with a sketch artist to get down a picture of the guy.”

  Great. “All right,” I said. “I’ll take a cab.”

  Josephine, Serena, and Walter immediately protested, but I held up a hand to silence them.

  “Jo, you have another four A.M. call with the Netherlands in the morning. You need your sleep so you don’t tell the Dutch guys that the business they want to buy is worth thirty million dollars when it’s really worth thirty billion dollars.”

  “You two…,” I said, pointing at Serena and Walter, “are so done up in your costumes that it would take ages to look like normal people again. I’d rather just take an Uber there and get this over with.” Giving my friends a wry grin, I added, “Besides, I now have the joy of saying this ain’t my first rodeo at the Austin PD.”

  “I’ll take you,” Agent Turner said.

  I turned to eye him. “Didn’t Dayna take your car?”

  “We met up here,” he replied. Agent Turner glanced out the windows at the rain that was starting to come down harder. “We should get going.”

  “Okay.” Pulling myself up from the couch, though, I had to stifle a gasp. My ribs were screaming from where my assailant had slammed me up against the deck railing.

  I turned to Agent Turner, who was eyeing me with something like
concern. “Would you take me by my place first so I can change?”

  “Like you said, Ms. Lancaster, we really should just get this over with.”

  Serena popped up with a rustle of her embroidered skirts and grabbed my hand. “I have a solution. Give me two minutes with your witness, Agent Turner.”

  In no time, I was in Serena’s bedroom wearing a pair of blue jeans and a turquoise cable-knit sweater, both by top designers from their latest collections. Swag sent to Serena for mentioning the designers on her fashion blog.

  “These were going to be two of your Hanukkah presents, so now you may be getting a tin of designer breath mints and a bar of expensive soap for two of the eight days.” She smiled as I rolled up the bottoms of the bootleg jeans.

  Serena used the Hanukkah gift-giving tradition as an excuse to dole out the freebies she got during the year to Josephine and me, her totally lucky gentile officemates.

  Back in the living room, Agent Turner gave me a brief once over, ending at my bare feet, rolled-up jeans, and the tennis shoes I held in my hand.

  “It’s raining and there’s nothing worse than wet jeans and shoes,” I said.

  “Can’t disagree,” he replied before turning to address my officemates and Walter.

  “I trust the three of you will keep tonight’s incident to yourselves. Going forward, you should keep an eye out for suspicious people at all times, okay?”

  Unlike me, the other three were smart enough not to back-talk a federal agent and they all nodded.

  For a brief moment, Agent Turner smiled. “It was nice to meet all of you. Serena, Walter, y’all throw one heck of a Halloween party.”

  Borrowing a golf umbrella from Walter, Agent Turner and I went out the front door and made a mad dash to his Explorer. His eyes scanned all around us as we moved, but we made it into the vehicle without issue. The whole way he didn’t put his hand on the grip of his service weapon, but I noticed he kept his right hand free regardless.

  As he turned the car’s heater on high and backed out, the scent of coffee wafted up from the floorboards of my seat. I leaned over, wincing as my ribs smarted, and picked up a bag of freshly ground beans.