by Lotta Smith
Speak of the Wicked
Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery:
Book 9
By Lotta Smith
Copyright
Speak of the Wicked© 2017 Lotta Smith.
Cover copyright 2017 Viola Estrella
Editing and proofreading: Hot Tree Editing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written permission from the author/and publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents and places are the products of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously. None of the characters in this book is based on an actual person. Any resemblance to locales, actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and an unintentional.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
To hear about new books and discounted book sales (and receive a FREE copy of Whoever Finds the Wicked: Rick Rowling’s Secret File), please sign up for my newsletter at:
Lotta Smith Newsletter
And follow me on Amazon
Whoever Finds the Wicked is exclusively available from Lotta Smith Newsletter!
Table of Content
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
Sneak peek: Wicked as a Christmas Fruitcake
About the author
PROLOGUE
Mid-June, approximately two months prior to my wedding with Rick…
“Oh my God! What is this world coming to?” demanded a young woman in her high-pitched voice.
My ears perked up. I had my share of craving for juicy gossip, and I sensed it when it was on my way. Also, I was in one of the stalls at The Mark’s powder room. Actually, their powder rooms happened to be one of the most gorgeous around the world and could possibly cater as a high-end café or conference room. The floor was gleaming, the hand towels—made of Egyptian cotton, not paper towels—were neatly stocked for you, and there was this mahogany desk and extra-comfy chairs away from the stalls so you could sit and relax.
Okay, so I had no idea why you needed a pricey desk and chairs in the bathroom. It wasn’t like you felt the urge to sit and drink a cup of tea in the same room where someone else might be excreting water or something nastier.
Anyway, it was almost a law that gossip heard in the bathroom should be good. If I recalled it right, people from every espionage agency listened in on conversations conducted in bathrooms with extra attention. So, I was prepared for a truly juicy rumor. Actually, I was finished with my business and ready to leave, but I stayed in. I didn’t want to come out midgossip and miss the best part.
“Come on, Kayla. We’re living in this crazy world. Have you looked at the people protesting nonstop 24/7 between Fifth and Madison? Ha. That’s how everything is. We’re in a crazy world,” chimed another woman. “Society should stop spoiling them. They should get a job or something.”
Except, assuming from the fact that she was having lunch at The Mark, the woman herself was pretty much spoiled. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that hardworking tweens frequented luncheons at Manhattan’s boldly lavish hotel, especially when the particular luncheon happened to be an invite-only occasion.
“Technically, they’re working. My dad and some of his friends are paying them to protest all across town, so they’re not a bunch of spoiled brats. Okay, Mia? So we’re in a messed-up world. But then again, just because the world is whacked doesn’t mean the next most eligible bachelor should go insane. Oh my—God!” Kayla inserted a very bad word between Oh my and God! “Can you believe Rick Rowling, the heir of the lovely multibillion-dollar empire USCAB, is marrying that little peasant girl—whatshername? Mindy? Landy? Or Lindy? Whatever the crap her name is, she’s so out of our league, you know? I really liked him! They should ban people in our league marrying outsiders!”
I half expected Mia to mention that, if Kayla’s idea was enforced, their league would become mostly disabled individuals due to too much inbreeding, resulting in the dominance of recessive genes, but she didn’t.
Perhaps the term wasn’t listed in her vocabulary. Also, I had a hunch that genetics wasn’t something they cared about.
I knitted my eyebrows, feeling awkward. Indeed, the girls seemed to be talking about me. In my knowledge, there was only one Rick Rowling who happened to be the heir of USCAB—short for United States Cover All Bases, a security-based conglomerate—and if I recalled it right, he was going to marry me pretty soon.
Hiding in the stall, I felt my blood boiling, but I was trapped and becoming more uncomfortable by the second. First of all, people usually called me Mandy, instead of Mindy, or Lindy, or Landy. Isn’t it rude to mistake someone’s name over and over? Besides that, I wasn’t a peasant. Okay, so I wasn’t made of money; my family wasn’t wealthy. Then again, Mom and Dad always reminded me that they could have been filthy rich if only they’d managed to keep me from heading for med school in North Carolina, which I never got to graduate from.
As I sat there helpless and uncomfortable, the mean girls went on dissing me, mutilating my character into bits and pieces.
“Have you seen her hideous dress? What kind of a hillbilly matches a Dior dress with a Fendi purse? So lame. Maria Grazia Chiuri would have offed herself just to get the hell out of the misery of looking at her work ruined.” Mia let out an evil cackle.
“So true! Or else she would have stabbed her eyes out,” Kayla agreed. “Rick must have gone insane. Yeah, right. I think I’ve finally found the answer. He might be filthy rich, good-looking, and sexy, but he’s insane. Okay, I don’t want him anymore. After Max Spencer tied the knot with that slanty-eyed bitch from Hong Kong, my attention was focused on Rick, but that doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with him. I so don’t want to spend a few years with a lunatic.”
“Yeah, he’s a lunatic, or else he’s suddenly developed some issues with his eyes. I’ve heard about so many icky, nasty diseases that could permanently screw your vision and eventually kill your brain,” Mia said breathlessly, sounding like a teenager. “That’s so gross.”
“I know!” Kayla chortled. “Oh, don’t forget she’s fat. I’m sure their kids would never inherit the Rowlings’ good looks.”
I was contemplating yelling, “Hello? I might be a tad bit on the chubby side, but I’m not deaf!” or kicking the door out and bitch-slapping the mean girls with unwashed hands.
Okay, so before my engagement to Rick became official, I did my homework by reading books like The Right Address. When I read them, I kept rolling my eyes, believing that mean girls only existed in the Upper East Side. Rick’s condo on Fifth Avenue was in Midtown, so I wasn’t much concerned about people being mean to me.
Apparently, just because I didn’t live in the Upper East Side didn’t mean I was free from being the topic—no, target was more like the word—of cruel gossip. Holy hell, they should really ban people gossiping in the powder ro
om. Every mayhem and tragedy had roots in gossiping, and I believed anyone who managed to keep the world free of gossip should be entitled to win the Nobel Peace Prize.
Not that I didn’t think the Peace Prize was overrated. Not to mention, the gossip ban didn’t seem to bode well with the freedom of speech.
In my head, I was seriously plotting a scheme to ambush the mean girls. I could sneak out of the stall with a wad of shredded toilet paper and shower them with the pieces. Then I’d tell them I forgot to wash my hands and that I had a case of really nasty infection that would make whoever touched my germs turn purple and bloat like a marshmallow man.
In the spur of fury, I was almost completely focused on my project, but as I shredded the toilet roll, I wondered if Rick would be upset that I was involved in trouble. I thought for a while, then reached the conclusion that my fiancé would probably love a little bit of havoc. When he was with the FBI, I was assigned to him as an assistant, and most of my mission was to keep him from wreaking havoc. He wasn’t a lover of social luncheons and charity meetings, but thanks to being the heir of USCAB, he had some obligations to follow.
As I continued shredding toilet paper, I caught the sound of footsteps, most likely coming in high heels.
“Oh, it’s so pathetic that eligible men nowadays totally lack the eye for beauty.” Kayla was still cackling when the person approached, and Mia was agreeing, “So true!”
“Hello, ladies,” said the newcomer. “Gossiping?” She sounded older than the other women.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Rosenberg. We’ve been talking about Rick Rowling,” Mia filled her in.
“Can you believe he’s marrying Mindy the chubby hillbilly?” Kayla snarled—not that I was able to see her facial expressions, but I could easily picture her lips curling.
“You mean Mandy?” Mrs. Rosenberg said. “Actually, I heard nice things about her. There’s this rumor that she saved that girl—Julie, the little princess of Dr. Greys’—when she was kidnapped.”
“Are you sure?” Mia asked skeptically.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Hmm… maybe that makes her a good employee at the Rowlings’ firm. Then again, that doesn’t make her a suitable wife, does it?”
“Kayla’s so right,” Mia said. “Nothing changes Mindy’s status of being an outsider. Also, I heard she used to be Rick’s assistant.”
“Okay then, she’s probably good at domestic help. Perhaps Rick is smart. Marry a former maid who does all the chores and save money on hired help.”
Mrs. Rosenberg cleared her throat. “I can see you’re not fond of her, but I don’t recommend judging people without knowing them. Just like you can’t judge books by the covers.”
“Still, people do judge books by the covers,” Kayla snorted.
“Unfortunately, I have to agree with you,” Mrs. Rosenberg said. “Anyway, now I can see why Rick chose Mandy as his mate. She doesn’t look like an anorexic model, but at least I’ve never heard her bad-mouthing people she doesn’t even know. Also, I heard she went to medical school, which makes her a very intelligent young lady.”
“Oh,” mumbled the mean girls, and I didn’t need to peek through the door slit to see them rolling their eyes.
“Jealousy is an evil monster that makes you ugly and lets your good fortune slip between your fingers. I can imagine you ladies had huge crushes on Rick, but it’s healthier to just congratulate the young couple and move on. As they say, there are a million fish in the sea, and there are a gazillion eligible bachelors out there.”
As I heard Mrs. Rosenberg’s words, I started to feel embarrassed about scheming a nasty retaliation, so I tossed the shredded toilet paper into the water.
“Well….” Mia mumbled something incomprehensible. “It was lovely talking to you, Mrs. Rosenberg. See you later, ciao!”
Then I heard two pairs of thousand-dollar heels clicking on the marble floor and out of the door.
“Mandy, are you there?” Mrs. Rosenberg called when I flushed the toilet.
I got a little panicky, but at the same time, I knew I couldn’t hide in the stall forever. “Hello, Mrs. Rosenberg?” I did a little finger wave. “Thank you so much for…” I searched for the best selection of words and settled with saying, “everything.” Rubbing scented soap into my hands, I washed them.
“My pleasure.” She smiled graciously. I assumed her age to be around mid-fifties by her voice, but she looked like a thirty-five-year-old. She was sporting her shiny blonde hair in a Jackie O style, looking absolutely elegant and classy. “Maybe you’re shocked about the previous encounter with the mean girls, but unfortunately, it happens to be the nature of our society. Actually, the girls are not necessarily mean.”
“Oh.” I was tempted to roll my eyes and tell her that mean was an understatement and evil was a more appropriate word, but I decided falling into the same level of sophistication as Kayla and Mia wasn’t high on my to-do list and held my tongue.
“You’re not convinced.” She chuckled.
“Well, I mean….” I gave her a vague smile.
“I don’t blame you. I know they’re vicious. I suspect they’re extremely hungry. Whenever I see how they eat nothing at parties and luncheons, a part of me is convinced that they’re filling the empty spaces in them by mutilating others with their vicious gossip. Not to mention Kayla has just divorced her third husband, and Mia is rumored to be in a loveless marriage. They’re both in their mid-thirties, and I’m guessing they’re purely jealous of your youth, brain, and good fortune.”
“Oh my… I’m so flattered.” I chuckled. My assumption of the mean girls being a couple of evil tweens turned out to be so wrong, but I wasn’t shocked. “Thank you so much for rescuing me, Mrs. Rosenberg.” I had a hunch that Kayla and Mia were deliberately dissing me while knowing I was in their hearing distance.
“Oh no. Not at all. We’re royal clients of USCAB, and I really hope to be on your side. I believe having a good relationship with my security company is more likely to work in our favor.” She winked. “And please, feel free to call me Karen, okay?”
“Okay, Karen.” I nodded. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
“Me too. Let’s chat later.”
We waved and parted ways. I was relieved that we didn’t end up shaking hands. Not that I was a hopeless germaphobe dreading physical contact, but I did feel slightly icky about shaking hands in the bathroom.
* * *
Two months later…
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
One moment he was standing at the top of the stairs on the loft floor, and the next he was falling off it. The height itself wasn’t that much, so under normal circumstances, he should have been fine. Perhaps he would have ended up with nasty bruises, but nothing more. But nothing in his life happened under normal circumstances. He was drunk and there was some delay in his response time. In addition, the floor was made of hard marble.
When he landed on the floor in his living room, he literally heard his skull crack. It was a strange feeling. The pain itself wasn’t that bad. At first, he felt cold, then excruciatingly hot in the back of his head.
He tried to reach for his injury, but his hands weren’t cooperative. Still, assuming from the wet feeling in his hair, he was bleeding.
He opened his lips but no coherent words came out.
As he lay on the cold floor, he heard the door open and then shut. A part of him expected an ambulance to come and help him, but it didn’t come immediately.
When he started to feel cold and numb in his whole body, he braced himself for death.
Not that he’d miss much in this world, but he wanted to see his wife and tell her how much he loved her.
In his final moments, Michael, the heir and CEO of the healthcare conglomerate Rose and Roses, chuckled. Just the slight movement in his respiratory system was cringe-worthy, but he couldn’t help it.
Hell, I should have stayed with her so I could listen to her talking about roses. I could have
even helped her carry the equipment to care for the plants….
He wanted to indulge himself in the memory of the times he’d spent with his wife, but before he was able to recall the humorous mishap on their honeymoon, his system mercilessly shut down.
That was the end of his life.
CHAPTER 1
When the phone on my desk rang, I was having one of those quiet afternoons with not much to do. As a result, I gasped like I had been slapped in the face. My hand shot out for the screaming phone, but I had to take a deep breath before answering it.
“Mandy, you might want to change the ringtone if you react as if you just received a bomb alert or something.” Jackie made tsk-tsk sounds by my side.
“No, I’m not changing it.” I shook my head. “You know, this old-fashioned ringtone that sounds like the bell in classical movies has class. It just needs a little bit of getting used to, that’s all.”
“Still, after a month, you haven’t gotten used to this blasting bell sound.” Jackie shook her head, swirling her hand at Rick’s enormous desk in the same office. “His phone has a normal beeping as the ringtone. Perhaps you can try that out. It’s not like you and Rick will be confused about which phone is ringing. Look at the distance.”
Probably to make her point, she flew over to Rick’s desk, which sat at least a few yards away from mine.
Yes, you heard me right. Jackie flew, not walked between two desks. She happened to be the ghost of a drag queen. After we found each other about two years ago, she appointed herself as my guardian angel. On this special day, she was in a wrap dress that seemed to have been crossbred between Dianne von Furstenberg and Gianni Versace. Matching the dress with skylight heels, she called her attire “office casual,” but I secretly called it “party casual.”
Rolling my eyes at the flamboyant ghost, I answered the phone, trying my best to sound like a sophisticated professional security consultant. “Paranormal Cases Division, how may I help you?”
I used to be a special assistant at the FBI’s Paranormal Cases Division, but then Rick, my then boss and now husband, left the feds and joined USCAB, run and owned by his dad. At first, I was Rick’s part-time secretary at USCAB and spent most of my days staying home. But then things happened and I got a new position as the head of Paranormal Cases Division at USCAB. Not that my position was a high-profile one since so far, I happened to be the only employee in the division. Initially, Rick and his dad—the CEO of the company, Dan—thought about giving me an office strictly to myself. But thanks to a little favor I asked of the head of the FBI’s New York City field office, USCAB had to work some freebie jobs for the feds. As a result, they decided to save money on furniture, interior coordination, and office supplies by building my office at one corner of Rick’s office. Though I believe it also had to do with them feeling more comfortable if they had me within Rick’s leash. Personally, I preferred to believe that Rick was keen on keeping his eye on me because he was madly in love with me.