Death Song (Episode Eight: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  (FADE IN:)

  INT. – 27th CLUB to EXT. 7th AND YELLOW – EARLY MORNING

  The stage was dark, the patrons gone by the time she left the green room and entered the bar.

  “If you wait five minutes, I can give you a ride.” He offered every night, but she was happy to walk the five blocks to her apartment after a show. Cleared her head, made everything all the more magical.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fridays were the best, knowing she would be singing again on Saturday to a packed house, using the gift God gave her to soothe and entice her fans with the depth and sultry nature of her talent. She hummed to herself, purse swinging over one shoulder, the tap of her flats a far cry from the platform heels she wore to impress her audience. Her scalp itched from the tightness of her weave, though she left the thin, fine braids holding the front of her hair in their silver clasp for the walk home. The remainder of her massive curls bounced free, catching the soft, hot breeze of the California early morning as she stepped out into the street.

  Still active, Silver City, even at this time of day. A few pedestrians hurried past, the corner bodega’s lights glaring like the rest of the street’s urban illumination. She needed milk for her coffee in the morning, but didn’t feel like stopping, not when the moon was setting so beautifully over the high rises, the warmth of the air pulling her onward.

  Toward home.

  She crossed 7th, toe splashing into a small puddle left behind by a brief rain shower earlier in the day. Her street was dark on one end, the light out still, and yet she felt no fear, not tonight, not after the set she’d had. Her mind replayed her final piece. An original blues tune she’d written herself, finally having the courage to share. The standing ovation she’d received was answer enough she was doing it right. Her bright white teeth flashed against her dark lips, rounded cheeks catching the distant light, hum growing louder as she again burst into song, the final line of the tune washing back at her on the soft breeze.

  “I’m not lonely, sugar. I’m just alone.”

  She laughed, deep and rich and full of the joy of a woman who’d found what she was looking for.

  When he stumbled from the dark of the street and came for her, collided with her, she was startled but not yet fearful. She caught him, eased him to the ground as he groaned against her. His hip landed hard on the second step of the building’s stoop, crushing the soft, fragrant petals scattered over the steps.

  It only took her a moment to inhale. To expand her singer’s lungs to their utmost capacity as he expired in her arms, to scream with that powerful, talented voice loudly enough lights turned on in the apartments overhead.

  “No,” she whispered as her scream died, foam dripping from the dead man’s lips to wet the scattered rose petals. “Not again.”

  ***

  Episode Eight: Death Song

  (Smashwords Edition)

  Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen

  Purely Paranormal Press

  www.purelyparanormalpress.com

  Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/

  Sign up for new releases http://bit.ly/pattilarsenemail

  ***

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Director Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com

  Production Designer Valerie Bellamy www.dog-earbookdesign.com

  Editor Jessica Bufkin

  Producer Anne Chaconas www.badassmktg.com

  Series Created and Written by Patti Larsen

  ***

  EXT. – 7th and YELLOW – EARLY MORNING

  Gerri found the perfect parking spot beside the ambulance, blocking someone’s driveway. She sipped her coffee as she climbed out from behind the wheel of the Charger, greeting the cranky neighbor’s glare with a flash of her badge. Served them right for buying a brownstone in this neighborhood. They should know better.

  She spotted Mills talking with a stunning black woman, almost as tall as the detective, with massive black curls framing her in a cloud of inky kinks. The sun was still an hour or so from coming up, the street lights adding a whitewashed hue to the woman’s dusky skin and bright points to her amber eyes as Gerri joined the officer.

  “Detective,” Mills said, lowering her notebook and gesturing to the woman. She looked like she’d cried at some point in the last little while, but had herself together. She stood with authority, Gerri noticed, thick lips pursed, eyes large and watchful. “Vic's name is Bill Climpton, accountant with a local firm, age 53.” She gestured to the woman next to her. “And this is Ms. Juliette St. Clare, who found him.”

  Gerri’s heart skipped softly. Not exactly fangirling. But who hadn’t heard of the blues singer with the amazing voice who refused to embrace fame the way most did? Who stuck to small bars despite her giant recording contracts, who kept to the intimacy of singing to those with whom she chose to share her work?

  “Detective Meyers.” Gerri handed her a card. The woman didn’t even look at it, the slim, white paper held between thin fingers laden with gold rings.

  “Detective.” The singer’s voice was rich and deep, as vibrant as she was. Controlled. “Thank you for your help, Officer Mills.”

  Candace nodded and stepped away as if she answered to Ms. St. Clare and not to Gerri. Though, with pipes like that and a self-assured and self-confident posture the singer made even Gerri feel a little intimidated. With or without the famous name to back her up.

  Juliette’s amber eyes flooded with moisture, her lower lip trembling. The detective’s gut shivered in sympathy. Innocent, all over innocent, and absolutely genuine. Gerri tried to shake off the effect the woman’s presence was having on her as she reached forward with her gold rings flashing and grasped softly at Gerri’s hand.

  “You’re the second detective I’ve spoken to about this,” Juliette said, vibrant voice lowered but no less powerful. “Please, you have to help me.”

  Gerri nodded, squeezed back, surprised by her own surge of empathy. Yes, of course she had feelings. But years on the job made it easy to observe, to pretend at caring while she did her thing. Something about Juliette made her want to hug the woman and pat her back.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” The call had been vague, a possible homicide, though it came directly from the captain’s office. Not from dispatch. Which gave Gerri hives.

  Juliette shook her head, suddenly mute, eyes huge, lips clamped together. A small man with a round belly and a bald patch he was trying to hide with a comb over jutted his jaw a few feet away where he stood behind the police line.

  The neighbor who glared at Gerri for her parking job.

  “Third dead guy this month!” A mutter rose from the others who watched, all neighbors, too. “Girl needs to be arrested for murder.”

  Gerri’s eyebrows rose. “I had no idea you worked for the department,” she said. “Detective…?”

  He scowled at her while the crowd fell silent. “Just a concerned citizen,” he said.

  “Mr. Donald Smit,” Mills said, returning to Gerri’s side with an exaggerated eye roll.

  Gerri grinned at him, raising her coffee mug again. “I’ll be sure and pay you a visit, Mr. Smit,” she said. “Maybe ask you downtown to answer some questions.”

&nb
sp; The crowd scattered pretty fast after that, Smit retreating inside his brownstone with a thump of the door.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Juliette said, a single tear trickling down her smooth cheek. She wiped at it as though it irritated her. “I fear he’s right, though.”

  “About the number of deaths?” Gerri paused. “Or the murder accusation?”

  Juliette wouldn’t answer while Mills filled the detective in.

  “First vic was found on the stoop four weeks ago,” she said. “J.J. Thomas and Hector Moore caught the case. Second vic was two weeks later, same detectives.” Gerri knew the two officers, had run into them a few times, but never worked with them. Heard good things, though.

  “So, why call me in?” She half turned to Mills, caught sight of Ray rising from the ground near the stairs to Juliette’s building. The brunette medical examiner waved, heading her way while Gerri shifted uncomfortably. They hadn’t talked much since Cici dumped Gerri as a client for Ray, and that bothered the redhead. Ray was her friend before she was Cici’s girlfriend.

  The medical examiner didn’t act weird, though, her same tiny smile for Gerri crinkling around her eyes, British accent soft as she spoke.

  “From what I can tell,” she said, “it’s heart related. But I won’t know until I get him home.” The steady connection between their gazes told Gerri Ray knew for certain it was something, but not as simple as his heart, thanks to her nasty little ability to see the deaths of others. Which meant not only was his death weird after all, but if their anthropologist friend, Kinsey, was right about that same ability, the vic was human and not paranormal like them.

  That admission still gave Gerri the creeps.

  “Your first visit to this scene, Ray?” Gerri gestured to Mills. “Supposed to be body number three in four weeks.”

  Ray’s frown and shake of her head answered. “Druit must have caught the other two.” The other medical examiner didn’t have Gerri’s confidence, not while he drank enough to pickle one of the bodies he examined. Ray tilted her head at Gerri. “Why were we called in if someone else was on this case first?”

  Good question.

  Gerri reached for her phone. “We’ll get in touch with the other detectives,” she told Mills, nodding to Juliette. “For now, Ms. St. Clare, if you’d be so kind to come downtown and answer some questions?”

  She sighed, shrugged. And held out her wrists as though waiting for Gerri to cuff her.

  A gesture of guilt. What did this woman know Gerri’s gut didn’t?

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT – MORNING

  Kinsey hustled through the elevator doors, hands full of cardboard trays loaded with full coffee cups. A cheer greeted her arrival, the bullpen’s occupants rushing her in their need for a high-quality caffeine fix. It was her third time visiting since the captain gave her the go-ahead to work with Gerri again, and she was making damned sure she had every cop, tech and admin who worked at the 9th on her side at all times.

  All but Jackson Pierce. The asshole glared at her even as he helped himself to some coffee, purposely tilting his cup as he took it out, making her fumble and almost drop the tray. Kinsey glared death between his shoulder blades when he turned with a smirk, wishing she could hurt him just a little and get away with it.

  Considered the power inside her, the coercive magic that was her Nightshade ability. And shuddered from the thought of using it for so trivial a reason. But only after picturing him grovel at her feet.

  Kinsey spotted Gerri in the private sitting room, standing with her back to the door. She knocked softly, half-smiling, eyes settling on the stunning black woman seated on the sofa before starting to back out.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Gerri followed her out while Kinsey grimaced, handing off the final coffee to the detective who closed the door. The woman turned, eyes settling on Kinsey, widening. But, the anthropologist spun, her back to the room, uncomfortable she’d interrupted Gerri’s work.

  “Thanks.” Gerri inhaled the steam from her cup, stomping to the staff room. Kinsey followed, dumping the two trays in the trash while Gerri ruined her artisan coffee with an overabundance of questionable cream and a heap of sugar that would rot the teeth of a small nation. Kinsey shuddered, savoring her own black nectar as the detective spoke again. “Welcome back. First case, and this one is weird.”

  Kinsey perked. “Weird how?”

  “Not necessarily, you know, paranormal.” The last word was whispered as if Gerri worried someone might hear. Or that saying it louder would make it true. “But we have three bodies, all dead of heart issues, all on the same stoop, two weeks apart.” She gestured toward the room they’d just left, the black woman who paced within it on the other side of the bullpen. “All in the presence of Juliette St. Clare.”

  Kinsey half turned, heart pounding. “The Juliette St. Clare?” The blues singer?"

  Gerri’s turn to show interest. “I’ve just started running her,” she said. “You a fan?”

  “Of one of the best blues artists in Silver City?” Kinsey had been meaning to catch one of her shows, but just hadn’t had a chance. “Wow, Juliette St. Clare.”

  Gerri leaned against the counter. “Any chance she’s a mass murderer in disguise?”

  Kinsey shrugged. “Anything is possible.”

  “Anyway,” Gerri pushed off again, heading for the private room, “I have nothing to hold her on, no evidence it was homicide. Druit’s reports showed no sign of foul play. But this woman is acting creepy. Maybe you could talk to her, see if she’ll open up to you.”

  Kinsey almost balked. “Me?” Damn it, her voice had to squeak, didn’t it?

  Gerri grinned, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. “After you, Kins.”

  Kinsey drew a shaking breath, hating her nerves. She’d faced down Simone Paris, hadn’t she? The stunning woman with the creepy way about her and the artifacts Kinsey still longed for. Her own grandmother, even, Nightshade and powerhouse who’d manipulated Kinsey her entire life.

  Still, the idea of talking to a real star made her nervous.

  Until she stepped inside and realized Juliette was staring at her with something akin to adoration.

  “Thank God,” she said, lunging forward to take Kinsey’s hand. “A DanAllart.”

  Kinsey just stared at her, gulped, while Gerri closed the door.

  “What do you mean by that?” Kinsey caught the tension in Gerri's voice even as Juliette let out a soft sob.

  “I’m in trouble and I need the Nightshade League to help me,” she wailed, her singer’s voice no longer polished, but full of anguish. Her amber eyes never left Kinsey’s as she lifted the blonde’s hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. “I swear it’s unintentional,” she said, quavering all over. “I never meant to hurt anyone. But, I’m convinced somehow my voice is killing those men and I want it to stop.”

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT – MORNING

  Kinsey sat next to Juliette after stammering her identity to the woman. Still in shock, hands firmly clutched in the woman’s warm grip as the blues singer poured her heart and fears out.

  “Your mother, Ahnet,” Juliette said, freeing one hand long enough to wipe at a tear on her cheek, “I knew her years ago, my dear, in New York.” Her voice vibrated with emotion, the feelings pouring over Kinsey like hot and cold water alternating. “She was one of my closest friends for a very long time. Until Ahnet left the city. I lost touch with her and have never been able to find her.” If Juliette’s hopeful, almost desperate, expression meant what Kinsey thought it did, she had bad news for the woman.

  “Neither have I,” Kinsey admitted, soft and hurt, amazed she still carried such pain at the disappearance of her mother. She’d only been a child when Ahnet DanAllart came into her room, kissed her forehead and said goodnight, gone just like that. When Kinsey asked her grandmother the next morning where her mother was, Margot refused to answer and had told her nothing since.


  Remembering her mother here, this way, made Kinsey restless, pins and needles crawling like gooseflesh up her spine. How had she forgotten her mother so completely? She could only blame Margot and the Nightshades. Now that she knew such things were possible.

  Juliette sighed, nodded, and looked away, her stunning amber eyes locked on their joined hands.

  “I feared her disappearance meant she’d crossed the League one too many times,” the blues singer said. Wait, what? “Margot did everything she could to protect Ahnet, but your mother was impulsive and refused to follow the rules.” Juliette’s lashes glittered with moisture, a trembling smile on her wide lips. “I loved her for it, Kinsey, you understand that, don’t you? We all did, our little pack of gifted friends.” Her laugh soothed the blonde’s aching soul. “You look just like her. And a hint of your father in that elfish chin.”

  Kinsey gulped air, as though Juliette struck her in the stomach with those casual words. “You knew my father?”

  Darkness crossed the woman’s face, fingers tightening on Kinsey’s. “Dear God in Heaven,” she breathed, “what has that woman kept from you?”

  Before Kinsey could beg for answers, Juliette shook her head.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, musical voice grim and beautiful. “But, I need your help.”

  “You said you think you’re responsible for the deaths of those three men.” Kinsey half turned to look up at Gerri. The detective stood with her arms crossed, shoulder against the door jam, typical frown between her brows. But, she didn’t appear to be angry or upset, just focused. Which meant to Kinsey she didn’t believe Juliette was guilty.

  The blues singer shuddered. “My mother was an assistant to one of the League members,” she said. “She and my father broke the rules having me, but Margot DanAllart stood up for them and I was allowed to be born.” Kinsey could hardly blame her for sounding grateful, no matter her own opinions of her grandmother and her meddling. “In fact, it was Margot who introduced me to Ahnet years later, the reason she and I were such good friends.” Juliette released Kinsey’s hands to sit back, tall, thin body collapsing slightly as she sank into the cushions of the old leather couch. “The Nightshade League controls everything, all pairings of paranormals. They restrict certain combinations, they say, for the safety of all of us.”