Left to Hunt (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Nine)

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Left to Hunt (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Nine) Page 18

by Blake Pierce


  She shivered, standing there—this time not only due to the sleeveless nature of her garb.

  She'd missed John.

  For a moment, she half-glanced to her side as if looking for the tall Frenchman. It would have been something indeed to walk into a place like this with Renee. Granted, he probably would have hated everything about it. But then again, the way he'd been staring at her, unable to look away, perhaps he wouldn't have been able to hate the spectacle, as his attention would have been already captured.

  She allowed herself a small smile, grateful again for the mask. These things were really quite useful given their proper place.

  She'd nearly allowed John to drift... Nearly chased him away herself. She wanted to frown now, the smile slipping. No—she couldn't let that happen again. She was determined as she stood in this strange, otherworldly old theater. Determined not to let him slip again, she needed to know where this all ended, where it took them.

  She closed her eyes, behind her mask, brushing gently to the side as another group of guests moved past her, laughing and oohing and aahhing as they did.

  Focus... She needed to focus. She could consider John later. The ball was lovely, but even hidden in the most beautiful scenes, one could find ugliness beneath.

  Adele moved towards the dance floor, watching as one of the white-clad angels flitted above, dancing upside down, as if walking on one of the chandeliers. The woman was quite beautiful, even with the mask.

  As Adele looked around, she could feel a rising current of worry. Everywhere, she saw youth and beauty. Beauty and youth. She watched as another couple danced by, laughing. She turned, examining a young woman adjusting her mask next to the lion's cage. She frowned and regarded an older gentleman helping someone who could have been his daughter step towards one of the tables with the silver seats.

  So many potential victims. All of them young, all of them beautiful all of them at this masquerade ball.

  So who would the killer choose? Another one of the trapeze artists moved overhead, but this time, instead of an angel, the acrobat twisted, presenting the left-side of their body, the opposite portion... And Adele realized the outfit was split down the middle. White and pure on one side, red and black on the other. A devil or an angel?

  Someone was watching over this party, just like she was. She looked around, her eyes flitting from one masked face to another. Would the killer use a knife again?

  Would he be so bold? She glanced towards a terrace, where one of the acrobats was adjusting a thin wire to his outfit. She began to move, slowly, towards the stairway curling up the back of the room, hidden in shadow.

  The terrace would present a better vantage point. Yes—that was the move. The terrace.

  ***

  John crossed his arms where he leaned against the dock mooring post, staring at the old theater, and frowning as the last of the guests trickled in past the three security guards collecting tickets.

  “You sure you don't have another?” John grunted, his eyes still ahead.

  “Ticket?” Leoni guessed. “No, I'm afraid not.”

  The mist was thinning against the sky now, and John's eyes kept darting to the enormous marble lion placed above the theater. He wondered how long it had taken them to get the sculpture up there just for a stupid party.

  Not so stupid, though, he thought to himself. Not if it meant he could see Adele like that. He resisted the urge to whistle beneath his breath. Something about that mask, that dress, the confident sway of her hips against the close-fitting cloth. The way her eyes had sparkled beneath the blues and greens and...

  He swallowed, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a spell.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?” Leoni asked.

  John looked over to the smaller Italian. Leoni didn't lean against a post, but instead stood with his arms crossed, his suit sleeves, somehow, practically unwrinkled despite the posture. The Italian agent kept his eyes fixed on the doors, his attention unwavering.

  Other members of the public were beginning to push in, it seemed, behind the partygoers. These tourists and revelers also wore masks, but none seemed nearly as well-dressed as the masquerade attendees. John watched a group of young men and women, each of them drinking something, laughing, clinking bottles together and singing a song along with music echoing from the theater.

  The crowds of revelers following the parade of spectacles on the water were also moving, slowly, along with the floating scenes of artistry. They were getting louder as they drew nearer, moving along the docks, over the bridges and following the canals.

  He watched a group of older women crowd past Leoni, standing on their tiptoes as they peered up the water way, waving silk handkerchiefs towards a man paddling a red boat. On the boat, a woman in a translucent bubble spun around and around, sparklers flashing above the strange sight. Behind them, a metal dragon had a masked man riding it, juggling red balls above the dragon and, occasionally, stopping to feed the balls to the dragon which would prompt a burst of blue fire.

  John looked away as the loud older woman called and hooted trying to get the attention of the boat paddler, who glanced over and then flashed a crooked grin, waving merrily towards the docks.

  John sighed, stepping away from the mooring post and moving to the other side of Leoni. He stood next to the smaller man, acknowledging the theater.

  “So we just wait out here, is that it?” John asked.

  Leoni shrugged. “See anything worth checking out?”

  “I did earlier,” John muttered.

  Leoni turned his eyes away from the theater to give John a long look.

  Renee glanced back. “What?” he snapped, wishing he was standing anywhere but in the presence of the handsome Italian.

  “Do you dislike me for some reason?” Leoni said, softly.

  John blinked. He cleared his throat. What sort of damned tactic was this? Asking a direct question? About John's feelings no less? The bastard.

  “No,” he lied.

  Leoni smiled slightly. He looked away again, glancing back towards the theater. “I'm not going to pursue Adele, John. She was clear with me. And...” He paused and shrugged. “After seeing the way she looks at you, I'm not about to intrude.” Leoni patted John on the arm, gave a little sigh, and then began to walk towards the theater entrance.

  John stared after the Italian, blinking in surprise. He hastened to catch up, swallowing and saying, “Hang on. The way she looks at me? What do you mean?”

  Leoni strolled towards the theater, but said, “If you don't know, I won't tell you, Renee.” He looked at the tall man. “I said I wouldn't pursue her. But if you're dumb enough to bungle it, then that's on your head.” Leoni flashed a wicked little grin and then patted John on the arm again, a bit more roughly this time.

  Before John could consider this, and before Leoni could speak to one of the guards outside the theater, John's phone began to ring.

  He frowned, fishing the device from his pocket. “Adele?” he said, quickly.

  A pause, the sound of music and laughter, and then, over the background noise, Agent Sharp's voice. “John? Look, is Christopher with you?”

  John frowned, glancing towards the Italian. “After a fashion.”

  “Well, I think I have a lead. I might need backup.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Adele's eyes fixated on the young woman she'd spotted from her vantage point on the terrace. Below, the woman in question was laughing a controlled, crystalline sound, designed to resonate and allure more than communicate any sort of mirth. The woman in question was followed by a gaggle of seven young men, all of them fawning over the masked lady.

  Her gently sloped neck gave way to a strapless dress with three diamond-like buttons down the bosom. Her mask itself was perfectly transparent, as if made of blown glass, allowing onlookers to glimpse her stunning features beneath the glass. It was a strange juxtaposition between the distortion of the glass itself, but also the obvious
beauty of a celestial nose, sharp cheekbones and small chin beneath full lips. The woman had blonde hair, similar to the second victim: Lorraine Strasser. She was moving through her crowd of onlookers, nodding in greeting to anyone who tried to catch her attention.

  Obviously some sort of local celebrity.

  The belle of the ball stood out from the others, receiving more than her fair share of jealous glances as she passed, moving, with her entourage, towards the lion enclosure.

  “That's gotta be it,” Adele murmured, watching from the terrace, her phone pressed against her dress from where she'd gone through the embarrassing but necessary effort of retrieving it from the small purple purse that also carried her gun.

  She watched the woman trace through the crowd, wondering if, perhaps, anyone else was watching with equally close scrutiny. The killer was here, somewhere. In hiding? In plain sight? Behind one of the many masks? Was he also watching this beautiful young creature carve her way through the dance floor?

  It would be the crown jewel in the murderer's achievement. A belle of the ball as the culmination of his killing spree.

  Would he do it with so many witnesses hanging on the blonde woman's every word?

  Adele frowned, her eyes tracing the men introducing themselves to the lady. Did any of them look suspicious? No signs of hidden blades she could spot from up here. Could one of them be the killer?

  Adele needed a closer look. She began to turn, but at just that moment, a voice suddenly echoed out in the room, vibrating from the direction of the stage.

  She turned, glancing towards where Ms. Herrera was standing on the platform, her arms wide as if to embrace the room.

  “Welcome!” Harmony declared, a small mic against the smooth slope of her mask. “It is a delight to see all of you here with us today. Compagnia dei Cielo bids all of you a humble greeting! My name is Harmony, and I will be the Master of Ceremonies for this evening.”

  A small cheer and scattering of applause met these words.

  Behind the mask, Harmony's lips twisted up. The tall woman, with her nearly sheared head, dipped in a small bow, causing the stained-glass pieces dangling from her ears to flash in the many lights throughout the room. Her dress similarly reflected back the glow.

  “Of course, the entertainment for the evening has only just begun,” Harmony's projected voice echoed through the hall. She spoke firmly, powerfully, with an obvious stage presence. Everyone stared up at the Master of Ceremonies, waiting—it seemed—for another opportunity to applaud.

  Adele, though, redirected her attention towards the young belle. She was looking towards Harmony as well, but seemed mildly irritated, now—judging by her hand on her slender waist—by the redirection of her many suitors' attention away from her.

  Adele began to move now, trying to keep her attention on the young belle, while also moving quickly towards the stairs. She needed to get closer.

  Harmony's voice continued to echo over the old theater, but Adele ignored the sounds now, focusing on the curving stairwell in the back of the theater, leading down from the balcony seating. She hastened back towards the glazed lake-like floor, hurrying now, through the attentive crowd towards where the young, blonde woman was standing near the lion-enclosure.

  Adele winced, wondering what might happen with a quick nudge or a push. But the woman, her hand still on her hip, remained standing.

  A commotion did erupt, however—instead of coming from the belle, it was coming from the stage.

  Adele frowned, looking over the heads around her towards where Harmony seemed to now be speaking to someone in the audience closest to the stage.

  “I'm afraid I don't understand...” The Master of Ceremonies was saying, still in English for the sake of the tourists, her voice hoarse. She leaned in.

  Then, Adele watched, horrified as a hand snaked up from the audience, latched around the back of Ms. Herrera's neck and yanked the woman bodily off the stage. A scream went up from the crowd. People yelled in horror and surprise.

  Adele cursed and broke into a sprint, shoving through onlookers and hastening towards the sound of the commotion now accompanied by yelling and physical motion.

  Damn it. Not another young woman, then. The killer was after Harmony. Of course, it all made sense now. Who better to target than the head of the Compagnia dei Cielo themselves—maybe this had been the killer's goal all along!

  Adele elbowed past a man, knocking a wineglass flying. “Sorry!” she yelled, before breaking through a gaggle of women who were too distracted by one of the trapeze artists to notice the commotion towards the front of the room. She pulled her phone from her purse, cursing, already dialing John's number as she raced forward.

  Adele heard another shout, more commotion and then a scream—this time, by the sound of things, coming from Harmony herself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A tangle of limbs, vibrant jewelry and flashing pieces of stained glass were hard to parse out as Adele tried to close in on the two struggling figures. Over her shoulder, she spotted John and Leoni hurrying towards her through the masked gawkers, accompanied by the security officers from out front.

  Ever her nemesis, a high heel went flying past Adele's face, the dislodged strap nearly whipping her in the eye. She winced, reflexively lifting a defensive hand as she moved in to separate the struggling entities.

  "Adele!" a loud, booming voice echoed behind her. She waved towards Agent Renee, gesturing at him to join her.

  But as she stood over the two struggling forms of Ms. Herrera and the unknown assailant, she realized both were still moving, both kicking beneath the trapeze artists above.

  "Stop!" she snapped, feeling her heart hammer, but allowing her thoughts to catch up with her fear.

  Harmony was gasping and scratching long, painted nails across the cheek of the small man on top of her.

  The man in question wasn't familiar to Adele. His mask had been knocked off in the tussle, and he had bright, reddish features, not quite unlike those of Angelo's back at the mask shop.

  Adele leaned, grabbing the short-statured man, and ripping him by the collar of his suit off the Master of Ceremonies.

  The leader of the Compagnia dei Cielo remained on the ground for a moment, gasping, and trying to recover herself. Part of her dress was torn, and there was a bruise forming just beneath her eye, which was also exposed from an askew mask.

  Adele knew enough Italian to understand what the man was screaming, trying to struggle from her grasp and reach towards Harmony. "You whore!"

  "Stop that," Adele snapped, shaking the man roughly. His hands were empty. No knife. She quickly held him with one hand, while her other darted towards his pockets.

  At the same time Agent Renee came barreling through the crowd, shoving gawkers roughly aside, and reaching Adele a second later. A hand the size of a glove descended on the small fellow's other shoulder, holding him in place like an anchor on a ship.

  The small man turned, and actually had to crane his neck to meet John's towering glare. The fellow squeaked and stuttered something in Italian. Agent Leoni sauntered through the crowd behind John, like a small boat traveling in the wake of an icebreaker.

  Leoni said something softly, and then reached down to help Ms. Herrera back to her feet. She accepted his hand, gasping, and cursing in Italian, muttering a series of expletives.

  "Marlowe," she said at last, growling, "you idiot. You're going to jail for this." She spoke in English, and Adele wasn't sure if this was for her benefit or John's.

  Adele looked away from the small man she had in her grasp. Again, she hadn't turned up any weapons from the frisk.

  "You know this man?" she said, waving towards the assailant.

  Harmony sniffed, reaching up delicately and probing at the bruise beneath her eye. All of a sudden she seemed to realize the attention levied on her. Ever the performer, she tilted her chin just so, allowing the lights to catch her mask as she readjusted it on her face. With an air of wounded dignity, she sniffed a
gain, and with an imperious wave of her hand, she gestured towards the man, "A talentless hack," she said, firmly.

  The man struggling in John's large grasp seemed to understand her English well enough. He spat back in the same language, "Whore. Thief. Coward. You wouldn't know talent if it came up and tweaked that big nose of yours!"

  Harmony snorted back. She was making shooing motions towards the guests crowded around her. But at the same time, she couldn't seem to resist a parting shot. "Big nose? I suppose for someone as small as you everything seems large. Your stature matches your skill as an actor; I was right to fire you the first time. The second time was just for fun."

  The man tried to tear away from John, wanting to lash out again.

  Adele though, stepped between the assailant and his target. She turned towards the fellow, who had a nose like a beak, and eyebrows too close together. "What do you think you're doing?" she snapped. "That's assault," she added, pointing towards the stage where he had dragged Harmony from.

  Marlowe looked at Adele, his features still tinged with the effects of alcohol. He sniffed and coughed and glanced off sheepishly like a child scolded by a headmaster. "She's evil," he said, snapping. "She still owes me," he added, waving a finger at the master of ceremonies. The same finger eventually jutted skyward, towards one of the trapeze artists who was continuing, resiliently, the dancing pattern across the ceiling.

  "That was supposed to be me," he snapped. "She promised. You promised!" He added, shouting towards Harmony again.

  The tall woman's eyes flashed with something akin to guilt, but just as quickly she shook her head, and clicked her tongue. "Agents, you saw this. He attacked me. Arrest him."

  Before she received a response, as if assuming her word would just be followed to the letter based on the delivery alone, she turned, facing the onlookers nearest to the front of the stage, and spreading her arms as if to embrace them. "Please, don't let a little bad behavior distract you." She gestured towards the tables, which were now being laden with silver platters, the odor of scrumptious food now wafting through the room. "Aha, dinner is served. Please, this way. This troubled man is going to be taken from here. And no, thank you, I'm quite all right. Thank you very much."

 

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