Gerri didn’t comment to him as Ray spoke up. “I’ll text you later,” she said. Kinsey hung up without saying anything. Gerri wasn’t surprised. Jackson didn’t exactly approve of the anthropology professor, not that she gave a crap what the asshole thought of the girls. Gerri was fairly sure the feeling was mutual.
Jackson grinned at Ray. “Did I miss something important?” When he met Gerri’s eyes, his snapped with irritation. “More important than this murder?” She instantly resented the dig, wondered how he knew just which of her buttons to push to piss her the hell off, and then decided she didn’t care.
Ray rolled her eyes at Gerri and abandoned her to deal with Jackson alone. Not that Gerri didn’t understand. Despite knowing her medical examiner friend made it crystal clear to the actor-handsome detective she was and would always be gay, he took every opportunity to hit on Ray. It had to be wearing. Gerri’s eyes narrowed as she watched him watch the medical examiner walk off, his gaze traveling down Ray’s body with a casual hunger that roused the tingling inside her.
Bet his heart would taste like heaven.
Gerri flinched back from the whisper in her head. Usually her intuition only spoke to her when she was interrogating suspects or talking to witnesses. A subtle push in the right direction, one that always gave her the advantage when it came to solving crimes, and the reason she had an excellent record.
No, she corrected herself as Jackson slowly turned back to her, arrogance all over him. She had an excellent record because she was a damned good cop. As for Jackson, it was clear from the challenge on his face, this was an act he’d cooked up to see how far he could push her. She grinned at him, baring her teeth. And thought about all the ways she could hurt him right then and no one would ever find the body.
Jackson’s own expression turned inward, from daring her to comment all the way to sullen bitterness, like a kid chastised by his betters. And she didn’t even have to say a word. He’d make her pay for that, but it was sweet victory at the moment.
“No one saw anything.” He retreated into work, flipping open his notebook, an excuse to break eye contact. Gerri didn’t give an inch, staring, grinning, as he went on. Was that a flicker of fear? Good. Let him be afraid. If he touched Ray, looked at her that way again…
Gerri wouldn’t be responsible. She just wouldn’t.
Jackson went on, still looking down. “The unis are canvasing the area, but there’s mostly just beach bars along this stretch, and if the doc’s guess is right,” as if Ray ever guessed, “the vic died about an hour after these places closed.” He snapped shut his leather notebook and finally met her eyes. Guarded, cold, hateful. Gerri finally let him off the hook, slipping her sunglasses out of her hair and dropping them over her eyes.
“Keep at it,” she said, spinning on one heel, knowing he’d be glaring at her for giving him orders. His dislike she was lead wasn’t even a guess. He made it clear with every single case he didn’t think she should be in charge. Let him. She didn’t answer to Jackson Pierce.
Gerri paused as the paramedics loaded the body into the bus, head already back on the case as if Jackson didn’t exist. She’d had a good look before Ray took over, careful once the CSI’s gave her the go-ahead. She’d taken in the girl’s expensive skirt, the silk halter and fake nails. A pricey ring still sat on one finger, diamond earrings pierced her ears. And those highlights in her dark hair looked like a pro job. So, someone loved this girl. Not a robbery, or she’d be stripped of her stones. An accident?
Gerri turned back, scanned the beach, to the pier not far away. It was high enough it might have done damage if the girl fell. She played the scenario out in her mind—
—drunk or high, laughing, falling, hitting the water twenty feet below—
Gerri shook her head, gesturing for a uni. Unlikely. But a push…
“Check out the area near that pier,” she said. The young woman nodded quickly and trotted off to do the detective’s bidding while Gerri’s mind continued to whirl.
Punctures in her neck. Which meant it was more than likely not an accident.
That left her with murder. It made Gerri’s world go round.
***
INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – AFTERNOON
Kinsey hung up the phone, a creepy feeling crawling up her back. She hadn’t meant to interrupt Gerri at a crime scene. And though she was glad she hit two birds with one call just now, the fact their talk was cut off by the jerk Gerri had for a partner made her grimace.
And, now that she thought about it, it really was highly inappropriate to have the conversation they were having, talking about going out, partying and having a good time, over a dead body. Kinsey sat back in her office chair, half standing so she could fold her feet under her, wondering what the case was about.
Before stopping herself from being curious. By force. Kinsey purposely reached for a stack of papers she was supposed to be grading, frowning at them as she gripped her red pen in one hand. Just because Gerri asked her to help on the last case didn’t mean anything. Not every murder the detective investigated would be of the weird variety. And, from what Kinsey could tell, Gerri was just as happy about that fact. Refused, even after she and Ray confessed they thought they were freaks themselves, to even acknowledge either of them could be anything but cracked.
Kinsey’s brow furrowed, her eyes not seeing a word as her mind compressed around the conversation on Gerri’s balcony, the night they discovered both Aisling and Roxy—the transsexual and dancing queen—had gone missing from the morgue, along with all the evidence the police had on their murders. She still felt horribly for poor Curtis Alexander, the young gay man who killed the two employees of the Starlet Lounge. Yes, he was guilty, but only murdered them after being tortured and brainwashed by a truly sick son of a bitch and his vile church. Reverend Sterling was still in prison, to Kinsey’s surprise. She was sure the bastard would have gotten off by now. Even Gerri seemed hesitantly optimistic, after uncovering the house of horrors he had under his mansion in the country, the damage he inflicted on young gay men. Kinsey hoped there really was a God, though her profession made her doubt. Because, that meant there was Hell, too. And someone like Sterling was bound to burn in it if there was any eternal justice out there in the Universe.
But, it wasn’t disgust keeping Kinsey’s attention, or the fact Jackson broke up the call she’d made. She sighed and tossed the paper in her hand to the desk, admitting she just wasn’t going to get any work done if she didn’t face the truth head on.
Kinsey loved helping Gerri. The thought of being called on again filled her with an eager glee she could barely contain. In fact, her lips split into a grin as she spun side-to-side in her chair, the light of mid-morning pouring over her desk, the busy quad on the other side of the glass a moving mass of students hurrying to Friday classes. Kinsey pulled off her glasses and tossed them to the surface of her desk as she leaned her head back and stared up at the popcorn paneled ceiling.
The fun she had solving crimes surprised her. Kinsey knew a normal person would have been saddened by death. And, while she sympathized with the victims and their families, she couldn’t help but feel a fresh dose of thrill race through her at the idea she might get a chance to work with Gerri again.
Sure, she’d stumbled the first time, making a mess of things initially. But she’d been wrapped up in the loss of her mentor, Dr. Edward Gant, hadn’t meant to get in Gerri’s way. It was the first time Kinsey truly believed something paranormal was happening in Silver City. The night Gant died, in her arms no less, she saw…
What did she see that convinced her? It was less her physical sight and more her instincts, her gut, though the starry sparkling thing that looked back at her from Gant’s ordinarily blue eyes told her enough. The feeling of him?
That was just the icing on the paranormal cake.
Kinsey leaned forward, sighing as she replaced her glasses and prodded the paper on her desk with the end of her pen. She hadn’t fully appreciated the excitement of b
eing Gerri’s partner—even if only for a little while—until her detective friend called her in to investigate the odd symbols carved into the flesh of the fallen dancer. Kinsey’s fingers shuffled aside papers, rooting through the mess that was her haphazard sorting system, until she uncovered a sheet of printer paper with the six symbols drawn on it. She looked them over again, chewing her bottom lip. She’d never translated them to her liking, the subtle differences in them compared to those she’d uncovered in ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian writing driving her to distraction.
She was so tied up in the six images on the page, she almost missed the knock on her door. Kinsey looked up just as her knob turned and the smoked glass entry opened. It took her a moment to process out of her study and focus on the face of the woman who now stood at her threshold with a smile on her face.
A professional smile, ruby lipped in a pale complexion, black eyes rimmed in dark liner. The woman’s short, polished bob tucked neatly under her sharp jawline, the cleft in her chin softly pronounced as her smile widened slightly. Her pageboy bangs ruffled as she blinked, lashes disturbing their perfection.
“Dr. Kinsey DanAllart, I presume?” The woman stepped inside, the click of her high heels sharp on the tile floor. Kinsey pushed herself to her feet, feeling oddly awkward and ungainly around her visitor, but shook the offered cool, smooth hand, feeling the rounded nails brush over her palm as she did.
“That’s right,” she said, before clearing her throat. “Can I help you?” Had to be a college sponsor, someone the Dean sent down here to poke around. Non-tuition funding for the school came, in large part, from private donations. From the woman’s crisp, black suit and expensive looking diamond necklace, she had enough money to fit the bill.
Kinsey knew wealth when she saw it, though the woman’s wasn’t overstated. She’d spent her entire life in the company of more money than anyone should own, an empire run by her grandmother, Margot DanAllart. This woman had the same feel as the matriarch of the DanAllart family. Only without the harsh, judging frown and constant attempts to make Kinsey into something she wasn’t.
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. DanAllart.” The woman’s smooth, velvet alto set Kinsey at ease, for some reason. She had vocal training. Why did that make her feel more human? “My name is Simone Paris.” She looked around with a soft smile before meeting Kinsey’s gaze with a sparkle in her black eyes. “May I sit down?”
Kinsey bolted from behind her desk, blushing at the state of her office. She’d never noticed before how desperately it was in need of a good housecleaning as she swept a stack of books from the chair across from hers. Cleaning? More like disinfecting. No one would ever accuse her of being a neat freak. She did her best to ignore her new awareness of the piles of paperwork and leather bound books, empty coffee cups and paper bags bereft of fast food in favor of returning to her seat and forcing a smile on her face.
The Dean would kill her if he knew a patron was in her office.
Simone didn’t seem concerned with the state of the room now she had a place to sit. She did so with great grace, crossing her slim legs, the bright, red soles of her heels flashing as she settled back. Kinsey found herself falling into scientific mode as she often did with strangers as the woman spoke.
“I’ve recently acquired some interesting artifacts.” Polished and poised, but of indeterminate age. Kinsey placed her at slightly older than herself, but for some reason the woman felt older even than that. “And, from what I understand, you are the preeminent scholar on occult writings in the state. If not the country.”
Kinsey didn’t blush at the compliment, because Simone was wrong. There were other, far more educated and prestigious scientists studying symbology and the occult. Whatever this woman was after, she decided to either use flattery to get it or hadn’t done her homework.
Both facts that helped Kinsey find her balance again. She realized only then she’d been comparing Simone to her grandmother and was grateful to break the spell.
Speaking of spells… Kinsey didn’t have time to think about the very unique talent she possessed. Or the fact she was now certain her grandmother used that selfsame gift to manipulate Kinsey her entire life.
Simone waited patiently, still smiling, as Kinsey’s mind turned over. “Can I ask what you’re looking for?”
She shrugged, one hand sweeping the silken hair of her black bob back, only to have it return immediately to its original position. “A translation,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “I have a curiosity about these things. The past.” Simone’s smile grew and Kinsey found herself smiling with her. “I’ve already spoken to the Dean. He’s more than willing to hire you out, if you’re willing to take a look for me?”
Why did Kinsey feel a tingle of hesitation? Maybe because she knew there were better, more talented people than her to do the job. And, she almost suggested the very thing. But, something about the way Simone’s red lips parted, how her intense eyes held Kinsey, made up her mind for her.
“I’d be happy to.” The Dean would like that. And if she ran into problems or questions, she had resources she could turn to. Or could, at that point, connect Simone with someone better qualified. The idea of having a mystery to solve filled the gap not working with Gerri left behind.
Simone’s delight shone on her face. She stood, offering her hand again. Kinsey shook it firmly as the woman held on a little longer than was polite.
“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am to work with you.” She finally let Kinsey go before reaching into her purse. Simone retrieved a card, handing it over. “Can we say tomorrow morning? Nine o’clock?”
“Sounds good.” Kinsey went over her schedule in her head even while agreeing. She could get her assistant, Mitchell Harris, to teach her second year class while she was checking out Simone’s collection.
Kinsey waited for her visitor to leave, the long, steady silence as Simone smiled at her growing uncomfortable. Had she missed a question? What was the woman waiting for? Kinsey opened her mouth to break the quiet, a distinct quiver inside her she couldn’t shake, when a knock at her door broke the moment.
She looked over with relief as Mitchell poked his head in the door. “Sorry,” he said, long, dirty blonde hair swinging. He made an anxious face, about to leave.
“No!” Kinsey lunged around her desk, before smiling apologetically at Simone. “It’s all right,” she said in a much more normal tone, feeling like an ass. “We’re just finishing.”
Simone nodded, still smiling. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” she said, before exiting, slipping past Mitchell. Kinsey felt her stomach unclench, surprised to find how much tension she’d been holding inside.
Weird. She shivered. Okay, just odd. Weird she would forevermore classify as paranormal. Simone was just…
The rich were so kooky.
“Dr. Dan?” She shook herself and beamed a smile at her assistant and his silly nickname for her. He smiled back, shy, pushing his long hair over his ear, brown eyes soft. “Is everything okay?”
She squeezed his forearm with a shrug. “Of course,” she said as he rubbed at his neck. Wait a minute. He’d been doing that a lot lately. On impulse, she turned him sideways, frowning a little at the twin red marks on his skin. He covered the spot quickly with his hair, shying away from her. “You should have that looked at.”
Mitchell just shrugged in turn before handing her a familiar black folder. “The changes you recommended worked out perfectly.” He actually sounded excited for once. Good. She wondered at one point what it would take to stir him up. Clearly, the biracial interaction of secular tribes in the Amazonian rainforest fired his cylinders. “If you’re happy with the final premise, I’d love to get started on the dissertation.”
Kinsey took the folder from him. “I’ll have a look right now.” Her phone rang, giving her the out she needed. Not that she wasn’t interested in talking with Mitchell about his thesis topic. But she still had Simone Paris’s visit t
o process.
He left with a small wave, thin shoulders slumped inside his indie band T-shirt and she let him go, the receiver heavy in her hand. “Hello,” she said.
“Kins.” Ray’s voice sounded breathless.
“Everything okay?” Kinsey felt herself freeze in place. It took a lot to get the British doctor worked up. Ray was the steady, calm constant, with Gerri burning like a fiery sun and Kinsey skirting around the pair, an overeager puppy. She winced at the brutal description of herself, as Ray spoke.
“More than okay.” She was whispering. Why was she whispering? “Remember that club I told you about?”
“The new one?” Right. They were going out tonight. Kinsey was suddenly in the mood to let her hair down and dance until she fell over. It had been too long. She sank into her chair while Ray went on.
“I know it’s sick and twisted of me.” Ray sounded like she was walking, footsteps echoing in the background. “It really is wrong and I shouldn’t be happy to have found what I did…”
“Ray.” Kinsey laughed, setting Mitchell’s folder on the desk. Why hadn’t he just emailed the file? Boy was old school. “Just spill it.”
“I figured Gerri would find a way to get out of coming tonight. But now she can’t.” A door creaked, faint breath of wind buffering in the speaker. When Ray continued, she sounded more normal and the honk of a horn in the distance told Kinsey she was outside.
“And why’s that?” Kinsey stared out into the sunlight of the quad, mind on Simone, not meaning to forget she was talking to Ray.
“Because,” the brunette said, pulling her back to the present with her next words. “The club where I wanted to go? Exotica? I found a blacklight hand stamp for the same bar on the victim.” Her car door slammed. Definite glee glittered in her tone. “Going to the club is now her damned job.”
***
EXT. to INT. – EXOTICA NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT
Exotica (Episode Two: The Nightshade Cases) Page 2