by E. A. Copen
To the left stood a kitchenette and a tiny table with two chairs. The little sink was empty, dishes stacked neatly in the dish drainer. The dish towel had been tossed on top of the dishes as if an afterthought. Maybe one of them had meant to come back and dry them later. A little fridge occupied the corner. It buzzed into a cooling cycle as soon as Jackie looked at it.
She didn’t sense anything off in the room, nor did she smell anything strange. Tara’s scent was everywhere, as was what she assumed was David’s, but she didn’t catch Justice’s. They must’ve been limiting their affair to Justice’s apartment. Smart. If they brought it here, the pack would know something was up.
Jackie stepped further into the little room and noted the door straight ahead. It was probably to the bedroom and bathroom. That was probably where she’d find anything useful. Too bad she didn’t know what she was looking for. Proof of her affair with Justice, maybe? Some indication of where she might’ve gone or future plans? Perhaps Justice had given her a gift that would serve as a clue. Yes, that was what she should search for. If she were Tara, where would she hide a gift from her lover?
Jackie frowned as she thought about it and realized she had no frame of reference for the situation. She’d never felt the need to hide any of the trinkets her past lovers had given her. Most of them promptly found their way to the trash. So few men understood that when she said one night, she really did mean one night.
“If your lover gave you something and you wanted to hide it from your mate, where would you put it?” She turned to Nic.
Nic’s shoulders went up and down. “Don’t really know. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to cheat on a werewolf for starters. I’m still stuck on that. How did David not know?”
“Have you ever been mated before?” Jackie went to try the door and found it unlocked.
She pulled open the door on a small bedroom with a queen bed that’d been made neatly. A bottle of pills sat on the bed stand on one side along with a paperback romance. The bed stand on the other side was empty.
“No,” Nic answered close behind her. “Have you?”
“No, but Bo has. I’ve heard him talk. He says even hundreds of miles away, he felt it when she died. Like someone with icy fingers had reached in to grab his heart while shooting him in the head.”
“Your mother?”
Jackie shook her head. “My mother was a pitstop on the way to the next.”
She went further into the room, going to inspect the bed stand with the pills on it. “Sleeping pills.”
“Bet she was having trouble sleeping with David gone.” Nic went to the small bookshelf and pulled a book from it, leafing through the pages.
Jackie turned the bottle over in her hands and noted the fill date. It’d been filled about a week ago, the bottle stating there were thirty pills inside. If she took the pills according to the prescribed dose, there should have been over twenty pills left. Instead, there were only three. Had she been abusing her medication? Perhaps she’d made an attempt at taking her own life and somehow failed. Bo had surmised Tara was suffering from depression. The latter lined up with his theory. Then again, maybe Nic was right.
She put the bottle back down. “Could be.”
Jackie studied the lamp a moment before reaching to turn it on. The light switch clicked, but the lamp didn’t come on, despite being plugged in. When Jackie bent down for a closer look, she found that a large chunk of the back side of the lamp was dented, and there was no lightbulb in the lamp.
“Why’d you ask me about a mate?” Nic put the book back and felt behind the line of books, searching for something.
“Because everyone so far has assumed that David didn’t know about the affair. Well, what if he did?”
Nic stopped what he was doing to frown at her. “No. He’d be devastated. He loved Tara more than anything.”
“Denial is the first stage of grief, Nic.”
Jackie walked around to the other side of the bed, trailing her fingers over the neat blankets until she reached the other side. The bed stand had a thin layer of dust on top of it, as did the little brass lamp. When Jackie pulled open the drawer, it was empty too. She looked over at the bed. It was missing a pillow.
“He knew,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingertips brushed the empty space in the bed where David’s pillow should’ve been. “And she knew he knew. He confronted her. They fought with more than just words.”
“How do you know?” Nic stepped away from the bookshelf and came to stand by the bed with her.
Jackie pointed to a white splotch on the wall. The wall around it was textured and painted, but the white spot was smooth. “The lamp is damaged, and the damage is about the same size as the freshly repaired hole in the wall. It’s speculation based on circumstantial evidence, but there’s enough to tell a story. Whether it’s the right story or not, only Tara knows.”
“So, their perfect marriage was a sham?” Nic shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Someone would know.”
“David loved her. He was devoted to her. Even if she wasn’t faithful, he wouldn’t leave her, not knowing how unstable she was. He might have kept it quiet, thinking they could work through it.”
Jackie turned her attention away from the wall to another scrimshaw on the wall. Unlike the ones displayed in the living room, this one didn’t bear a recognizable image. It was simpler, a series of lines, circles and curves intersecting and crisscrossing seemingly at random. It was also smaller, no bigger than the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and leaned in, sniffing. The spicy scent of magick burned the delicate lining of her nose and throat, making her sneeze first and then cough.
“That,” she said, pointing. “It’s definitely spelled.”
Nic lifted the scrimshaw from the wall and examined it. “This isn’t Osha’s work,” he said, flipping it over. “Doesn’t have her maker’s mark and the lines are too thick and all wrong. She’s a real artist. This? This was done by an amateur.”
“Maybe Tara was trying to learn.”
Nic handed the scrimshaw to Jackie. The bit of baleen practically vibrated with power. Apparently, one didn’t need to be an expert artist to infuse bone with magick.
“We should take it back to Osha,” Nic suggested. “See what she has to say about it. Maybe she knows what it’s for.” He took it from her and placed it inside his coat pocket. “You starting to form any theories yet?”
Jackie glanced around, looking for more clues. “Maybe. Is it at all possible that Tara is behind these attacks?”
“Tara?”
For a minute, Jackie feared he’d make the same argument everyone had been making, that Tara was too weak and fragile to have been involved. But Tara wasn’t weak. She was desperate, and there was a stark difference.
“Osha said the Mahaha sacrifices its humanity and learns to feed on Joy, never truly finding happiness itself.” Jackie stepped past Nic and went into the tiny bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and searching through the bottles there. “If you believe her story, the Mahaha was once human, meaning there’s a way to turn into one of those things. What if Tara became one?”
Nic leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “Why would she do that?”
Jackie found another prescription bottle and pulled it out of the medicine cabinet, tossing it to Nic. “Depression.”
“Fluoxetine?” he read aloud. “What’s that?”
“Generic name for Prozac, which is in a class of drugs called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, commonly used to treat disorders such as obsessive-compulsive disorder, eating disorders—”
“And depression,” Nic finished.
Jackie nodded. “No refills left on it, which tells me she hasn’t seen her physician in a while. The sleeping pills by the bed? Either she’s taking three times the normal dose, or she intentionally overdosed at some point. Narrowly failed ending her own life. She’s desperate to end her suffering, Nic. Desperate enough to want to die, but she might’ve c
onsidered another option if it were presented to her.”
“Become the Mahaha.” Nic turned the bottle over in his hands. “But someone had to put the idea in her head. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to become a joy-eating murder monster. Most normal people don’t even know something like that’s possible, and Tara was never big on learning the native lore.”
“But she was a big reader.” Jackie slid past Nic, back into the bedroom, and walked over to pick up the paperback romance.
The image on the cover was typical for a steamy romance, a woman in some state undress held in the arms of a shirtless man. Only this man was clearly dressed like a stereotypical Inuit. The background depicted an igloo and a very scary-looking polar bear. The words White Heat were scrawled over the cover in raised foil letters.
“I bet if we read this, we’ll find some answers as to how she came up with her solution.” Jackie waved the book and then tossed it to Nic.
He frowned, leafing through the pages. “Never really been into romance. And they use the word Eskimo a lot in here. Eskimo is a derogatory term, you know. Don’t think I can read this.”
She held her hands out and he tossed it back. “Doesn’t have to be good reading to help us find our clue. What time is it?”
They’d taken their time getting over there, stopping first to go over the scene from the night before, just in case they’d missed something. Jackie had followed the blood trail again as a human, though the dark stains on the snow looked more like oil than blood. It hadn’t yielded any new results, but it had eaten some of the day away. She expected Bo and Bryce were long done with checking out Justice’s shop and ATV and waiting for them back at the house.
Nic pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Quarter to noon. Surprised we haven’t had a call from Bo telling us to get back there with a report.”
“Maybe no news is good news.” She tucked the paperback under her arm. “But we should get going.”
Nic caught her arm as she turned toward the door. “Hey, why don’t we go out for lunch?”
“Well, you’d have to call Bo. He’s sort of picky when it comes to food.”
“No, I mean just you and me.” He grinned. “Since he hasn’t called, I’ll assume there’s nothing pressing we need to deal with. We can discuss the case, if you’d like. Or anything else you want to talk about.”
An invitation to a date, but not an overt one. Lunch would be more casual. Despite their earlier discussion, he was still interested, it seemed. At least now that they’d laid out the ground rules, he knew what to expect. If it turned into anything more than casual flirtation and mutual satisfaction, he’d only have himself to blame. Why not pursue it, then?
“Sure, why not? I imagine you know the best place in town to grab a hamburger?”
His grin grew wider. “I know just the place.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
N ic took her to Niggivkput, which was the little eatery located inside the hotel she was staying at. While it wasn’t his favorite restaurant in town, or even his first choice, it was the best place to get a decent burger.
The place was busy since it was lunchtime, with most of the usual crowd filing in to grab a hot meal on a cold day. Nic waved to a few old timers he knew and stopped to chat with them. Old Tim asked him to come by and help clear some snow later, which Nic had to politely decline, despite his offer to pay. He liked helping the old widower whenever he had time, but with everything going on, he was just too busy. Instead, he left Old Tim with the promise that he’d call him once he or someone in his pack was available.
Lottie King stopped him again on their way to the table to offer her condolences and inquire about services for David. Nic relayed what little information he’d had time to put together and asked Lottie after Tara. She and Tara used to work together at the school, but apparently Lottie hadn’t seen her in months. Disappointing.
By the time they made it back to their little booth in the rear of the restaurant, Nic had stopped to speak to nearly everyone in there. He sank into his seat, exhausted and relieved not to have to answer any more strangers’ questions.
The waitress came and dropped off their menus, but Nic didn’t have to study it to know what he wanted. He lowered the laminated sheet of specials, glancing over it to meet Jackie’s smiling eyes. They’d been fixed on his forehead ever since they sat down. “What?”
“First time I’ve had lunch with a local celebrity.”
Nic chuckled. “Not really sure that applies to me. Just Barrow is a small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business here, the pack’s most of all. We’re curiosities, I suppose you’d say. Some see us as protectors of the town. Others, a danger. Half the town is scared of us, while the other half thinks we’re some sort of superhumans, capable of painting houses at twice the normal speed, and chasing away polar bears without fear.”
“You get many of those up here?” Jackie turned back to her menu, but the amused smile touching the corners of her mouth didn’t fade.
“Polar bears?” He shrugged. “A few. They occasionally stroll down the street like they own the place. Mostly, we’re inclined to let them think they do and just clean up after them when they get into the trash.”
“Worst we have to worry about getting into the trash in Billings are raccoons.”
Nic placed his menu on the edge of the table, resolving to just order a copy of whatever Jackie got. “What’s that like? Living in the contiguous US, I mean. Seems to me like it’d be a different world down there.”
“It is, sort of.” She shrugged. “Warmer, definitely. Cheaper, too.”
“If you’re worried about covering lunch, don’t be. My treat,” Nic offered. She’d refuse him. He’d be disappointed if she didn’t. Still, offering was the gentlemanly thing to do. He could do that if that’s what she wanted, be a proper gentleman, even though it wasn’t nearly as fun as playing dirty.
“It’s not a problem and you know it. I’m sure you already know more about me than you let on. Don’t pretend like you didn’t look up every detail on me you could find the minute I showed up.” She smiled wider and placed her menu aside on top of his. “And don’t make the mistake of believing I didn’t do the same with you.”
“Mm. Good point, but there are some things you can’t find out with a background check and a quick crawl through the internet. Like your favorite color, or what you do in your off time.”
Jackie’s laugh made his heart flutter. A brief moment of panic settled in his chest and he wondered if he’d said something stupid and she was laughing at him, or just laughing because she found it funny.
“Oh, come on now, Nic,” she said, leaning in and resting her chin on one hand. “You can do better than that. You don’t really care what my favorite color is, do you?”
“I do! That choice can say a lot about a person. Mine is sandy brown.”
“If you say anything about my eyes—”
“Ah, but your eyes aren’t sandy brown,” Nic said, wagging a finger at her. “They’re more like a burnt chestnut, warm and inviting.”
Color touched her cheeks and his wolf approved. For once, he agreed. Blushing suited her.
“Please.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “That’s the worst pick-up line I’ve heard in a while.”
“Wasn’t a pick-up line. Just an observation. But I bet you do hear a lot of them.”
Jackie shook her head. “Not really. I don’t go out much.”
“Probably for the best. You’d make every other woman in the place jealous.”
The color in her cheeks brightened. “Now that’s not true. If you’re trying to be subtle, you could work on that a little. You’re about as subtle as a snowstorm. And here I thought you were only flirting with me to make Bo angry.”
Nic’s turn to laugh. He chuckled so loud several other groups turned their head to stare. “Oh, no. Irritating Bo is just a pleasant side effect. I also don’t make a habit of flirting. Don’t like the word either, truth be told. Mostly, I j
ust go for what I want, and I have to warn you that I almost always get what I want.”
“Well then, that’s one thing we have in common at least.”
The waitress returned to take their order. Jackie ordered a bison burger with nothing but cheese, so Nic got the same thing. She eyed him askance when he relayed his order to the waitress, but said nothing. He really didn’t care what food came to the table; he wasn’t even really that hungry. Just the opportunity to be alone with Jackie and not work on the case for a few minutes was enough.
Over lunch, their conversations were topical and veered away from the light flirting they’d done earlier. Nic told Jackie all about past whaling festivals, about how the harpoon and knife from earlier had come into his possession. Everything had a story, and he was happy to share his with her.
Jackie, however, remained a mystery. Just as she hadn’t divulged her favorite color when he asked earlier, she spoke very little about herself, even if she listened intently. Perhaps she had meant what she said earlier, that she wasn’t interested in pursuing any sort of relationship with him. Why then did she keep flirting with him? Why had she given him that enticing view in the bathroom earlier? Had he misinterpreted her intentions?
During their whole conversation, he kept waiting for her to shut him down or reject his advances outright. Instead, she merely avoided answering, deflecting any serious discussion with a question, or something factual.
Maybe it would be best if I asked her directly. Nic sipped at his water, listening to her ask again about some small detail that didn’t seem important. Though he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to ask.
Osha’s words nagged at him. She’d called Jackie his potential mate. The word had been both shocking and a relief to hear. Having a name for that weird feeling in his gut whenever they were together, the strange draw he felt with her had let him stop focusing on it and consider the possibility.