by Lyle, Dixie
Shondra looked annoyed. “But I still need your approval before I implement—”
“Just clear it with Foxtrot, all right? She can bring me up to speed later. Right now I’m going downstairs and getting Ben to make me a snack—I’m famished.”
With that, she practically leapt out of her chair and through the door. I stared at the ZZ-shaped afterimage she’d left behind and chuckled. “I wondered how long that would last.”
Shondra grunted. “You want to take a turn guarding her, or do I have to bring in outside help?”
“Guarding? So you do think we have something to worry about?”
“I’m always worried. But you’ve given something specific to worry about, which notches things up.” Her voice was as hard and flat as a sidewalk. “And that means I require facts, Foxtrot. Not vague warnings followed by a visit from the coroner’s office.”
“I swear, Shondra, I just had a bad feeling. Intuition. Or don’t you believe in that sort of thing?”
“Oh, I believe in it. You see combat, you learn to trust your gut or you don’t survive. But what my gut is telling me right now is that you know more than you’re letting on.”
I swallowed. “I can see how it might look that way. But it wasn’t Maria I had a bad feeling about—it was ZZ. And I still do.”
“Okay. Let’s say you do. Let’s say that feeling is accurate, and something bad is going to happen to our mutual employer. In that case, how do you explain what happened to Maria?” Her face was grim. “Coincidence? Or are you suggesting this house is under some kind of curse? Because I’m going to have a hard time believing either of those explanations.”
“You’re right.” I met her eyes calmly. “Neither of those explanations makes any sense. What does make sense is that someone tried to hurt ZZ, and got Maria instead.”
“Really.”
“Really.”
Shondra shook her head. “The authorities are saying it was natural causes.”
“No, Brower was saying that, and he’s hardly an authority on anything. Maybe I’m wrong, but—what if wasn’t a heart attack?”
“The door was locked, Trot. From the inside.”
“There was a window. Not locked. Someone could have gotten in and out that way.”
She looked skeptical. “Those windows are tiny. Who’s your suspect, a ten-year-old kid?”
“I’m just saying it’s possible, all right? Think about it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The Kim girl?”
“I’m not accusing anyone. But I think the smart move is to treat this like Maria was attacked—and then try to eliminate as many potential suspects as we can.”
She gave me a grudging nod. “No harm in that, I suppose, as long as you’re not talking about interrogating ZZ’s guests. She wouldn’t stand for that, and neither would they.”
“Interrogating? Of course not…”
I told her about my call to the coroner’s office and the possible time of death. “We need to find out if any of the guests left the grounds between seven PM and five AM.”
“I’ll check the video logs.”
She tapped away at her keyboard, and the bank of monitors on the far wall blinked and began to scroll through footage of the previous evening. Shondra had all the entrances and exits to the grounds covered, as well as concealed cameras that kept an eye on virtually every inch of the high walls around the estate.
“Here’s ZZ and Kwok leaving at eight seventeen PM,” Shondra said. One of the monitors showed ZZ’s red Rolls-Royce driving through the main gate. “And here’s them coming back at three oh four AM.”
“They left together after dinner,” I said. “Maria would still have been alive when the meal started.”
“The only other person was this guy.” She tapped a key and one of the screens froze on the image of a yellow convertible. “He showed up around eight thirty and picked up Oscar. They came back around ten, he dropped Oscar off, then left.”
“His name’s Francis.” I told her about the conversation I had with Oscar.
“So he’s a possibility.” Shondra studied the screen, her eyes narrowed. “You think he could fit through that window?”
“I do. But the time between him arriving and he and Oscar leaving is even shorter than he is—I’m not sure it’s enough time to climb a tree, clamber through a window, commit a murder, and then return.”
“If he didn’t do it, that leaves Oscar himself, one of the guests, or one of the live-in staff. Can you think of any reason Ben or Victor would want to harm Maria?”
“No.”
Shondra nodded. “How about Oscar? Or any of the guests?”
“No,” I said again. “But like I said—what if Maria was an accident? What if ZZ was supposed to be the target?”
“Well, that would at least give us a motive—Oscar has a few million reasons to hope his mother stumbles into an early grave. But I don’t see him as a killer, do you?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But ZZ’s made other enemies. You know how outspoken she is, especially online.”
Shondra leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, her and everybody else. If you could find a way to turn all the rage that pours through the Internet into an energy source, you could power the whole damn world.”
“One of those people might be Juan Estevez,” I said. “ZZ seems to think he’s developing weapons for the military.” I told her about the quadracopter and ZZ’s accusation. “Estevez seemed rattled, but ZZ backed off over dinner and he relaxed.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“Oh, I’ve seen her do it before—softening him up for the kill. She’ll save the coup de grâce for later, when his guard is down. More entertaining. Remember that senator from last year?”
Shondra grinned. “How could I forget? He stormed out of here in the middle of dinner.”
“Closer to the beginning, actually—halfway through the soup. Real shame, too.”
“You didn’t think he deserved what she did to him?”
“Oh, he deserved it, all right. But I figured he’d last until the main course; I lost five bucks betting on the pool. She peaked early.”
“Happens to the best of us.” Shondra drummed her fingers on her desk. “Okay, one of Oscar’s sketchy friends, one limber guest, and one nervous one. Is that it?”
I didn’t see how I could mention the carfentanil, at least not until the coroner confirmed it. “Uh, I think so. For now.”
“I’ll do some checking. And we’ll both keep an eye on ZZ.”
I stood up. “Agreed. I’ll take the next shift, and then you can spell me, all right?”
“Sure. Just give me a call or text me.”
I left Shondra’s office and went downstairs, intending to catch up with ZZ in the dining room—but I didn’t make it there.
I was halfway down the main staircase when I saw the turtle.
It was big—its shell maybe three feet across—glowing a luminescent blue-green, and floating in midair. It had flippers instead of feet, and was doing slow, patient laps around the chandelier. It glided past level with my eyes, dignified yet graceful, and met my astonished gaze with a calm and knowing stare. Behind it, the sparkle of high-end cut crystal seemed cheap and gaudy.
I was supposed to follow it. I knew that the second our eyes met, just as I knew it wasn’t a demand but an invitation. It swooped lazily toward the front door and passed right through it.
I managed to stumble down the rest of the steps without breaking my neck. When I got outside it was waiting for me, still in motion, describing slow circles over the driveway. Even though the sun overhead was bright in a cloudless sky, the light emanating from the creature seemed just as deep, just as vivid. It was the aquamarine of a tropical ocean, the rippling, mysterious light that filters through the warm waters of a South Seas lagoon. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, and I didn’t want to; it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
Then the arc of its flight gently curved.
Toward the graveyard.
I followed.
I’m all about the planning. But as I’ve said before, sometimes plans fall apart. And sometimes they go so far off the rails that Plans B, C, and D are no longer an option, either. When that happens you have to jettison all your expectations, roll with the punches, and keep your eyes wide open; information is the only weapon you have, and the more you know the faster you can implement damage control when there’s a lull in the battle.
None of which prepared me for tagging along behind a flying, spectral sea turtle in a state of semiconscious bliss.
It wasn’t hypnosis, exactly. I didn’t feel like I was being forced to do anything. It was more like chasing the world’s shiniest, most delicious carrot, something made of chocolate imported from Heaven and wrapped in foil of purest gold. It led me around the house, into a narrow passage between the beach cabana and the hedge, and down to the gate.
It executed a careful loop at the entrance, came back around and met my eyes once more. I didn’t know what it was trying to communicate this time, though; maybe it was giving me a chance to change my mind and turn back. Then it disappeared, over the gate.
I stepped forward, put my hand on the latch. The gate was an old wooden thing, high enough that I couldn’t look over it. More like a door than a gate, really.
I steeled myself, and pulled it open.
The graveyard looked the same as it always did. Gravestones scattered in uneven rows, statuary and marble roofs jutting up here and there. The turtle was nowhere in sight.
I took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold.
* * *
I don’t know what I expected. Lines of animals patiently waiting their turn, like commuters at a bus stop? The crazy bustling chaos of Grand Central Station, with animal ghosts milling around like extras in a remake of Noah’s Ark? I honestly had no clue.
What I saw—at least at first—was nothing. Nothing but the graveyard itself, under the hot sun. Maybe all the action happened at night—
Then one of the graves opened.
I don’t mean literally—there was no actual door or gate involved. It was more like a camouflaged eye opening in the ground itself, a hidden eyelid pulling back to reveal an oval of white beneath. A sleek head poked out of that oval and peered around; I thought it was a gopher at first, but then recognized it as a ferret. It had the same sort of phantasmal glow to it the turtle had, but golden-hued instead of blue-green.
The ghost ferret scurried out of the grave, looked around curiously, then humped its way toward the nearest grave with an urn mounted on it. When it got there, another eye opened in the ground, and the ferret bounded through. The eye closed. I wondered who was there to meet it on the other side.
I walked up to the first grave and peered at it. It had a small headstone with the name SNARKY inscribed on it, and an elegantly carved picture of a ferret above that. Snarky had lived and died over thirty years ago, but his grave was apparently now a portal to wherever ferrets went when they passed on.
I was examining the grave with the urn on it when I heard someone cough.
I looked behind me. A large white bird with dark eyes was perched about ten feet away, on the arm of a stone cross. I realized after a second that, despite the color, it was a crow.
“Uh—hi,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” the crow replied. It didn’t sound impressed. It stared at me in that intent, speculative way crows have, as if they’re trying to decide which bits of you they’d eat first if they found you dead in a ditch. “So you’re her.”
“I’m … me, yes.” I hesitated, not sure how to proceed. I hadn’t expected to be doing this without Tango or Tiny around. “And who are you, exactly?”
“Name’s Eli.” The crow’s voice was a raspy croak. “You gonna tell me your name, or do I have to make one up?”
“Foxtrot. Everyone calls me Foxtrot.”
“Hmmm. You don’t look much like a fox.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“Good. I don’t like foxes.”
“Did you see a turtle fly by a minute ago? I was sort of following him.” The second the words left my mouth, I felt both ridiculous and a sense of déjà vu. At least I wasn’t chasing a white rabbit with a pocketwatch.
“Yeah, that was Ambrose. He enjoys the occasional outing, which is why I sent him.”
“You sent him?”
“That’s right. I thought we should meet.”
“Um—why?”
Eli cocked his head to the side. “Because I’m your opposite number. Well, technically old Coop is my opposite number, but seeing as how he’s an acid casualty who likes to smoke a big doobie before hopping on his riding mower and pretending he’s doing laps at the Indianopolis Five Hundred, and you’re the newly appointed human liaison to the most important mystic nexus in a thousand-mile radius, I thought you were the higher priority.”
I’m pretty quick on the uptake. “You’re the caretaker for this place.”
“In a manner of speaking. I keep an eye on things.”
“For?”
“The ones in charge. And no, I can’t talk about them.”
“What a surprise.” I glanced around and smiled casually, but I was also thinking furiously.
I’ve had a lot of jobs. I’ve worked for large corporations and celebrities and small, family-run businesses. I’ve gotten coffee, cut deals, hired people and fired people. And no matter what the position was called or what I was actually supposed to be doing, one thing never changed: office politics. I learned strategies long ago for dealing with such things, and I understood exactly what Eli was doing and why. He was establishing the pecking order.
Rule the First: When meeting a new co-worker, never let the conversation turn into a job interview. Information is power, and if you let them grill you, you not only gave them too much ammunition to use later, you put them in a position of power right off the bat.
But you also didn’t want to make enemies—well, not right away, anyway. So you didn’t counterattack, or get too defensive. You took control early, and deflected rather than meeting any questions head-on.
“What an awesome responsibility you have,” I said. “Have you been doing it a long time?”
“Compared with what? How long you’ve been on the job?”
Aha. A worthy opponent.
“No kidding. Whoever’s in charge, I have to wonder what they were thinking picking me.” Rule the Second: Everybody—whether they’d admit it or not—resented the boss. Get your co-worker to admit that and it was you and them against the Powers That Be.
“So you don’t think you’re up to it?” he said.
“Well, I just don’t know. You’re the expert—what does it take to do this job?”
Rule the Third: A little subtle acknowledgment of their power was okay—it mollified them and prompted them to respond with an acknowledgment of yours. And asking for someone’s advice was always a good strategy—suddenly they were invested in you succeeding.
“Your job?” Eli said. He took two short hops, from the end of the stone cross to the center. “Hmmm. I was hoping you’d know.”
“What?”
“Yeah. See, my job is pretty simple—I watch, and I report. Nothing to it. But you—you’re supposed to protect this place from some unknown threat? I gotta tell you, I have no idea how you’re going to manage that.”
“It’s not completely unknown. I’ve already figured out that it probably involves a murder—”
“Probably?”
“Well, yeah—”
“A murder of who?”
Of crows, I thought darkly. This was rapidly spinning out of control. “Of the graveyard’s owner.”
“Ah. And who, exactly, do you think owns a mystical nexus?”
“I misspoke,” I said carefully. “The person who legally owns the land the graveyard is on. Strictly in human terms, of course.”
“By the way, we call this place the Great Crossroads, not
the graveyard. So you’re going to murder this person?”
“No! I’m going to prevent her death.”
“Really? Well, good for you. Now I understand why you were chosen.”
I shouldn’t ask this, I really shouldn’t. “Which is?”
“If you want to protect a place full of dead things, just send someone who can prevent death. Makes the whole life–death process irrelevant, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not—”
“Try to stay humble, though. I mean, sure, beating death is impressive, but you wouldn’t want to give the impression that everyone who didn’t is some kind of failure.” He looked from side to side, his gaze taking in all the graves that surrounded us. “Just sayin’.”
I sighed. A worthy opponent? He just kicked my ass. “Terrific advice,” I managed. “Anything else?”
“A few things come to mind, but I’d like to stay focused. You mind me asking how you’re going to prevent this death?”
“My colleagues and I are keeping her under guard. And we’re doing our best to figure out who the killer is.”
“Wait. You don’t even know who the killer is?”
“Not … yet.”
“Well, that could be a problem.”
“You think?”
“It’s just my opinion.”
Okay, this guy was used to being finessed. Time to switch tactics. “Look, we both want the same thing—to protect this place. I’m doing what I can with what I’ve been given. Do you have anything to offer besides your opinion?”
“I just might. Follow me.” He launched himself off the cross with another hop, extending his wings so he could glide to the next headstone. I walked briskly after him, head up, back straight. If you’re going to follow someone, always do your best to look like you’ve chosen to do so, not like you’re being led.
We made our way up a rise, then stopped at the top, Eli perching on a small statue of a horse.
What I saw below astonished me.
CHAPTER NINE