by Neely Powell
“You were in the woods, and Shamus had a rifle. There was a shot.”
“And it was too late. Shamus moved away from the group, trying to keep up with me. Chymera doubled back and took him. By the time we got to him Shamus was dead.” Hunter drew another shaky breath. “His throat was ripped out.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sorry was inadequate. “When did this happen?”
He explained how Chymera had surprised them at the cabin. “It was about six-thirty when he was attacked.”
I was in the church, watching it all unfold just before Shamus was shot. Maybe if I’d shared my vision with Stirling, I could have prevented the tragedy. I wasn’t sure I could tell Hunter that, however, over the phone. I settled on, “I’m coming up there.”
“No, you’re not! Right now, I’m working on getting Nana out of here and in to the city. It isn’t safe.”
“Not for you, either,” I protested. “He’s killed two people now.”
“He won’t kill another.”
“Hunter, please get out of there.”
“Grandda didn’t raise me to walk away from a fight.”
“But you need to think, to plan.”
“Oh, I am,” Hunter said. “I’m planning how he will die.”
He was dead serious. But death was what I feared most for him.
There were voices in the background. “The men are here with a report. I have to go.”
“But what—”
The phone clicked off. I started to call Isobel. She must believe he was being foolish too.
Or maybe she had lived long enough with Fraser MacRae to know what Hunter had to do. I sat holding the phone against my chest as if that would keep the connection alive between us.
I was still sitting there when it rang again. Sure it was Hunter calling back to beg me to come rescue him, I grabbed it but was surprised to hear another male voice on the line. “Hi, Zoe, it’s Mike Scala. How are you?”
“Fine, Detective. Is something wrong?” I was wary. Did he have more information about the man found dead behind the office? The news of Fraser’s death had hit the media, although a hunting accident had been listed as the official cause. Were the police wondering, like I was, why everyone was dying around me and Hunter? Or worse, had they discovered our lie?
“Are Kinley’s girls all right?” I asked.
“As fine as they can be, considering what has happened. Although the oldest one hasn’t said a word since they told her Kinley was dead.” His voice was laced with genuine concern.
“That’s terrible. Kelly’s such a little sweetheart. Maybe I should go see them.”
“That might be a good idea.”
What a nice guy. I could use a man like that in my life. But was this the time to be dating a cop, just when my partner and best friend was planning to kill someone? I needed to end this. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Uh, yeah, actually.” Mike cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you might want to grab a bite to eat tomorrow evening.”
I started to say no, but I couldn’t get the word out. I mean, here I sat alone. My best friend needed me, sure, but he was pushing me away. And did I really blame him?
Hell, I didn’t know anything about hunting half-man, half-beast creatures, and my psychic hotline to Hunter wasn’t ringing in time for me to protect him. For about the hundredth time, I wished for an instruction manual on how to be a shifter’s first line of defense.
But on the other hand, what did any of that have to do with my romantic life? A hot man was on the phone asking me for a date. That was as rare as a good hair day.
“Zoe?” Mike prompted in the silence, sounding nervous. “You still there?”
If nothing else, getting to know Mike would keep me in touch with Kinley’s murder investigation. And be a contact for future cases. “Dinner sounds nice.” We made plans for him to pick me up at seven.
“Unless I catch a case, of course,” Mike said. “That’s the difficult part of homicide. People don’t die from nine to five.”
I said goodbye, praying I wouldn’t also be involved with more dead people tomorrow. It would be a pity to have to tell Mike I was breaking our date to drive to New York and post bail for Hunter.
Chapter 11
Hunter didn’t call back. I wanted to reach out to him again, but I knew he needed some space. Wondering about what was happening at the MacRae estate would drive me insane if I let it. What I needed was work. I didn’t usually sit around doing nothing. So what if I had been home on doctor’s orders. I still felt like a lazy slob.
The mild weather continued on Thursday, and the snow was almost gone. At the office I found our small parking area blocked by a stretch limo. Darla’s car was on the street, but I wasn’t about to do the same. Leaving my car running, I walked over to the driver’s window and rapped it with my knuckles.
The electric window slid down and the driver gave me a bored look.
“You’re in my space,” I said.
“Mr. Howerton told me wait here,” he said.
Howerton, as in Lizzie Howerton? Maybe her father? How interesting.
I pulled my cell phone out and glared at the driver. “If you don’t move this barge in fifteen seconds, I’ll have the police tow it.”
“But Mr. Howerton—”
“Doesn’t own this property. I do.” I pointed to the street. “Move it. If Mr. Howerton can’t walk the additional twenty feet, we’ve got a wheelchair inside.”
I went back to my car and waited while the limo glided down the street. I parked in my usual space and stomped inside. That kind of thing just took the sparkle out of my morning.
Darla met me at the doorway, her entire body tense. “There are two men waiting for you in the conference room,” she whispered. “I offered them coffee but they refused because we didn’t have coffee from Hawaii. They’ve been here about ten minutes and seem pretty angry.”
She handed me Douglas Howerton’s embossed business card. I am psychic—it was Lizzie’s father. I stuffed the card in my pocket and headed for my desk. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”
Enjoying myself as I imagined the men stewing in the conference room, I didn’t rush as I took my things out of my briefcase and checked my schedule on my phone.
“Miss!” a voice boomed from the conference room. “Has Zoe Buchanan arrived?”
I leaned around my cubicle wall and signaled for Darla to say nothing, and then I headed for the back. As I passed the conference room, I stuck my head in. An older man sat beside a bored-looking younger one. They both looked up as I said, “You sure you guys don’t want some coffee? It’s awfully early to discuss things without benefit of caffeine.”
“No, thank you,” the older man said, his voice dripping disdain. “We simply want to get this done.”
“Perhaps you should have shown the courtesy of making an appointment,” I said with a smile. “I’m always here when clients phone ahead of time.”
Douglas Howerton’s mouth gaped. The younger man squirmed in his seat and I wondered if everything he had was puckered as tightly as his lips.
Lizzie’s father was in his late fifties. His gray hair was thin and patchy. He was overweight, though his Italian suit fit him beautifully. Amazing what good tailors can do.
“I’m Zoe Buchanan, by the way,” Instead of rising to greet me, he nodded and didn’t even bother introducing the young man with him. “And you’d be Lizzie’s father. I’ll be right back.”
The elder Howerton grumbled as I went to the break room and fixed my coffee. I also picked up couple of donut holes from the box left on the counter.
In the conference room, Howerton sat at the head of the table with the mousy assistant on his right. I deliberately sat at the other end of the long table.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” I broke one of the little pastries in half and popped it in my mouth.
“I am here to insist that you stop taking advantage of my daughter,” Howe
rton said. “She is a young, vulnerable woman, and you should be ashamed of yourself for taking her money on false pretenses.”
I ate the other half of my donut hole.
“Well,” he bellowed. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I washed the pastry down with coffee and kept my tone mild. “Lizzie hired me to find her sister, the sister you insist she doesn’t have, but one she distinctly remembers having until her third birthday. And since she hired me, she is the only who can break the contract.”
Howerton held out his hand. “Winston.”
The younger man opened a briefcase. He reached inside for a paper he gave the older man.
“This is a check for one hundred thousand dollars,” Howerton said. “That’s what I’m willing to pay you to tell my daughter the truth—that she has no sister.”
“If it’s the truth, why do you need to pay me to tell her? Wouldn’t I eventually discover it on my own?”
Slapping his hand on the table, Howerton shot to his feet. “Young woman, I demand you stop scamming my daughter!”
I also stood, deliberately brushing my jacket back so my gun was visible. “Mr. Howerton, I suggest you sit down and speak quietly if you wish to continue this conversation.”
Though he scowled ferociously, the older man sat. Young Winston went even paler than before. Sometimes, especially with self-important types like this, I loved making like David Caruso from “CSI: Miami.” I only wished I had some aviator sunglasses.
“Now, listen closely,” I said after we sat back down. “I made my agreement with Lizzie, and she’s the only one who can break it. I don’t want your money, and I won’t heed your threats. I fully intend to give Lizzie an answer when I get the right information.”
I looked from one to the other. A muscle twitched under Howerton’s left eye. Faded, squinty brown eyes, I noted. Nothing like Lizzie’s beautiful blue eyes. Young Winston couldn’t even look at me.
“Now, is there anything else?” I picked up my second donut hole and broke it in half.
Howerton’s face was almost burgundy with fury. I’d hate to think what his blood pressure was. “This is the best offer you’re going to get.”
“I didn’t ask for an offer. I want the truth for Lizzie. What I’m wondering is why it’s worth so much to you to keep me from finding it.”
“Good God,” Howerton muttered as he shoved himself to his feet. “Lizzie’s got you believing these delusions of hers.”
“Anything worth a hundred grand from you must be a secret worth finding.” Dramatic pause. “Considering your current financial situation.”
He looked like he wanted to rip into me with his bare fists. Winston was actually trembling. But instead of taking a swing at me, Howerton snatched up his overcoat and strode out of the room. His minion scampered behind, struggling with the check, his briefcase, and coat.
I leaned back in my chair and called, “You might want to give your driver a call. I had him move the car out of my way, so he’s probably been circling the block.” My only answer was the slam of the front door.
As I headed for my office, Darla and I shared a satisfied glance and a chuckle.
“What an unpleasant man.” She handed me a couple of file folders.
“Hopefully he won’t be back.”
Darla dismissed the pair, more concerned about Hunter, when he would be returning to the office, and how he was coping with his grandfather’s death. She adored her boss and wanted to do something special for him when he returned. It wasn’t easy to be honest with Darla. I mean, how was I supposed to explain that Hunter wouldn’t be back for a while because he was plotting how to get rid of a half-human cretin? Darla was pretty sophisticated, but I didn’t know if she was ready to learn about one of her employer’s supernatural abilities.
Instead I switched the subject to Hunter’s current cases and asked how Brad was doing. She said he was in court and would be all day, but he and Hunter had discussed everything active.
“I’m caught up on all my work,” Darla added. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
I thought for a minute and hit on a great idea. I wanted to work all day, but I also needed to go to Manhattan. I planned to visit Kinley’s little girls this afternoon at Lydia’s. I’d missed the funeral so I wanted to take the girls something special.
I asked Darla if she’d mind making a shopping trip for me.
“Are you kidding?” she said with a laugh. “Shopping in New York on somebody else’s dime? I’m there. What do you need?”
“I want a couple of those beautiful stuffed animals from FAO Schwartz. I’ll give you my credit card so it shouldn’t be a problem.” I reached for my purse. “I want a cat and a dog, two really pretty ones, not too big, but not too small either. Can you take care of that?”
“Sure.” Darla grabbed my card.
She left and I dug out Lizzie’s file. As I was reading my notes, my thoughts wandered to Hunter too often to concentrate. Unable to resist the urge, I called him. When he didn’t answer, I called the estate again.
The person who answered identified himself as Evan. I didn’t recognize his voice and didn’t appreciate his tone as he informed me that Hunter was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.
“This is his partner, Zoe Buchanan.”
“He cannot be disturbed,” he repeated.
I frowned. “I’m sure he would speak with me.”
“His father gave me my instructions.”
Stirling left instructions. That explained why I was being cut off. I sighed. But, starved for information, I said, “When is Shamus’s funeral?”
If anything, Evan’s tone became even more guarded. “I’m sure Mr. MacRae will give you the details soon. I’ll tell him you called.”
Just like that, I was left holding the phone. “And thank you very much,” I said.
I had to put this mess out of my mind. I took a call from Brad about a divorce case Hunter and I had worked last month, and then I turned my attention back to Lizzie Howerton. This job felt more urgent after my two visitors this morning.
Today I focused my Internet search on Charles and Elaine Hayden, the doctor and nurse who owned the Hayden Clinic where Lizzie was born. I followed up on every lead I discovered. Charles died in 1993, but Elaine was still alive and living in their New York apartment in The San Remo, a historic building that overlooked Central Park. The Haydens moved there when they’d retired.
I checked The San Remo out on the Internet and recognized it immediately. Its famous twin towers loom above Central Park. The Haydens shared space with famous neighbors like Tiger Woods, Bono, and Glen Close. The lovely Rita Hayworth spent her last years there.
The Hayden Clinic had been a favorite among the elite women in the New York area. The elegant birthing hospital just outside Manhattan in Secaucus was a state-of-the-art obstetrical center in its heyday. The doctors, among the best in the country, were pioneers of many of the fertility options used today.
I knew the first American test-tube baby was born in 1981 and the fertility industry—a profit-motivated enterprise—had been growing steadily ever since. There were many people who opposed the practice of creating humans in labs instead of sperm meets egg during sexual intercourse. Of course there was always the fear that kind of influence would create a kind of mad scientist with a god complex.
In a way, I guess, that was a valid fear. Dr. Hayden was remembered by many parents as a saint who gave them the children of their dreams. But could he have been involved in something sinister? I definitely needed to explore that option.
According to an announcement in the New York Times, Elaine had remarried. A few clicks of the mouse gave me a phone number in her new husband’s name. I called and got a maid who said Mr. and Mrs. Richards were unavailable. I left a polite message for her to call and referenced Lizzie Howerton’s birth at the Hayden Clinic. Hanging up, however, I was none too sure the maid even understood, and I was frustrated.
; “Dammit,” I said to the silent office. I needed a genuine lead, any kind of lead. Whatever Douglas Howerton was willing to pay to hide could be found.
I began another Internet search, trying to find out if Elaine Hayden Richards owned any other properties. Hours sped by as I searched for clues, learning more about the Haydens, test-tube babies, and the Howertons than I would probably ever use. But nothing pointed to a hidden second daughter.
Could Douglas be right? Was Lizzie just a vulnerable woman grieving her mother’s death? Maybe she just yearned for family other than an uptight father.
I was surprised to see it was almost three o’clock when Darla came back to the office toting an array of shopping bags. I hoped most of those purchases were on her credit card, not mine.
“Looks like you bought out FAO Schwartz.”
Darla gave a short laugh and reached for two bags in the back. “These are yours. The rest are mine. I couldn’t resist the sales.”
I pulled out two plush furry animals. I rubbed the adorable chocolate Labrador puppy and the gray striped tabby kitten. “These are so cute. Thanks so much. I can take them by this afternoon.”
Darla handed me another small bag. “This is from me to Kelly and Claire. I went to the funeral, but they were so upset, I didn’t try to speak to them. Tell them I’m thinking about them both.”
“That was so sweet of you.”
I looked at my watch. If I left now, I’d have time to see the girls and get home to freshen up before Mike came by at seven. Darla said she’d lock up and I was sure it would be within the next thirty minutes, but I found I didn’t care.
As I drove down the tree-lined streets, I remembered the determination and fierce love in Kinley’s face as she had talked about her girls and their future. Now it was up to Hunter and me to see her wishes were honored. Eric’s abusive past and his being a person of interest in Kinley’s murder should ensure Kelly and Claire stayed with their aunt and uncle.
There was a hearing next week about temporary custody. I hoped Hunter would be here to handle it. Brad was an excellent attorney, but this was personal.
I was getting the shopping bags when the front door opened and a bundle of energy bounded down the steps.