A Shade of Midnight

by Renee George

  A few agonizing minutes passed, and finally, Mina answered, I want you too.

  * * * *

  Mina raced home, showered and changed. No matter how much she loofahed, she couldn’t scrub off the guilt of having sex with Eric. Even worse, she couldn’t stop thinking about how much she wanted to do it again and again. How did she keep getting into these situations with the wrong kind of men—the type who wanted a long-term commitment? For someone who’d taken a vow to keep her love life casual, she couldn’t have picked two worse candidates to hook up with. Gav wanted a life mate, and Eric was practically family. She couldn’t ditch family after a one-night stand. Right?

  She just needed to focus less on relationship woes and more on the case. “I am a badass,” she mumbled as she got into a cab outside her apartment. Her comment drew a strange look from the driver.

  “Don’t judge me,” she told him. “Drop me at the Heston.” If she could find the note, the one that had taken Eric to the crime scene, it might be the first step to proving his innocence.

  Skipping the front desk, Mina went straight to housekeeping. An elderly man, his hair silver and slicked back, loaded his cleaning cart. He had on blue coveralls, unzipped to the waist and the sleeves tied around his hips. The faded tattoo of a rifle crossed with a knife over a skull on his upper right arm marked him as ex-military, and by his age, most likely a Vietnam vet. Surprisingly, Mina didn’t feel any anger or resentment, only a methodical determination as he lined up stacked paper towels and disinfectant sprays.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  He started at her voice. His pale green eyes assessed her. “I’m sorry, miss. Didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”

  “I was here last night for an event, and I’m afraid I lost something important. It might have been thrown away.”

  “That’s too bad. I’m afraid the trash from last night has already been tossed into the bins.”

  Mina inwardly groaned at her bad luck. “Do you know when pick-up is?”

  He raised his wiry brow. “Not until Wednesday, but there’s a lot of trash.”

  “If you could point me in the right direction.” She glanced at his blue coveralls. “Do you have an extra jumpsuit and some gloves?”

  The old man shook his head but smiled. “You are a determined lady.”

  “You bet.” When he handed her a clean set of work clothes and a handful of latex gloves, Mina took his rough, calloused hand in hers. “I appreciate your help, sir.”

  “Sam,” he replied.

  “Sam,” Mina acknowledged. “If I find what I’m looking for, I’m going to owe you a cup of coffee.”

  “And an explanation?”

  Mina laughed. “And an explanation.”

  “I’m here five days a week, Sunday through Thursday.”

  She held up the clothes and nodded. “Thanks again, Sam.”

  “You might not be thanking me after you start digging around out there.”

  He hadn’t been kidding. When Mina rounded the corner to the Dumpsters at the back of the hotel, the amazingly pungent stench made her gag. She started with the first on in the line and tore into multiple white trash bags. The stench was amazingly strong. It rivaled boiled cabbage and beer farts. She took some facial tissue from her purse and stuffed two wads up her nostrils.

  The first couple of bags were filled with paper towels, napkins, stale cigarette butts, ashes, business cards, half-eaten appetizers, and other items, but no note.

  When she ripped into the fifth bag and turned it out, a long silvery cylinder nearly landed in her lap. Mina picked it up before she realized what it was—a stainless steel metal vibrator. “Ack!” she squeaked, dropping it back onto the pile.

  Screw it. Time to go home, take a hot, hot bath and sterilize her skin, and then come back later with a biohazard suit and a gas mask.

  A homeless woman dressed in layers of shirts and two coats popped her head over the top of the Dumpster just as Mina climbed out.

  “My territory, bitch,” the old vagrant said in a gravelly smoker’s voice. Her dirty face pinched up. “Go find your own stash!”

  Mina got out and brushed off her jeans. “Pardon me. Didn’t realize you had a prior claim.”

  The bag lady picked up a sack, ripped into the side with her teeth, and pulled out the trash a little at a time. “Yessiree, this is Helma’s treasure. Everyone knows that. Mine and no one else’s.”

  Mina got the distinct impression Helma wasn’t talking to her anymore.

  “Bottle,” the bag lady said, tossing an empty wine bottle into her shopping cart. She unfolded a piece of paper. She crumpled it up. “Trash.” She threw it on the ground in front of the cart.

  Mina scooped it up. A note! Some of the words were smudged with chocolate sauce—at least, she hoped it was chocolate sauce. It said, “Call me. XXOO, Marcia” with a small heart to dot the “i” then listed a phone number. Damn it.

  “Drop my treasure, thief!” Helma screeched.

  “You said it was trash.”

  “Treasure!” she insisted.

  Mina shook her head and dropped the note. No sense in getting her all worked up.

  “Skunk tried to steal my stuff. I run it off, but good.” Helma cackled through a toothless grin. “Now go on! Scat.”

  “Skunk?” She scanned the area.

  “Skunk went. Old Helma gave it a good whack.” The old bag lady held up her fist. “Gonna whack the tower too if it doesn't get its skinny ass out of Helma’s territory.”

  The tower? It dawned on Mina the woman was talking about her. Then skunk… She remembered the white streak in the guy at the bar’s hair. Maybe… “When did you see the skunk, Helma?”

  “How do you know my name?” She pointed a bony finger. “You’re a warden. You’ve come to take me, haven’t you?” She began to croon, then roar.

  Mina saw a ripple under Helma’s skin and blanched. She was some kind of other worlder. “The wardens no longer exist.” Before Mina had been an assassin, she’d been a warden enforcer in service to a mad king. She knew firsthand the fear her kind had of wardens. She didn’t always agree with the new queen, but dissolving the group had been the right thing to do.

  “Take me away, take me away. I knew it. Watching me.” She beat her fists against her face. “It said it would be watching me.”

  “It? Who? The man. The skunk?”

  Helma’s head snapped up, her eyes had turned a milky yellow. “The crescent betrayer controls the snake who strikes from behind.” Her withered and gnarled hand flew up in front of Mina’s face. “You have been given hope, aural. Embrace the gift of Qetesh or perish.” Her irises cleared to pale blue. Her eyes widened, and her hand shook as she pointed at Mina. “You’re here to make me gone.”

  She’d heard of Qetesh in her training as a warden. Supposedly, the Egyptian goddess was the being from which all aurals were descended. Had Helma guessed Mina’s lineage? “What are you talking about? Who is the betrayer?”

  “You’re crazy,” the old woman shouted. She jammed her index finger against the side of her head, poking at her weather-beaten skin. “Crazy.”

  Mina stepped back from Helma. She didn’t want to hurt her, and it was obvious she had gone into a trance. She’d gone to see a seer once before, and Helma’s ramblings were on par for her kind. Non-nonsensical gobblety-gook that sounded ominous, dangerous, and undecipherable. Mina reached out to her.

  “It’s okay. I won’t harm you.”

  Helma jumped and started swinging her fists. “Don’t touch me! Don’t disappear me,” She cried.

  Mina took a deep breath. She needed to stick with the real world stuff. “Do you remember the man with the white in his hair? The one you called Skunk?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Tell me and you can have this. More treasure for Helma.”

  She put her hands over her ears and crouched low. “Don’t say my name, not out loud. There’s power in a name. There’s power. But I got away from t
he skunk, I did.”

  “Last night?”

  “The lights were flashing, noise wailing.” She made a siren sound. “Now get.”

  Dropping the twenty on the cart, Mina walked toward the gate of the tall privacy fence. Helma had seen the man from the bar run out the back of the hotel when the police came. One more clue that didn’t amount to much. At least not yet.

  Chapter 8

  The cab driver made sour faces at her all the way back to her apartment. Mina tipped him well. He deserved it. It was the quickest ride she’d ever had from any taxi service. Granted, the smell of “eau de garbage” had probably compelled him to step on the gas, but he was tactful enough not to mention it.

  After showering, she put on a green nightshirt and settled on the couch with a mug of herbal tea. She’d gone beyond tired.

  Where and who was this missing witness? The guy was a ghost. She wanted to call Gav—she always wanted to call Gav—but he wouldn’t willingly tell her anything about the case. Even if he hadn’t been pissed at her about the whole unable-to-commit-seeing-other-guys thing, he was tight-lipped about work.

  Instead, she called her business partner Bobby Porter. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mina.”

  “I need your help.”

  “Murder case at the Heston Hotel?”

  Simultaneously, they both said, “Stokes.” John Stokes and Bobby went way back.

  “So he called you.”

  “I asked him to let me know if you ever got into trouble without me. You know how I hate to be left out.”

  “His husband Ritchie doesn’t mind that you both keep in touch.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Sure. Now.” Bobby and John had been lovers at one time, but Bobby had a few kinks John couldn’t abide, like the fact that Bobby liked vagina as much as he liked dick. He was a true-blue, dyed-in-the-wool bisexual, and John was gay. She’d stayed friends with John after the breakup, but she hadn’t realized he and Bobby still talked.

  “So, this help that you need,” Bobby said, smoothly changing the subject.

  “I have a ghost I need you to track down. A guy from the gala last night.”

  “Got a name.”

  “If I did, he wouldn’t be a ghost.”

  “Fair enough. Deets.”

  “About five-ten, short dark hair with a white patch in the front, medium build. Other than the white patch, he’s pretty non-descript.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He talked to the dead guy and after, he argued with Tobias Tolliver, a Samson exec, at the bar last night. He is also the guy who found Eric Bishop over the body in the bathroom. Beyond that, he’s disappeared and no one seems to know who the hell he is. According to Stokes, Tolliver told the police he had no recollection of the man. No witnesses either, except for me and the murder suspect.”

  “Got it. I’ll go down to the hotel first thing in the morning and get some video from last night pulled.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I know a guy.”

  Mina chuckled. “Of course you do. Call me when you know something.”

  “You got it.” He paused for a moment. “You sound exhausted, Mina. Get some rest.”

  “Good advice.” And without a goodbye, she ended the call. She planned to talk to Tobias Tolliver the next day, but tonight, her work was done.

  * * * *

  “She is dangerous,” Tobias said. “If she doesn’t know anything, then why is she coming here?”

  “Calm yourself,” Aalia said, feeling waves of anger and indignation emanating from Tolliver. “She can read your emotions, but she can’t read your mind. Mina Vail knows nothing more than the police. Keep your cool. Even if Eric Bishop doesn’t go down for Samuel’s murder, he will never be trusted by the board again. They’ve already started talking about revoking his partnership.”

  “I think you underestimate Ms. Vail. I’ve done some research on her, and she’s very capable.”

  “I know all about Mina Vail,” Aalia snapped.

  She was tired of being questioned by this human. He suffered from an arrogance born of privileged wealth. He’d surrounded himself with sycophants who laughed at his bad jokes, supported his politics, and agreed with every opinion he stated as if it were fact. If she wanted to keep the money coming in, though, she had to appease him. At least for now. She circled his desk, leaned down and brushed his lips with a kiss meant to seduce. Entice.

  “I have plans for Ms. Vail. Don’t worry. I promise you she will be taken care of.” And when Aalia ascended she promised herself she would make Tolliver pay for his superciliousness.

  * * * *

  At seven in the morning, Mina’s phone alarm went off with a consistently loud and annoying ring tone that sounded like nuclear alarm bells. She bolted upright and grabbed her gun from the coffee table. When she realized there was no attack, she put down the pistol, grabbed her phone and swiped the alarm off. The last thing she remembered was watching The Terminator before she’d passed out on the couch.

  Mina had an eight-thirty appointment with Tobias Tolliver, and if she was late, she might not get another shot at the man.

  An hour later, she was downtown at Samson Technologies. The receptionist tap-tapped her way through Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off” while Mina waited on Tobias Tolliver in the lobby of Samson Technologies. Would Tolliver murder Wilson and pin it on Eric for being his wife’s paramour? It seemed a long shot since it made more sense for Tolliver to just kill Eric.

  The hotel had given Bobby a list of names for the waiters working that night and none of them had been the guy who’d brought the note to their table. So much for corroborating witnesses. Bobby called and told her a contact in the IRS was suspicious of certain accounts handled by Tolliver and Wilson, but they didn’t have any proof. The numbers added up.

  Even Bobby and his connections were coming up short. She wasn’t any closer to figuring out who killed Wilson and why, and why they’d tried to frame Eric. The door opened to Tobias Tolliver’s office and, lo and behold, Kathleen Albright and her perky breasts walked out. The blonde woman’s blue eyes were pinched in annoyance as she crossed the lobby without even a glance at Mina.

  Bitch. The energy pitching back at Mina told her the feeling was entirely mutual.

  The receptionist stopped tapping and rolled her eyes. “Mr. Tolliver will see you now.”

  “Thanks,” Mina said.

  Tobias Tolliver, still looking very Sean Connery behind his large marble desk, barely acknowledged Mina’s presence in the room.

  “Mr. Tolliver, I know you don’t know me, but I’m Mina…”

  A derisive grunt from deep in his chest cut Mina off. “I know who you are, Ms. Vail. You are an only child, father abandoned you, mother unknown…” He shrugged. “Well, we won’t discuss such a sensitive topic. You own a private security agency, and you’re—”

  Mina cut Tolliver off. The part about her mother was enough to know he’d done some heavy research into her background. However, he didn’t seem to know her biggest secret. Good thing or she’d have to kill him.

  Kidding.

  But not.

  “I get the picture. You know who I am.” She met his deep brown eyes. “I have a few questions about the night of the party, if you don’t mind.” She noticed a folder on his desk with a serpent curled into a half-moon inside a triangle.

  When she leaned forward for a closer look, Tolliver slid the file off the desk and placed it in a drawer. His eyes crinkled and lips pressed into a thin line. “Actually, Ms. Vail, I mind very much. I have already given my statement to the police.”

  Mina had expected irritation, maybe even anger, but the emotion she got from Tobias Tolliver was something totally unexpected. The man was amused. Amused!

  “Maybe I’ll have a question or two you haven’t answered.”

  “What could you possibly ask, Ms. Vail?”

  “Do you believe Eric killed Samuel Wilson?”

  “
Asked and answered.”

  This was getting her absolutely nowhere. She tried a different tactic. “How did it feel walking in on your wife making love to Eric Bishop?”

  Tolliver’s head snapped up sharply. “How dare you…”

  Ha, ha! The amusement drained from him then and anger took over.

  “I dare. You better believe I dare, mister. So, we can talk about your wife, or we can talk about this case. Either way, I’m cool with it.”

  “I can have you thrown out of the building.”

  “Yes. Yes, you can. But then I’ll go right down to the newspaper and have myself a nice little talk with a reporter about the affair. While it won’t help Eric’s case, it will certainly be print worthy. Scandals always are.”

  “What do you want, Ms. Vail?”

  “I told you, some answers.”

  There was still the undercurrent of anger, but outwardly, he relaxed. “I have no idea what I can tell you, but ask your questions.”

  “Did you talk with Wilson the night of the murder?”

  “No.” His emotions didn’t fluctuate. Mina was using them as a makeshift lie detector and the first response was True.

  “Do you know why anyone would want to kill Wilson?”

  “No.” This time there was a ripple. False.

  “Come on, Mr. Tolliver. What are you not telling me?”

  “Samuel wasn’t the easiest man to get along with, but I don’t know of anyone who would kill him. Other than Bishop.” Partial truth.

  “And why would Eric want to kill him?”

  “He’s your boyfriend. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “He’s not my boy—never mind. Who was the man with the white streak in his hair you were talking with at the party?”

  “I have no idea of whom you speak.” Not only did his emotions jump, his entire body tensed.

  Ding, ding, ding. Liar. “I saw him talking to Wilson and you that night, Mr. Tolliver.”