Death of a Modern King

by Angela Pepper

  “Ding, ding,” Jessica said, which was her way of ringing the proverbial dinner bell, and we all took our usual seats and dug in.

  The vegetarian chili was delicious, as was the cornbread, which was dotted with hot jalapeno peppers. Logan made a fuss about needing more sour cream and getting his face burned off, and we teased him about being wimpy about spicy foods. It was just the usual teasing we did over dinner, but Logan got quiet and didn’t tease us back. One corner of the cornbread was blackened, and he didn’t say a word to Jessica about her tendency to burn at least one portion of whatever she baked. He liked calling her Pyrocook, but, strangely enough, he didn’t use the term once during dinner.

  When it came time for dessert and eating the flaky apple turnovers from that morning, he excused himself, saying he had to make a few calls and get to bed early.

  “No dessert?” Jessica and I asked in unison.

  He patted his stomach on his way to the dishwasher. “I don’t know how you girls can eat the way you do and not gain an ounce.”

  “We go jogging,” Jessica told him.

  “I know all about your jogging,” he said. “You jog to the bakery to get croissants.”

  She gave him a perplexed look. “Why else would someone jog?”

  He patted her on the head on his way back from the dishwasher. “Thanks for the amazing dinner.” He walked around and gave me a similarly platonic head pat. “And you be more cautious from now on. If a house smells like a dead body, don’t go inside.”

  “Wise words,” I said.

  Logan grabbed the Heavyweight Champion from his perch on the cat tree and gave him another whisker rub before leaving.

  Alone, Jessica and I looked at each other.

  “That was weird,” she said. “You two didn’t talk about case work at all during dinner. I thought that meant today was a personal day.”

  “Me, too. If I’d known I wasn’t going to get any boyfriend time, I would have talked about the case over dinner.”

  “Then I would have stabbed you with a fork to make you shut up about dead bodies while I’m eating.”

  “Sorry about that in general,” I said. “I was good tonight, but I know I drive you crazy sometimes.”

  She got up and grabbed the apple turnovers. We debated warming them up and having them with ice cream. The debate lasted about two seconds.

  We ate our warm turnovers and ice cream on the sofa, in front of the TV. With all the excitement of the last four days, it felt good to do something so normal.

  “Extra jogging tomorrow,” Jessica said as she grabbed us each a second helping.

  “So much jogging,” I agreed. “And one block of lunges.”

  “Totally worth it.”

  At eleven o’clock, Jeffrey’s internal alarm clock went off and he began his parkour routine, using every piece of living room furniture as either an obstacle to scale, jump over, or land on. It was Kitty Playtime Hour.

  Jessica whipped his rainbow snake around for a bit then wandered off to get ready for bed.

  “Bathroom’s free,” she called out on her way to her bedroom.

  I clicked off the living room lights and glanced out at the lawn. I couldn’t see directly into Logan’s place from the front window, but I could tell by the glow on the lawn if his lights were on, and they were. He was still up.

  I grabbed the two turnovers we’d saved for him, slipped on the flip-flops I used for taking out the garbage, and headed for the door. I was careful to not let Jeffrey out. He did plenty of patrolling in the daytime hours and didn’t need to be out at night, making me wake up worried every time I heard something howl or bark.

  The summer-night air was only slightly cooler than the inside of the house. I could feel heat radiating from the stucco exterior wall as I pulled the door shut behind me. Above, the moon glowed warmly. All was peaceful. I gazed at the night sky and tried to make the scene before me into a crisp mental picture sit in front of other images, like a new photo added to the collection on a corkboard.

  I walked over to Logan’s side, my flip-flops making their slap-slap sounds on the walkway.

  I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again, louder. After nearly a minute, a groggy-looking Logan opened it. He wore a pair of elastic-waisted lounging pants and no shirt.

  “Pastry delivery,” I said as I came inside. “You can run, but you can’t hide from the apple turnovers. These ones have your name on them. Well, technically, they just have the letter L, but that’s practically the same thing.”

  “Thank you.” He gave the pastries a weak smile before putting them in his fridge.

  “Sorry I woke you. I saw that the light was on, so I assumed you were awake.”

  “I was so tired, I forgot to switch everything off.” He stretched and rubbed his stomach. The scar on his abdomen reddened under his fingers.

  “Now I feel extra bad about waking you up.” I turned to leave. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  He caught my hand and pulled me to him, almost as though we were dancing. I curled into his embrace.

  I said, “You’re pretty good at this for somebody who doesn’t know how to dance.”

  He gave me a devilish look. “Who said I don’t know how? Just because someone chooses not to do something doesn’t mean they’re inept.”

  I shook my head. “You are such a tease.”

  “What is it about girls and dancing?” His voice sounded strangely lyrical, as if he was singing or dreaming.

  “If you don’t already know why girls are obsessed with dancing, I’m not going to tell you.” I kissed him on the side of his cheek, just above the edge of his beard. “If you need sleep, let’s get you back to bed. I’ll tuck you in and turn off all the lights.”

  He stepped back from me, which only hurt my feelings slightly less than if he’d physically pushed me away. “Thanks, but I really am tired,” he said.

  I snapped back, “Way to make a girl feel wanted.”

  “Stormy, I don’t have the energy right now for this.”

  I bit my lip before I said something else I’d regret, and I headed for the door.

  “Sleep tight,” I said with forced sweetness. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow morning for coffee.”

  “Maybe,” he said, which wasn’t the reassurance I’d been hoping for.

  I kept my back to him as I let myself out.

  Chapter 34

  Since returning to Misty Falls, I had been sleeping well and forgotten what insomnia was like, but that Wednesday night, I had my first sleepless night in ages.

  On Thursday morning, I made some unkind remarks toward my alarm clock—the electronic one, not the one who came in to lick my eyebrows after I’d hit the snooze button three times.

  I finally got up, showered, and got dressed for the day. I told myself the rough night was due to the afternoon nap the day before, and not because of Logan’s cool treatment or the Barber Residence crime scene images featured on the corkboard of my mind.

  In the kitchen, I found the coffeemaker ready to go with a button press. There was a note from Jessica: You looked tired, so I went jogging without you. I won’t be back for a while. I’m going to jog twice as far to burn up some of your calories for you. You’re welcome! P.S. I fed the beast his wet food, so don’t believe his stories.

  I pressed the button for the coffee and checked messages on my phone. Jeffrey pranced around the kitchen meowing, pretending he hadn’t been fed, despite the evidence of half a serving of his food still visible on his plate. After a few minutes of his noisemaking, I picked up the plate, hid it from sight for ten seconds, and set it back down on the floor. He dove into the food immediately.

  Someone knocked on the front door. It was Logan, dressed for work in a stylish gray suit accented with a burgundy tie.

  I called to the cat, “Jeffrey, your lawyer is here. Finally, you can negotiate yourself some better working conditions.”

  Logan caught me off-guard with a kiss that was surprising
ly passionate for so early in the morning, pre-caffeine.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said huskily. “You look well-rested for someone who was running through my dreams all night.”

  I rolled my eyes and waved him in. “Want some scrambled eggs?” I asked, even though I knew he’d already eaten, because he never put on his tie until he’d finished his breakfast.

  “I’m already taken care of,” he said, smiling. “The refrigerator fairy came by last night and left me two apple turnovers. That was very sweet of you, by the way. I wish you would have woken me up so I could thank you properly.”

  “What?”

  He glanced at the coffee pot as it gurgled to completion. “I wouldn’t mind half a cup of that.”

  “Um, sure.” I got two mugs and started pouring. Was he joking about not remembering talking to me the night before? I glanced back to check his face for signs he was pulling my leg. He was focused on his phone, scrolling through what looked like email messages. Unless I’d met Logan’s evil twin from a parallel universe the night before, he must have been tired and basically sleepwalking when I stopped in.

  I joined him at the table, and for the next twenty minutes, we went through our regular weekday morning routine of sipping coffee, both of us reading news, blogs, and emails, and looking up to talk about new books or movies we were interested in. We had trained ourselves to not talk about business over coffee unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “About that refrigerator fairy,” I said.

  “Mmm?” He didn’t look up from his screen.

  “Never mind.” I tried to let go of how I was feeling. For the next five minutes, I told myself that all he’d done was pull away from me at a time when he was so exhausted he wouldn’t even remember it the next morning. But every time I looked at his face, I clenched my fists. I couldn’t stop feeling hurt. My heart didn’t share my brain’s rational thoughts. I’d felt this way before, following a bad dream in which someone did something awful. The memory would fade, but not the hurt.

  “Did something happen?” he asked. “Did you get a bad phone call this morning? You seem a bit off. Is that bruised arm bugging you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “What’s next with the case? Who do you want me to talk to next?”

  “I’ve got everything under control.” He slipped his phone into his pocket and tipped back the last sip of his coffee. “You’re done with the Koenig Estate stuff. Do up an invoice for your time and send it to Corine any time.”

  “You’re firing me? There’s no way this thing is over yet.”

  He looked surprised by my reaction. “Stormy, the police are the ones investigating criminal matters. We aren’t the police.”

  “Then why did you have me interview Erica Garcia in the first place?”

  “To find out if anyone at the house knew about the wedding or the new will.” He used his knuckles to rap on the wooden table. “So far, so good. If the sons knew something was up, they would have started removing valuables from the house by now, and it sounds as though they haven’t.”

  “When do the boys find out about their new stepmother?”

  “At the reading of the will, which is happening in three days.”

  “You’re doing an honest-to-goodness reading? With everyone in the room when you drop the bombshell?”

  He grinned, apparently looking forward to the drama. “It’s not just the most fun way to do it, but also the most practical. Immediately following the reading, Della’s going to lock down the property and contents. The sons will be supervised while they pack up their personal effects.”

  “She’s kicking them out on the street? Out of the family home?”

  “It’s the only way to keep them from plundering the estate.”

  “Wait a minute. Did he will the house and contents to her?”

  “No,” Logan answered.

  “Phew. That would be too much. No offense to your client, but they were barely married a month.”

  He shrugged, a playful twist to his lips.

  I gave him a squinty look. “What are you not telling me?”

  “She’s not getting the house. She’s getting everything. Every. Last. Thing."

  I exhaled a few choice words. “House, contents, cash, investments, everything?”

  “Everything.”

  I was glad to be sitting, so my legs couldn’t buckle under this five-ton revelation.

  “She just inherited a room full of ancient weaponry,” I said.

  “And a mansion with a pool.”

  “How about the jet?” I asked.

  “It’s Della’s plane now. She’ll be flying Air Della.”

  I snorted. “Air Della.”

  “That’s why we’re making the announcement at the reading,” he said. “Besides the big stuff, like the plane, there’s a fortune in the war room collection of artifacts, and that’s just the start of it. Mr. Koenig’s late wife collected paintings, and some of those funny-looking squiggles are worth tens of thousands of dollars each.”

  “And Brandon and Drake get nothing,” I said in disbelief. “They’re not going to be happy.”

  “I wouldn’t expect them to be.”

  “And they’re getting evicted?”

  “Immediately.”

  I sighed. “But it’s their home.”

  “Brandon and Drake are both in their forties,” he said. “It’s about time the baby birds left the nest.”

  “I guess.”

  He glanced over at the living room, where Jeffrey was sunning himself on the sofa. “Since you’re so sympathetic, why don’t you come along to the reading of the will and offer them a couch to bunk on for a few nights?”

  “Very funny,” I said dryly. “But I may take you up on that offer to come to the reading. Do you have security in case things go wrong? I could bring Dad and his cane sword.”

  Logan sat back and winced as his hand went to his stomach.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Sometimes I forget about what happened.” And I did forget, until I saw the scar or watched him react to the memory. The last time we’d set up a dramatic conflict, Logan found himself on the pointy end of the cane sword when a dangerous killer took it from my father. I’d tried to turn my guilt into something useful, to remind myself that my actions had consequences for the people I loved.

  He got up from the chair and glanced at the clock on the stove. “I should get going anyway.”

  “How are things going with the witness from Seattle?”

  “Good and done,” he said. “She’s already gone home, along with the other witness from the hotel. So that’s the end of Saundra, unless she gets that job offer to work at Glorious Gifts—the job your father said he might be able to hook her up with.”

  “That’s Finnegan Day. Always trying to be helpful.” I walked over to the door to say good-bye. “Hey, why didn’t you have me track down the marriage witnesses?”

  He got a twitchy look. “Remember, we needed to keep the whole thing quiet.”

  “What are you saying? I can keep things quiet.”

  “You’re too popular,” he said. “If you left here to go investigate in Seattle, it might have tipped people off. The sons knew Dieter took Della there for a trip recently. Maybe I’m paranoid.” He gave me a sweet look. “Or maybe I’d just miss you too much if you left town for even a day.”

  “A likely story.” I shooed him out the door. “Go to work, lawyer. Do all the lawyering.”

  “And you relax,” he said. “Forget about Koenig things. It’s all over.”

  “It’s all over,” I repeated, nodding, though I didn’t believe it for a second.

  He kissed me good-bye. “See you tonight,” he said, and he was gone.

  I closed the door and sat on the sofa next to Jeffrey. He had one hind paw in the air while he groomed his tummy. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give him a tiny high five. He gave me the you’re-an-idiot look, as usual.

  I grabbed my laptop and caught up on some no
n-Koenig investigation work. After I finished typing up a report for an insurance agency, I called Glorious Gifts to check on everything. Brianna had just arrived and was getting ready to open the store for the day.

  “Boss, people are lurking outside like zombies,” she said.

  “That settles it. If there’s a zombie apocalypse happening today, I’m definitely staying home.”

  “They’re not really zombies, but they are a bit... ghoulish, I suppose. That little goth teenager is out there licking a giant rainbow lollipop.”

  “She’s so weird,” I said. “What do the zombies want?”

  “They want to see the girl who keeps turning up dead bodies. Word on the street is you found another one yesterday. Suicide, I heard. Anyway, maybe you should lie low for a while. Either that or come in and put on a big sale so we make lots of money. When life craps on you, make prune juice.”

  “Brianna, that’s not the saying.”

  “I’m an original,” she said. “Is it true? You found another one?”

  I sighed. “You make me sound like a very dangerous collector, but yes, it’s true. Apparently, it was a suicide. Very sad.”

  “You need to do more things that are interesting and also appropriate for my webcomic.”

  I told her, for the umpteenth time, to leave me out of her webcomic. She promised to do her best while keeping the retail zombies at bay, and she went to open the store.

  After that phone call, I paced the room for a bit. There were a few tasks left in my inbox, but I didn’t want to sit down, let alone spend the rest of the day doing paperwork.

  I put in a call to Officer Kyle Dempsey.