“So that ranger seemed awfully interested in talking to you.” I found the gauze and a bottle of water and laid them on the bed next to Gypsy.
“He can bite me,” Anthony snapped.
I returned the rest of my junk to the pouch and scratched Gypsy’s neck, smiling at the way she pressed into the gesture. “I heard you mention a dead body. And you knew the dead man’s name. I take it you didn’t like him?”
“Dale was sick, the biggest asshole in the whole damn building. He kicked Gypsy. He calls animal control on her at least twice a week. I know them by name now—Frank and Chris. They know damn well Gypsy’s no wolf, and she’s no danger to anyone. After a few months of Dale’s harassment, now, when he calls them, they come by for a beer and talk about what a total dick that guy is.”
He smiled, an ugly expression that raised gooseflesh on my arms.
“Well, what kind of guy he was,” he amended. The smile broadened. “I heard he was eaten by a coyote or something. I hope he was alive through the worst of it.”
He meant it. He meant it in a way that threatened to bring up the mints I’d had on the way over. I unwrapped Gypsy’s bloody bandages, examining her leg as I rinsed away the dried blood. “Eaten by a coyote? What gave you that idea?”
He stroked Gypsy’s back. “The kid that walks Gypsy found the body. He called me.”
My heart pounded, and I used the bottled water to clean her wounds as best I could. “Where were you when he called you?”
Suspicion tightened the lines around Anthony’s eyes, and his hand stilled in Gypsy’s fur. “What did you say your name was again?”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed again. I jumped.
“Who is that?” Anthony’s voice lost its friendly tone. He sat up, looking much more like the very angry man I’d first seen in the hallway and less like the placid puppy owner of moments ago. Gypsy stirred, a whine trickling from her mouth. She pressed her head against Anthony’s chest, pushing her head under the hand that had been scratching her behind the ear.
I ignored my phone, dipped inside myself for my magic, and let it spill into my words in a flow of violet energy. I could stick with my original lie, use magic to push past the suspicion in his voice, but that would be less effective if I wanted to ask more questions. Time for the truth, with just enough magic to smooth the transition. “My name is Shade Renard. I’m a private investigator.”
Rage filled Anthony’s eyes, but I rushed to finish before he could speak.
“I’m sorry I misled you, but it was necessary. I needed to know how you really felt about Oliver Dale.”
“Why?” Anthony demanded.
I met his eyes. “I was hired by a woman who asked me to prove Oliver Dale tried to kill her dog.”
Anthony froze. “What?”
“I can’t share names because of confidentiality, but she lives near the building where Oliver Dale works—used to work. She says he was feeding her dog poisoned treats. Nothing strong enough to kill her outright, but enough to make her sick. Sick enough that she’d eventually die.”
Gypsy succeeded in pressing her head into Anthony’s palm, and he leaned back against the headboard, resuming the ear scratching. “Sounds like him.” He studied my face, eyes still narrowed. “Why did you lie?”
My phone buzzed again. Again I ignored it. “I’ve been having an awful time getting people to open up to me. Oliver Dale intimidated people, and most of them won’t say anything against him for fear of retaliation.” I petted Gypsy’s head, scratching behind her right ear. “I’m sorry I lied, but I thought if I could convince you to let me in, then maybe you’d answer some questions about Oliver Dale. And besides, I really can make Gypsy feel better.”
The charm I was using to make myself more convincing wasn’t a heavy magic, more of a soft persuasion. Fortunately, Anthony’s hatred of Oliver Dale, and my claim to be investigating the dead dog-hater for animal abuse, brought him just enough to my side that the magic did the rest of the work. His brow softened, the suspicion melting away. “I can understand that, I guess.”
I sighed and wrapped clean bandages around Gypsy’s leg. I’d healed the wound, so the bandages were no longer necessary, but I couldn’t very well tell Anthony I’d used magic to heal her in seconds. “The police don’t even believe my client. They said since she’s never seen Oliver give her dog the treat, they can’t do anything about it. She’s sure it was him, though, so she called me. I talked to the people at the vet to see if they’d had any other complaints against him. I was there when Gypsy came in, and I heard them read your address on her tag. I figured you live in the same building as Oliver Dale, and you have a dog, so maybe you’d know…”
“Yeah.” Anthony snorted. “The cops never believed Dale was a monster, but they’d come banging on my door if something happened.” He leaned closer, and only a sudden move from Gypsy made him stop before shoving his face into mine.
“Dale was evil. Not just an asshole, but really evil. He dressed nicer than me, hid his shit behind a fancy suit, but the truth is, you’d be better off walkin’ with me down a dark alley than that guy.”
The scent of sweat and blood combined with the unique metallic-grease combination of a mechanic’s shop filled my senses from Anthony’s nearness, and I resisted the urge to lean away. “It sounds like he did more than call animal control on your dog. More than kick her.”
“He did this.” He gestured at Gypsy’s bandaged leg.
“You think he did this to Gypsy? How do you know?” I sat a little straighter. “If you saw him do this, then that would help me with my case against him. Were you at the park when it happened?”
“No. I tried to get in the park to find her after Greg called me about Dale, but some bitch cop sent me home.” His jaw tightened. “I told her Dale was gonna hurt Gypsy. Bastard chasin’ her into the forest like he was gonna help find her. He wouldn’t piss on Gypsy if she was on fire. I tried to explain that to the ranger, but the bitch wouldn’t listen. Told me to go home, she’d handle it.”
If I hadn’t been staring at him, I’d have missed it. The moment when the anger in his eyes flickered, and I saw what lay behind it. Fear.
“You believe he chased after Gypsy so he could hurt her. You believe he did this.”
“Not hurt her,” Anthony said tensely. “Kill her. Dale hated her, hated her more than any man should ever hate a dog that’s never done a thing to him.” He shook his head. “Everyone’s always watchin’ me, thinkin’ I’m gonna lash out and hurt someone. But Dale… No one saw it but me. They saw he was an asshole, yeah, but the evil, the violence…” He pulled Gypsy closer to him, and she didn’t whimper, just pressed harder against him, as if she sensed he needed comfort. “Me and Gypsy saw it.”
“You followed him.” It wasn’t a question. “When Greg called you and told you Dale bolted after Gypsy, you went to the park looking for him.”
“Damn straight I did. What was I gonna do, stand there like some coward while that monster killed my dog?” His voice broke on the last word, but he ignored it. “I went into that park to save Gypsy. And I would have found her before she got hurt, too, if that cop hadn’t made me leave.”
“So you weren’t in the park when Gypsy got hurt, or when Oliver was killed. Where’d you go?”
Anthony frowned. “Why?”
I petted Gypsy again. “If it had been me, and it was my dog out there with a man I thought meant to kill her…I wouldn’t have left.”
Anthony studied me for a long time. “You remind me of that lady cop,” he said finally. “You’re nice to Gypsy, and you talk like you understand me, like you feel bad for what happened to my dog and what I’m going through. But you think it was me. Just because I got a record, I’m the one that killed the bastard.”
“You have a record?”
Anthony didn’t flinch. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. It doesn’t matter now anyway. Dale’s dead, and I didn’t kill him, no ma
tter what the cops say.”
“I’m sure they don’t think you killed him. I mean, you said yourself, the cop made you leave. So you weren’t even there. Do you have an alibi, someone that can tell the cops beyond a doubt that you weren’t there when it happened?”
His stare had the same cold weight as the barbells in the living room. “You sure you’re not with the cops?”
I held my ground. “I told you, I’m a private investigator. My client—”
“Your client said Dale was poisoning her dog. But he’s dead now, so she can stop worrying. Right?”
Frustration pulled my skin tight. “I’ll never get the chance to prove Oliver Dale was hurting my client’s dog. And it might be petty, but that pisses me off. I don’t want this guy’s death to fall on another dog owner he tortured. Let me help you.”
“Help me?” Anthony scoffed. “What do I need your help for?”
“Based on everything I’ve seen and everything you’ve said, you’re a perfect suspect for Oliver Dale’s murder. I can help you prove your innocence.”
My charm was still active, still working against Anthony’s defenses to make me more believable. But it was obvious he wasn’t a trusting man at the best of times, and it was a simple, subtle spell. I couldn’t make him trust me.
“You helped my dog,” he said. “I got no beef with you. Get out now.” He jabbed a finger at the floor near the door. “And take the bitch ranger’s sweatshirt with you.”
I stood from the bed, knowing an out when it’d been offered to me. I picked up the sweatshirt he’d mentioned, wincing at the amount of blood soaked into the cartoon drawing of angel wings around the letters NOHS. I pointed to Gypsy, who had opened her eyes to watch me get off the bed. “She’s going to be okay. She’s a strong dog.”
“I know.” He scratched Gypsy behind the ears, studying me. “I drove back to my shop to make sure I locked up. When I left the park. No one saw me, though.”
So no alibi. I pulled out a card and laid it on the foot of the bed. “Call me if you decide you want my help. No charge.”
I left without another word. Liam was exiting Oliver Dale’s apartment as I closed Anthony’s door behind me, skimming the text messages I’d ignored inside.
Liam didn’t seem happy. Without a word, he took in the bloody sweatshirt in my arms, his nostrils flaring. Then he made a gesture for me to follow him and stormed down the hall to the stairs that led to the ground floor.
“He has a strong motive and no alibi,” I started conversationally. “He says Greg called him when Oliver took off after Gypsy. He left his shop to find them, but Emma sent him home. Then he says he went back to his shop to make sure he locked up, but there’s no one to vouch for him.”
Liam halted as soon as his foot hit the floor of the lobby. I almost ran into him, but managed to stop myself. He faced me with his arms crossed, aura flaring around him like a heat wave. “You ignored my texts.”
“One asking for the alibi—which I just told you he doesn’t have—and three messages ordering me to get out of the apartment. Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” I put my phone away. “He loves that dog. You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats animals.”
“You can tell a lot by how he treats people, too.” Liam gripped the edge of the banister at the bottom of the stairs, biceps bunching as he squeezed. “He’s got a temper, and he’s not shy about it.”
“Point taken.” I looked back up the stairs toward the hall we’d just left. “Did the manager come by to let you in Oliver Dale’s apartment?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and took a step back up the stairs. “I should have a peek while we’re here. I might find something useful.”
Liam pivoted and headed straight for the exit. “I already searched it while you had your little chat with Mr. Catello. There’s nothing but a bunch of medals and trophies.”
Irritation pinched the corners of my eyes, and I debated going to check out the apartment without the cranky werewolf. I discarded the idea, though. Given his mood, I had no doubt Liam would leave without me, and I didn’t want to lose daylight having to walk back to the reservation. I gritted my teeth and followed after him. “What kind of medals?” I asked.
Liam snorted. “Mostly high school. Apparently, Oliver Dale was North Olmsted’s golden boy. Star quarterback. That guy saved every trophy he ever got.” He paused before opening the door to his SUV. “I saw a trophy in there from his Pee-Wee team.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So not a humble man.”
“I’d say not. There wasn’t a single picture of friends or family. Just Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, and all things demonstrating the glory of Oliver.”
I was about to point out that if he’d hold his horses long enough for me to look inside, I might find something, but before I could speak, he gestured to the sweatshirt.
“Is there a reason you’re holding bloody clothes?”
I blinked. “What? Oh, this.” I wrinkled my nose. “Anthony…requested that I return this to Emma. I guess she used it to wrap Gypsy after she found her.”
The wind picked up, reminding me that winter hadn’t completely yielded to spring, whatever the calendar might say. I shivered and got in the SUV. Liam dug around in the back seat then climbed behind the wheel again.
“Here,” he said, handing me a large plastic evidence bag. “I don’t need my vehicle smelling like blood for the next week.”
I kept my door open a crack as I stuffed the crusted sweatshirt into the plastic. “Why don’t you want me to see Oliver’s apartment?” I asked.
He turned and opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. “Why are you holding your door open?”
The plastic crackled as I tucked the bag on the floor by my feet. “I’m waiting for Peasblossom.”
As if saying her name had summoned her, Peasblossom darted through the part in the door and landed on my head.
“I’m back!” she announced. She crossed her arms and looked at Liam. “You weren’t going to leave without me, were you?”
“No.”
The alpha’s tone made his feelings on the matter clear, and I spoke up before Peasblossom could take offense. “Did you hear anything useful?”
She plunked down on my shoulder, kicking her legs as she talked. “Lots of people doing that double-talk thing.”
“What double-talk?” Liam asked.
“You know, where they say one thing, but their face says another? Lots of people talking about ‘poor Oliver’ and the ‘horrible’ thing that happened to him, but they’re all smiling.”
Liam started the SUV and eased out of the parking space, heading for the main road. I leaned back against my seat and drummed my fingers on the armrest of my door.
“There has to be someone who didn’t hate him,” I said.
“Not that I found.” Peasblossom lay down on her stomach, wings fanning the air and tickling the fine hairs at the back of my scalp with a light breeze. “No one seems to care that he’s dead.” She stilled, tilting her head. “Well, except for Mother Hazel. She cared enough to offer you that deal, so she obviously has some sort of stake in his death.”
“Deal?”
I winced at the sharp tone of Liam’s voice. Blood and bones, I hadn’t intended to tell him that part.
“Shade, what deal is she talking about? You didn’t mention any deal.”
“It’s not relevant,” I said calmly. “It’s between me and my mentor.” I raised a hand to cut off his protest. “But if you must know, my mentor would prefer I restrict my duties to those of a village witch.”
The vein in Liam’s temple throbbed, his aura inching up a few degrees. “She doesn’t approve of your private investigating?”
“No, she does not. However, I believe I’ve convinced her that’s there’s no changing my mind.”
“And the deal?”
I fought the urge to roll my window down a few inches to help disperse some of the heat rolling off the angry alpha. “She put me on thi
s case. If I fail to solve it, I have to give up my private investigation business.”
“And if you succeed?”
“Then she owes me a favor.”
It was a testament to Liam’s self-control that he didn’t veer off the road. As it was, he jerked the wheel enough when he turned to stare at me that the resulting swerve sent my heart into my throat and drew a squeak of protest from Peasblossom.
“A favor? From Mother Hazel?”
I closed my eyes, averting my face, as if that would somehow ease the discomfort from the heat of Liam’s aura as it surged out of control. “Yes, a favor. But don’t think for one second that our deal will dictate my behavior on this case. I’m here for the truth, and that’s it.” I slanted a look at him, wishing I could meet his eyes. “Just like you.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It groaned a warning, and tension rolled off him as he fought to calm himself.
“You’re suggesting it’s not relevant that your livelihood rests on solving this case?”
“It changes nothing.”
“It changes everything!” He stopped and sucked in a deep breath. “Shade, this is not a television show. There is no guarantee we’ll solve this case; no case has that kind of guarantee. I will not allow your personal business to—”
“Please stop right there.”
I had enough control over my magic that nothing exploded. But the anger in my tone was enough to silence the werewolf, and my hands shook in my lap.
“If you were about to suggest that I would let my personal life lead me to rush a conviction, or even influence me to push for a resolution that was not one hundred percent supported by the facts, then I’d advise you to rethink your position. I told you when I arrived that I want the truth. Now, if Stephen is innocent—and I hope he is—I will happily remove that collar and walk away. However, if he is guilty, then don’t you want to know?”
“There is no one hundred percent in real life.” Liam shoved a hand through his hair. “Stephen’s life is at stake. Do you expect me to believe if we don’t find a stronger suspect, you won’t be a little tempted to rush to judgment on Stephen?”
Monster (Blood Trails Book 2) Page 8