by Tegan Maher
"So what's new in the sandwich business?" I asked him, taking a minute to look around. He was still changing things up and building, and it seemed like every time I came in, there was something new.
He took a deep breath. "You're lookin' at it. I've added a couple soups of the day along with some salads, and I'm already in the black after just a few months."
The place looked great and felt ... man-cavey. The walls were painted in rich earth tones, and in addition to some booths, TVs tuned to various sports channels ran the length of the wall. That had started as a way for him to keep track of his sports while he was working, and had sort of morphed the little sandwich shop into a place for him and his friends to hang out for hockey and baseball games—his two passions.
Word was spreading, and it was becoming more like a clubhouse on game days than a sandwich shop.
"Then what's the soup of the day?" I asked when he released me. "I'm starving!"
"Stuffed baked potato."
"I'm in,” I said, heading to my favorite booth. “Bowl, not cup. And I'll have a 6-inch Italian, too, please."
He grinned. "No onions, extra dressing. I have no idea where you put it, or why you don't weigh twice what you do. You eat like a lumberjack but look like a marathon runner."
Though I knew he was exaggerating about the marathon-runner part even though I was naturally toned because of my wolf half, I still preened a little. "Pht. I wish, but thanks. High metabolism, I guess."
At one point, Zach had found out what I was, but that memory—along with many others—had been replaced with safer, happier, fake ones. Because of his hatred of werewolves and the unique situation we’d found ourselves in at the time, it had been in the best interest of all paranormals—and his, too—to give him a clean slate, but it still sat weird with me.
It was one of those situations where there were no good solutions, so we picked the lesser of the evils, or at least that's how it felt to me.
We chitchatted while he made my sandwich and poured my soup, then he came around and sat with me while I ate. It was nice having him back in town, but I had mixed emotions. He'd been the one for me way back when life was easy and we were young. In a different world, he still could have been, but life experiences had left him broken.
The problem was that he didn't know it. We hadn't fixed him; rather, we'd made a different version of him. That alone meant there could never be anything between us because a secret like that, even if I sat my moral dilemma aside, was bound to be a deal-breaker eventually. So, I was only ever going to be his friend no matter how hard he tried to turn the tides.
"Holy crap!" I said after I took the first bite of my soup. "Did you make this?" It was the best loaded baked potato soup I'd ever eaten, hands down.
He looked a little smug. "I did. I found a base recipe, but it didn't have enough cheese or bacon in it to suit me, so I added more and fiddled with the seasonings, too."
"Well done," I said. As far as I was concerned, there was no such thing as too much cheese or bacon. I dipped my sandwich in it and took a bite of it all together. Heaven.
A wicked smile crossed his face when I groaned and rolled my eyes back. "I think I need to charge more for it if it’s that good."
I chased it with my beer—one of the several crafts he kept on hand—and checked the price on the specials board. "I don't know about anybody else, but I'd spend way more than four bucks on it. Go easy on me though. I live on a sheriff's pittance."
He gave me a soft look. "You know you always eat free here."
And he was right. No matter how many times I tried to pay him, he wouldn't take a dime.
"So tell me about this murder," he said. "We go years and have maybe one real murder a decade—not counting hunting accidents or spouses shooting spouses. Now we've had four in a year." He shook his head. "And those wolf attacks last time—that was a shame all the way around."
The story we'd put out was that it had been a rabid animal, and the forensic reports—created by Colleen, of course—backed it up. The truth had been much more sinister—and supernatural—than that.
"Not much to tell," I said, shoveling another bite of soup into my mouth. "A guy was found stabbed behind the Hook. From what we can tell, he wasn't exactly popular. He played fast and loose with the rules all the way around."
He folded a napkin while giving it some thought. "So you think it was a woman?"
My gaze shot to him. "No. Why would I think it was a woman?"
Lifting a shoulder, he said, "I don't know. A woman scorned?"
I laughed. "Trust me—he wasn't scorning them. That was part of the problem. He loved them too much. Especially the ones with rings."
"Ohhh," he said. "Then probably not a woman. And backwoods central Georgia isn't exactly the best place to mess with a man's wife, either."
"No," I agreed, "it isn't."
He thought for a minute, rubbing his bottom lip. I jerked my gaze away when I started thinking about how they felt against mine and was grateful when he spoke. "I don't know, Cor. You still probably shouldn't rule out a woman. It could be one wanted more than he was willing to give, or didn’t like sharing attention."
That was a valid point, and one I'd explore with Sean. As Vanderveer's friend, maybe he had some inside information on who his buddy'd been passing the time with besides Carly.
A few people came in, so he had to go take care of them, then stayed busy the rest of the time I was there. While I ate, I considered his theory.
I supposed it could have been a woman, but he was a big guy. I hadn't paid any attention to that part of the report, but if I'd had to guess, he was around six-four and two-sixty. I'm stronger by far than the average woman, and that would have been a load for me. Of course, if it was a vampire or Vandeveer had been killed in the alley, that was another story.
I finished up and took my plate and bowl to the counter. Especially considering he wouldn't take any money from me, the least I could do was clean up after myself.
He saw me leaving and gave me a one-armed hug. "Don't be a stranger, okay? And if you ever decide to take me up on that dinner invitation ..."
The words hung like lead balloons between us and I just nodded, the guilt rolling back over me full force.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I WAS ALMOST TO THE house when Alex's ringtone sounded from my cup holder. My heart skipped a few beats and I couldn't stop a sappy grin from spreading across my face. He'd been away on pack business for a week, and I was surprised to find I missed him way more than I thought I would.
"Hey, you!" I said as I snapped my fingers to enable my magical version of Bluetooth. "What's up?"
"Nothin'," he said, and I could hear the same goofy grin I was wearing in his voice. "I finished up and was able to head home."
"No way! That's great. When will I get to see you?"
"In about thirty seconds," he said.
"What—" I pulled into the driveway and his silver Beamer was sitting there. He was sitting on the porch swing petting a content Chaos.
I jumped out, warmth washing over me, and he met me at the edge of the porch. I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss, then laid my head against his chest while he pulled me tight against him.
"Okay," I said, pulling myself together and pushing away from him. Mrs. Berk's living room curtains swayed when I glanced in that direction. I rolled my eyes. Within the hour, the whole town would have me making out like a shameless hussy in broad daylight, in front of God and everybody on my front lawn.
He grinned and wiggled his fingers in her direction when the curtains swayed again.
I smacked him on the arm. "You know she has a crush on you. Don't tease her."
"Hey, she makes a mean peach crisp. As much as I like you, you're not exactly Betty Crocker. The way I figure it, there's plenty of room in my life for two women."
That may have bothered me a little bit if Mrs. Berk wasn't ninety-three. And if he didn’t share the peach crisps she made him.
"She always has cans of tuna, too," Chaos chimed in. “The good kind—not the gross stuff canned in oil.”
Great. My fox was going door-to-door bumming food. I had no doubt the word on the street was that I starved her.
Alex’s mention of two women brought reality crashing back, though.
"What?" he asked, picking up on the change in my demeanor as he opened the screen door.
I pulled in a deep breath and released it. "Nothing. It's just, we've had another murder."
I gave him the rundown on the case as we went into the house, then waited for him to mull it over. He was good at looking at situations from all angles, and I felt like I was so deep in it that I may have had tunnel vision.
"That's not exactly nothing. But at least it's not another wolf, is it?"
"Lord, I hope not," I said, shoving my hand through my hair. "If it is, I have no idea how I'll keep that particular keg from blowing. Same thing if it ends up being a witch or any other paranormal. I stopped by to check on Zach, and he seems to think we should consider a woman."
He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe. With his size, I’d say most women—shoot, most men— would have a problem moving him, unless he was killed in the alley. Have you considered that?"
"I did, but Sully says he wasn't in there last night, so I'd bet money he was moved."
"Black floors can't be that common," Chaos said, jumping up onto the table.
"Hey," I said, scowling at her. "Tables are for glasses, not asses."
She shrugged and stayed where she was. "You try being a foot tall and trying to hold a conversation with giants. It kills my neck, so deal with it. Put a towel down."
Life had been so much easier before she could talk. Or before I could understand her. I'd never asked which way that worked, but regardless, things were smoother when I had a cute pet fox rather than a mouthy familiar.
She fluffed her tail and continued. "If you're interpreting the feelings that accompanied the vision right—and I'm betting you are—he knew his killer."
Alex chewed on his lip for a minute. "So what do you know for sure?" he asked, always one to sort details and examine them as separate parts as well as a whole.
I started ticking off the facts. "He was killed with a wooden stick or dowel of some sort. He was makin' merry with a married woman whose husband he beat out of a big chunk of change at poker. The last place he was seen alive was at Sean's, by Sean. He was holding the so-called dead man's hand, with a joker as the fifth card. Oh, and he preferred to keep at least a few grand in his wallet, but he didn't have it on him when we found him."
Chaos hummed, thinking. "You also know he was a vampire and probably made at least a few enemies over the span of several hundred years. That's not insignificant."
That had occurred to me, but I preferred to investigate the immediate possibilities before I resorted to digging through century-old grudges. I had a feeling if I started digging there, I'd be looking for a needle in a stack of fake needles. No, I had plenty of viable suspects in the here and now without digging back through hundreds of years of debauchery. I said as much.
"Right now, Clifford is first on my list to talk to. He owns a pawn shop, though, so I figured it was best to wait until he wasn't working." I glanced at my phone and realized I still had several hours before I could catch him.
I needed to whether or not he'd been at the Hook, but Kat was the one to ask about that, and she was still sleeping. That left me at loose ends, but I wasn't willing to take the afternoon off when the case was less than twenty-four hours old. I decided to go have a chat with the lady of the hour: Carly Sue Barker herself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALEX WENT HOME TO CLEAN up and grab some fresh clothes while I headed to the Winn Dixie.
Carly Sue wasn't exactly somebody with a huge work ethic, unless you considered spending other people's money a skill. She'd had a few jobs and was currently a cashier at the Winn Dixie. I made a quick call and gave a little fist pump when I found out she was working.
A friend of mine, Shelly Fontaine, was the manager there and happened to be working when I showed up. As one of my best friends since grade school, she knew my secret. She'd been tagging after my older brother once when she was waiting for me to get home from band practice and caught him changing. There'd been some serious 'splainin' to do.
Carly was busy, if you call chatting it up with some city-slicker looking guy wearing a knock-off Rolex busy, so I stopped in to say hello to Shelly.
She was counting a drawer at the customer service desk and held up a finger when I caught her eye. While she finished up, my gaze roamed over the employee of the month pictures hung along the wall behind her. Surprise, surprise—no Carly Sue. The sound of change landing in plastic drew my attention back to Shelly and she smiled at me as she slid the drawer into the register.
"Long time, no see, girl. How ya been?" she asked, sticking her pen in the knot of ebony hair piled high on the back of her head.
I smiled. "I've had better days, but not bad overall. Do you have a minute?"
"Lord, tell me Luke isn't in trouble," she said, a frown creasing her brow. Luke was her teenage son, and was in that rebellious stage. His father had walked out on them and disappeared into the sunset three years before, taking their life savings with him. It had been rough on them both; Shelly'd had to increase her hours and take a management job she'd turned down three other times, and Luke had found a hundred ways to rebel.
"No, nothing like that, at least not that I've heard," I said and the lines of worry on her face smoothed out.
She huffed out a relieved breath as the worry lines on her face smoothed out. "Good. I was afraid he'd been out tagging again, even though I've threatened every store in the county with a beat-down if they sold him spray paint."
Walking to the end of the counter, she swung a half-door inward and motioned me through. "My office is in the back. C'mon in."
I followed her through a swinging door and down a long hallway. When we reached the last door, she punched in a code and turned the knob. The office was decorated with a mishmash of pictures of employees and Luke, and unicorns of varying sizes and colors sat around the room.
She motioned toward a chair in front of her desk, then walked behind it to take her own.
"What's up?" she asked, moving some papers out of the way and leaning forward on her elbows.
"Carly Sue Baker," I said. "What do you know about her?"
My friend rolled her eyes so hard I was afraid she was going to tip over backwards. "I know she's not worth a plugged nickel as an employee. She shows up most of the time, but phones it in. If there's any effort involved, she'll con one of the bag boys into doing the work for her. Heaven forbid she breaks a nail ... or a sweat."
Grimacing, I nodded. "That's what I figured. Is she still the same as she was when we were in school?"
Carly'd been a few grades ahead of us, but in a town our size, if you went to the same school, you knew each other, at least by name.
"She's still a huge flirt, but I thought she'd given up the serious stuff when she married Clifford." Shelly squished her lips together for a second, thinking. "Recently though, I've wondered. She asked one of the other cashiers—a younger girl with low self-esteem named Gwen—out for drinks the other night, then dropped her like a bad habit as soon as they got to the Hook. That was after Gwen picked her up at her place and met her husband."
Understanding washed over me. It was a trick we'd used in high school to sneak out on dates because Shelly’s parents were crazy strict. With us, though, it had been a buddy-system thing, not mean-girl manipulation. If she had a date, I would pick her up and drop her off at the movies or wherever if we weren't double dating.
"No way!” I said, aghast a grown woman resorted to such tactics. Then I remembered who we were dealing with. “She used the date and switch on her. And let me guess—there was a guy there she just happened to run into."
Shelly nodded. "Give the werewolf
a prize for getting it in one. Poor Gwen was crushed."
In that moment, I disliked Carly Sue several fractions more than I already had; as far as I was concerned, selfish people like her were one of the main causes of strife on the planet.
"Any idea who the mystery man was?"
She tilted one side of her mouth up into a sardonic smile. "One of the things about putting the screws to somebody is that once you burn a bridge, everything's fair game. Gwen told everybody in the store about him. His name was Charles, and Carly Sue was on him like a second skin the second she saw him."
"Well, do tell," I said. "That happens to be why I'm here—to ask her if she knows a man named Charles Vanderveer, and if so, how well and when she saw him last."
Confusion then delighted scandal crossed her face. "No! The murdered dude?"
"The one and only," I said, then added, "hopefully." I did not want a repeat of the way the rogue-wolf situation had gone down. He’d killed three people—and almost Zach and me—before we took him down.
She took a deep breath. "As bad as I hate to say it, I don't think she has it in her. Not because she wouldn't stoop that low, but because it would require too much effort."
"Her husband probably wouldn't think it was too much work, though."
Realization dawned. "You think Clifford did it."
I drew in the reins before that horse ran wild. "I want to know if Clifford had motive to do it."
That was only partly the truth because I already knew Charles had conned him out of a shit-ton of cash, but I wasn't sharing that. I trusted her, but even the most innocuous comment could turn a lit candle into a forest fire in a situation like that.
She drew in a breath then heaved it out. "He stopped in yesterday to get some lunch from the deli, and things seemed a little tense. I said hello to him on his way in. He was abrupt, which is unusual for him. They didn't make eye contact, and he went through Gwen's line rather than Carly's. Poor Gwen was a mess because she’d inadvertently helped Carly pull the wool over his eyes."