The bitch wasn’t backing down. Now she had control over my hands. She wagged a finger at Leo. “And YOU just couldn’t wait to climb aboard that silicon-stuffed herpes ride could you?”
“What the hell are you talking about? YOU are the one who shacked up with your old boy toy about five minutes after you dumped me!”
“ENOUGH!”
We both turned to face Birdie. I hadn’t realized we had made it all the way down the hallway. Crap, did she hear that last part about shacking up with Chance?
She relaxed her face, straightened out her blouse and gave us both ‘the look.’ “I should think that two grown adults who claim to have cared for one another at some point could have a civilized conversation without getting into a shouting match.”
Oh, please. The woman has been divorced for thirty years and still uses my grandfather as her personal tongue sharpener.
“Sorry,” Leo grumbled.
“Suck-up,” I mumbled.
Birdie cleared her throat.
“I mean, sorry,” I said.
“Better. Now come on, I don’t have all day.” She held the door open and we both entered the room.
Leo pulled a chair out for me and I sat down. He took a seat across from me and Birdie settled in the chair next to me.
Leo glanced down at the paperwork, read through it. “Mrs. Geraghty, I think I have everything I need here from you. Look it over one more time before you sign.” He slid the page across to her. “The rest of your guests and your sisters will be questioned, of course, and if by some long shot the knife—plastic or otherwise—turns out to be the cause of death we can just take your fingerprints, rule them out, and that should clear things up on your end.” He looked at her. “Please, next time something unusual happens, just wait for us to get there.”
Birdie ignored that part. “You will handle this with discretion.”
Wasn’t really a question.
Leo said, “You have my word that we’ll do our best. We’ll need to sweep the room Mr. Sayer booked and hopefully find some contact information to notify his family.” He handed Birdie a pen.
“May I see the statement?” I asked.
Birdie passed the paper to me.
Leo said, “If you want we can take your prints now and we shouldn’t need to bother you further.”
“Oh, they’re on file.” I regretted the words immediately. He may never have had to know that. Leo sat back. “They are?”
Birdie sighed. “Yes, apparently test driving an automobile is a crime.”
“It is when you drive it out of state,” I said.
Her voice gained an octave. “I had to take it on the highway. How else to know if a car runs well.”
“For six hours?”
Leo stood up, “Okay then. I think we’re done here.”
I was still scanning the statement. Birdie had said earlier Sayer helped himself to the coffee, but here it just indicated there was a coffee cup in front of him when she entered the kitchen. She assumed he was playing dead again. She didn’t mention sticking a prop knife in his back, but how could he have done that himself? And how could it have stayed there if it was just a prop knife? Unless he took his shirt off first and glued it to the fabric. Her version stated that she didn’t recall seeing the knife until Fiona and I pointed out that he was still in her kitchen.
I looked at Birdie who stood, ready to leave, and decided to ask her a few questions myself in private. Like had she left the kitchen at any time? Perhaps she had made a trip into the fruit cellar before I got there? That might have given someone enough time to slip into the kitchen undetected.
The phone buzzed then and the gate guard with the Press-On nails said, “I have someone on the line here for Stacy Justice.”
I checked my phone. No bars. Ironic, I know.
“His name is Chance,” she said.
Leo slid back noisily and stood up. “I’ll see you out, Mrs. Geraghty.” He walked around and whispered in my ear. “I’m not seeing her. She kissed me to get under your skin.”
“Didn’t work,” I lied.
He flashed a look I couldn’t read, then guided Birdie out the door.
I had no intention of telling him his assumption about Chance was anything less than accurate. Let him wonder.
I picked up the receiver and punched the blinking button.
“This is Stacy.”
“Hey, Stace. Your phone was going right to voice mail and Fiona said you were at the police station. Everything ok?”
I really didn’t want to get into the whole scenario at the moment so I told him it was.
“Listen I...found something.” His voice had an edge to it. Nervous? Excited? “You better come to my place quick. Bring Ivy too.”
IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS
by Ivy Geraghty
Entry #11
I have received word from my sister to meet her back at our hideout. What is the urgency, I wonder? Has she located The Blessed Book? Has she uncovered a sinister plot that involves our mother’s kidnapping? I make haste on foot (and not a moment too soon, because I’m pretty sure the big, white ride outside isn’t a limo for the living. I mean, RIP and all that to the dude, but the creep factor is off the charts on this one, even for me.)
-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)
THIRTY-EIGHT
I texted Ivy, asked her to meet me at Chance’s place then hurried from the police station. I didn’t see anyone on my way out and when I searched the parking lot for Birdie, I discovered she hadn’t bothered to wait. That was okay by me, frankly. There were still unanswered questions floating around my mind. Like why had she rushed to the police station? Was Sayer animated when she first saw him? How often had she left the kitchen? But I feared she had a few questions for me too, and since I wasn’t ready to explain the lie about taking a trip, nor was I ready to explain Ivy and my missing mother, I decided it could wait.
The sun was bright, melting the snow into muddy puddles as I walked to Chance’s house. My leg was beginning to throb from the wound—the wound courtesy of a crowbar-wielding maniac. Just when I was wishing I had a car, Derek Meyers, the photographer for the Amethyst Globe, pulled up alongside me.
He rolled down the driver’s window and leaned his dark, unlined face out, the wind not altering his tight hair one bit.
“You want a ride to the office?” he said.
“I’m on leave, remember? Injured reporter here. But I will take a ride.” I hopped in the passenger seat and my leg thanked me by slowing the pain to a steady ache.
Derek turned the car off, draped his arm over the seat and stared at me, both eyebrows raised. We hadn’t known each other that long, but our professional relationship and the newspaper business in general required a certain amount of mutual respect and a fully functioning bullshit detector. The look on his face told me Derek’s was cranked all the way up to ‘high’.
Crap. He knew something. But what? Which absurd event that dropped in on me these past few days was he aware of?
I read an Einstein quote once that said something like 'the only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once'. I’d bet a million dollars Einstein had never met a Geraghty because from my vantage point, everything was most certainly happening at the same time.
When the lives of my loved ones or my own life is under direct threat of imminent danger, I’m usually fast-thinking and I have to admit, quick-witted. This was not one of those times.
“What?” I said stupidly.
“You gonna sit there with your big green eyes and try to make me think there isn’t a posse parked out by your granny’s house with a big ol’ meat wagon front and center?”
“Really? I had no idea.” That was kind of true, actually. Those poor guests had no idea what they were in for when they signed up for the murder-mystery package. Probably they would never leave their homes again.
I craned my neck as if I could see through the thirty hou
ses that separated the block we were on from Birdie’s corner.
With a snap of my fingers, I said, “You know there is that murder-mystery thing this weekend. That’s probably it. They’re making it look authentic. Can you drop me off on Ruby Lane?” I asked, not a hint of concern in my voice.
“Not until you tell me who died.”
I sighed. What was the use, he would find out soon enough anyway. “Look, all I know is he’s a guest at the inn and his last name is Sayer.”
“Cause of death?”
“Do I look like the coroner?” I was getting a little agitated. Of course I was going to work the story, but until I had more information there wasn’t much to report.
“Well come on, woman, give me something. Was it at least suspicious? Did your granny poison his pancakes or something?”
Anger took control of my mouth before my brain could gag it, mostly because I hated the word ‘granny’. “Drive the damn car, Derek!”
Derek’s lower lip dropped a little bit. “I was kidding, Stacy, but don’t play with me. If there’s something going on, you gotta clue me in.”
The problem was I didn’t even know what was going on at that point, but I suspected soon I would have to come up with something to bring to Shea Parker, my editor, and with the other ‘family’ problems I had to attend to, Derek may have to partner with me on this one. He would have his work cut out for him interviewing the Geraghty Girls but I knew he had more ambitions than snapping photos for our small paper and he was hungry for the opportunity to investigate a story.
It didn’t take long to realize that I needed Derek to have my back on this one. His assistance meant I could steal some time to look into what had happened to my mother—a story newsworthy for the Amethyst Globe as well, although one I would never share with any other reporter. I’m sure its founding father—my father—would agree with me on that point.
Maybe it was time to give Derek a break after all.
“I’ll give you everything I know once I know it.”
Derek shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not good enough. You cut me in from point A.”
I sighed to make him think I was doing him a favor. Mostly because it would be easier to get him to follow instructions, but also because I couldn’t have him going rogue. He would have to check in with me every step of the way because—Goddess forbid—if there was something rotten in the house of Geraghty, I needed to know about it before the rest of the world.
I promised him a co-byline and he started the car.
When we got to Ruby Lane, I told Derek I would text him to let him know when we would meet. Then I called Shea Parker, my dad’s old business partner and my boss, and left a message asking if he was available to come to the office today. Parker texted back, said he was making chili and how about noon? I agreed, forwarded it to Derek and knocked on Chance’s door.
Before he answered, my cousin, Cinnamon, sent a message that she was on her way home from the airport and couldn’t wait to see me. Said she had a surprise.
I didn’t bother telling her that I had a few surprises myself and agreed to meet in the afternoon at her place.
If Chance had told me on the phone what he had discovered, I never would have made any of those plans.
THIRTY-NINE
Chance swung the door open before I reached the stoop. He looked a bit harried and his face was moist as if he had been working out, but he was wearing a tight navy tee shirt rather than the usual sleeveless jersey he wore to pump iron.
“Hey, how did everything go at Birdie’s?” he asked.
I said, “Let’s talk about it later. What did you find?” I didn’t see Thor. “And where’s my boy?”
“Out back with Ivy.” Chance grabbed my hand and said, “Come on. It’s downstairs.”
I tried to ignore the jolt of electricity at his hand engulfing mine as I trotted behind him down the stairs to where Ivy and I had slept last night. The back door opened and coos of Ivy sweet-talking Thor drifted down to us.
“Ivy, come downstairs and shut the door to the basement, please,” Chance called.
The shelf was re-attached to the wall, the trophies back in place and the bed made. Guilt sucker punched me.
“Chance, I would have helped you put the room back together,” I told him.
“Stacy, I’m a contractor. It was no big deal.” He looked at me, lowered his voice and said, “I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me.”
I elbowed his shoulder and Ivy bounded the stairs.
“Did you tell him, Stacy?” Her face was flushed as if she had run all the way here.
I shook my head, widened my eyes to indicate I had not and didn’t plan on it right now, thank you.
Ivy just nodded and feigned a hang-nail.
Chance was busy fiddling with a lamp that was on the shelf. Either he hadn’t heard her or he chalked it up to nothing important.
“Chance, what did you call us down here for? What did you find?” I asked.
He reached for the shelf and produced the article Ivy had found in the purple box. The article that had brought her to Amethyst. To me.
“One second.” Chance smoothed the page out on the bed, adjusted something on the lamp again and asked Ivy to run over and wait by the light switch until he signaled to turn it off.
Patience was something I should have acquired years ago growing up with Birdie and her theatrics, Fiona and her love-potions and Lolly and her...well, just Lolly. Somehow though, the trait eluded me.
“Dammit, just tell me!”
I am working on it, though.
“Geez, keep your pants on.” He smirked as he said that, then he said to Ivy, “Now.”
She flipped the switch and the room blackened except for our eyes, our teeth and Ivy’s hat.
All of that was glowing.
“This is what you dragged us down her for? A black light?” I asked.
“Retro,” Ivy said.
I would have gone with creepy. “Chance, 1987 called and said they want their light back and P.S.—chicks do not dig it.”
Ivy jumped in. “Actually that was a conference call with 1974 and they want their lava lamp back.”
Chance stiffened next to me as Ivy and I laughed. “Would you two just look please.” All I could see were his eyes narrowing.
“Are you pointing at something? Because if you are I can’t tell,” I said.
“The bed.” His teeth gritted as he spoke. That I could see.
I looked down at the bed and saw a series of slash marks atop a slip of paper. The article. The article I wrote was on the bed. Someone had marked it up in code with glowing ink.
“Ivy, this was what was glowing in your backpack! Not the money you marked with the counterfeit pen.”
I thought that ink didn’t glow. I had used it at the Black Opal enough times and that place could get awfully dark after last call. The article was what I saw that glowed—and even pulsated.
Kind of like it was doing right now.
The letters appeared to be coming at me in 3-D. I looked at Ivy. She was staring at the note. Did she see that? Did Chance?
Chance said, “I have no idea what kind of code that is but it has to be some kind of message either to Ivy or you, Stacy.”
“It’s Greek to me,” Ivy said.
The letters seemed to float off the page. Danced around me. Every word composed of simple slash marks. Some diagonal. Some straight. There were circles too, which I could only guess was circling words or letters in the actual text of the newspaper article. It would be tricky to decode and time consuming, but I knew it could be done and had to be done fast.
“Ivy, run up and grab my laptop.”
She bounded up the stairs.
One word popped out at me. The only one my brain could instantly translate.
Because I had seen that language before.
The word was ivy.
IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS
by Ivy Geraghty
Entry #12
Oh joyous day! A hidden message. A secret code. Finally! A step closer to uncovering The Truth. Watching my sister work her magic sends shivers down my spine. (Pretty sure Chance feels the same way, but Stacy is, like, sooooo oblivious.) I bring Sister her trusty tool for cracking codes. (Okay, so it’s not The Book, it’s a computer, but whatever.)
-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)
FORTY-ONE
Ivy had left the door open when she went up the stairs and Thor sauntered down, trotted over for an ear scratch, then curled up near the heat vent. The light from upstairs was chasing away the darkness as I turned to Chance.
“Thank you and your black light,” I said.
“You know, chicks did dig it once. My dad told me so.” He grinned.
I grinned back. “They also dug mullets. Things change.” He knew I was teasing him and he chuckled. That was the thing about Chance. He was never threatened by women. Over-protective at times, at least with me, but never threatened.
I had forgotten how easy it was to be with him. How much fun we used to have together. After I moved back and began dating Leo, I kept my distance from Chance. Out of respect for both of them and because I didn’t want to send mixed signals.
I missed his friendship.
Ivy fluttered down the stairs, flipped the light switch and said, “Got it!” Burst my thought bubble just in time. There were more important things to worry about right now than my love life.
Like what the hell the message was trying to tell us.
“So do you know the code? Do you know what it says?” Ivy was so excited she was bouncing, her long hair flipping up in ribbons. Thor caught her excitement and hopped over to lean against her. He nearly knocked her over as he looked from Ivy to Chance to me, waiting for someone to explain what all the fuss was about.
“It’s written in Ogham. An ancient language of the Druids,” I told her. “It was named after Ogma, Celtic God of Eloquence.”
Bloodstone (A Stacy Justice Mystery) Page 9