by Nancy Warren
Nyx looked up at me and I winked at her.
Sometimes I felt very much alone in Oxford. But not when I had a purring familiar in my arms, a concerned cousin, and a detective inspector who was trying his level best to keep me out of harm’s way.
My bad mood began to abate.
Violet said, "Why don't I drive you down to Kidlington when you're ready to give your statement."
"You don't have to do that. I have a car."
She shook her head. "I’ve seen you drive. And you’ve had a shock. I didn’t heal you to send you off to a traffic accident. I'll drive you."
Since she was right, I was having trouble getting the hang of driving on the left, I agreed.
She went back downstairs to the shop and I took a quick shower, then dressed in a royal blue extra long sweater that Alfred had knitted me. He said he chose the color of the wool to match my eyes. It was one of those garments that just made me happy, and I needed the comfort. Wearing it was like wrapping myself in a hug from someone who cared about me.
I wore wool stockings underneath and, instead of my boots, I chose black running shoes. Maybe I was shutting the barn door after the horse had already bolted, but I wanted to be able to run next time a crazed motorcycle riding killer came at me.
I like to be prepared like that.
I freshened my makeup, not because I was seeing Ian later, but because I liked to look nice for my customers.
When we closed for the day, the pair of us got into Violet's car, which was not much bigger than the car I’d inherited from Gran, but certainly newer. She drove it about twice the speed I normally drove, but she was a good driver and I relaxed next to her.
I had phoned ahead to let Ian know that we were on our way, and he was there to greet us. He looked me up and down as though making sure I didn't have any broken bones or bits missing. I said, "Did you catch him yet?"
He shook his head. He looked very grim. "But we will." Somehow his confidence made me believe that he would, indeed, catch Darren. The sooner that punk was off the streets the better.
To her obvious disappointment, Violet had to sit out in the waiting room. Ian took me into a conference room. He asked if it was all right to record our conversation and I said it was. Once more, I related exactly what had happened, leaving out the spell, obviously. I told him I’d heard a crash behind me and kept running, which was true. I just left out the bit where Nyx and I had caused the crash.
“Were you able to positively identify the motorcycle driver as Darren—Do we have his surname?”
What was he? Darren’s lawyer? “Obviously it was him. He was riding Darren’s bike.”
“I do need you to be absolutely specific. Lots of motorbikes look similar. Did you see the rider’s face?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Had I? The nightmare scene played in front of my eyes again. “He wore a black helmet with the visor down. But I recognized his black motorcycle.”
“How? There are a lot of black motorcycles.”
I reminded myself that he was doing his job, but I’d nearly been killed and I knew exactly who’d been behind that visor. Still, I did my best to keep my voice as calm and level as Ian’s. “Darren’s motorbike has a decal on it. But he’d written over the words Fuel Rocket with a black Sharpie. Now it says, Babe Magnet.” The recorder couldn’t catch my eye roll, which was probably just as well. “And the sticker’s torn. ”
“You could see that while the bike was going at high speed?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll be seeing it for weeks in my nightmares. I had a clear view of the sticker when the bike turned to have another go at me.”
After I’d signed my printed statement and the recorder was turned off, he said, "We got preliminaries back on the body found in Martin Hodgins’s home."
I dreaded what was coming next, even though I had to hear it. Poor Gemma. "And?"
He shook his head. "The remains are not those of Martin Hodgins."
Finally, some good news. I smiled at him. "Really? That's fantastic. Gemma's dad isn't dead."
Ian didn't look as thrilled as I was. "Lucy, Martin Hodgins is nowhere to be found. He’s a person of interest in our inquiries."
"What?" My euphoria was immediately doused. I was pretty sure that ‘person of interest’ was Brit cop speak for ‘the guy we think did the deed.’ I almost thought it would be easier for Gemma if her father had been murdered than if he turned out to have caused a death. "So, you're saying the man didn't die of natural causes?"
"That depends on what you consider natural causes. He died of smoke inhalation and then his body burned in the fire. But that fire wasn't accidental."
My head was spinning. Both my pet theories, one, that Darren had killed Gemma’s dad, and two, that Sanderson had killed Gemma’s dad, were wrong. Now only was Gemma’s dad not dead, but the police didn’t know who was.
Chapter 17
"Oh, no. Poor Gemma." I sat, slumped in my chair, feeling like a gray fog was pulling at me.
"Darren was on his way to see Martin Hodgins. I'm convinced of it. He said he was going there when he left Oxford. I'm telling you, he's deranged. He nearly murdered Gemma and today he rode his motorcycle straight at me. He must have done it."
Ian sat back. He was looking at me as though I were a fellow detective and we were colleagues discussing a case. It was so cool. "I'm listening. Why would Gemma's ex-boyfriend try and kill someone at his ex-girlfriend's father’s home?"
Okay, so this chummy detective thing wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV. I tried to form some kind of theory that made sense. "He’d never seen her father, so when he saw a man at the house, he assumed it was Martin Hodgins and killed him.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. Why would he try and kill his ex-girlfriend?"
Ian looked at me like I was being dull witted. "Because he was jealous and angry and rejected. But to kill her father, who’s all but estranged from his daughter, doesn't fit any profile I've ever heard of."
He had a point. But, since Darren had driven his motorcycle at me like a killing machine, I was quite happy to add every crime imaginable to his rap sheet.
“They hadn’t been going out very long. Maybe he didn’t know she and her dad were estranged.” I shrugged. I was reaching, but if I could talk through my fuzzy theory maybe it would sharpen into focus. “They shared a surname. How hard could it be to track the man down?”
He didn’t look as though he completely believed me, but Ian wasn’t interrupting either. He was listening.
I got up. It helped me to pace, even though there wasn’t much space in the small room. “He planned to talk to Martin Hodgins. Tell him why he and Gemma were meant to be together.” I snapped my fingers and it sounded like a pebble hitting glass. “Gemma told me he’d already planned when they’d get married and have their first kid. I bet he went to her father to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Ian looked like a wasp had stung him. “Do people still do that?”
Since my father had never been troubled by offers for my hand, I really couldn't say. “I have no idea, but Darren was not like most men. He was obsessed with Gemma. He seriously had their whole future mapped out. When she broke up with him he threatened to kill himself. I’m telling you, this guy is not playing with a full deck.”
“All right. Let’s assume you’re correct and Darren went to Martin Hodgins’s home to ask for her hand. Then, what happened?”
My theory was seriously vague at this point. I gnawed my thumbnail. I stared at the floor, noting a black scuff mark that made me wonder if there’d been a violent tussle in this room at some point. I pictured a perp, or maybe cop, pushed up against the wall.
I turned. “You’re absolutely certain the dead body’s not Martin Hodgins?”
He looked much less serious when he was trying not to smirk. “The labs don’t usually make mistakes like that. It’s not Hodgins. Though, as yet, we don't know who it is. No hits yet from crime databases.”
>
Chewing my thumbnail wasn’t helping, and it was ruining my manicure, so I stopped. “Maybe Darren banged on the door and whoever was in the house said he wasn’t Martin Hodgins, but Darren didn’t believe them. He thought it was Gemma’s father and he was lying. He was so enraged he killed the guy. Then staged a fire to cover the evidence.”
“Ah, yes, and speaking of evidence...”
I blew out a breath. “There isn’t any. I know. But it’s possible, right?”
“Many things are possible, Lucy. But we can’t make arrests based on ‘possible.’” Before the words piling up in my throat could burst out, he put up a hand. “But, we certainly have sufficient reason to pick him up in connection with the attack on you.”
“Then you lean on him. Tell him you know he killed Gemma’s father.” I thought of that high-strung, intense guy who’d obviously lost the plot and badly. “I bet he’ll crumble and confess.”
“We can always hope.”
Then Ian stood as well, indicating that we were done. He held the door for me and as I walked out, he said, “In the meantime, I don’t want you going out alone. And make sure you always have an assistant in the shop with you.”
“You think I’m in danger?” It was a stupid question, obviously, as I knew the second I said the words out loud. Yeah, Lucy, guys running motorcycles at you generally aren’t asking for a date. I shook my head. “Never mind.”
He stopped me with a hand on my arm. “We’ll find him. But, until we do, stay vigilant. Promise me?”
It was one of those moments fraught with too many things unsaid. I nodded.
For now, it was enough.
Violet dropped me off home and offered to come in with me. I could tell she was worried, but I reminded her that Meri was there. I’d be fine.
When I got up to the flat, I saw that Rafe was also there, looking furious and pacing up and down. Nyx was in his arms, and I got the feeling that Nyx would've done her own pacing if she didn't have Rafe to do it for her.
The minute I was inside, he put down the cat and stalked forward, grabbed my shoulders. "I just heard. Are you all right?"
I'd heard that line quite a few times in the last couple of hours. "Yes. I'm fine. It was terrifying in the moment, but I stopped him." I could let Violet think I’d managed the protection spell on my own, but I wouldn’t lie to Rafe. “Actually, Nyx sent me a spell and it worked. Luckily.”
He shook his head, looking fond and frustrated as he often did when he looked at me. "I cannot let you out of my sight."
"I did find out one interesting thing."
"That Darren is back? There are more subtle ways to gather information, Lucy."
I shook my head at him, impatient. "Something else. The man who died in that fire wasn't Martin Hodgins."
He looked at me, an arrested expression on his face. "Really? Do they know who the dead person was?"
“No. Not yet.”
He'd been around a lot longer than I had and, I suspected, was much smarter. He didn't get all excited about the news that Martin Hodgins was still alive. He’d done the mental route finding and got to the part where Gemma’s dad was the likely suspect in the death of whoever the charred corpse was in his house. “Have they found Martin Hodgins yet?”
“I don’t think so.” I picked up Nyx since she was circling around my ankles so tightly she was a tripping hazard. She settled against me, purring. "If we hadn't just seen Dominic Sanderson in the flesh last night, I'd been tempted to think it was him in that fire. It would be a nice twist on the Shakespearean tragedy where the old friend goes to visit the man he's betrayed intending to murder him. But, instead of the man whose life’s work he stole, dying, he's the one who ends up dead."
"That would be very satisfying on stage. Sadly, as you say, we know the dead man wasn't Dominic Sanderson."
"Could it have been an emissary? Or, I don't know, a hitman?"
"It could be any number of people. There's not much point in speculating. We'll know the identity of the victim soon enough."
And, knowing Rafe, he'd know before Ian did.
Chapter 18
I went to see Gemma the following day. Her condition was stable, and the doctors had eased up on her visiting restrictions. When I went in, both Clara and Mabel were sitting by her bedside. Clara was holding Gemma's hand and speaking to her softly, while Mabel sat in the corner knitting. I was pleased to see that Mabel was holding her knitting speed down to that of an extremely proficient mortal. I thought, if she knitted at her usual speed and anyone saw her, they'd either run for their lives or admit her into the hospital for testing. Neither outcome would be very good.
Both the vampires looked delighted to see me. Clara got up and insisted that I take her seat beside the bed. She whispered, "I’m certain that her hand felt warmer today than it did yesterday."
I had no idea if that was good, but I hoped so. Unless she was running a fever or something but then presumably the machines would've caught that. I looked at Gemma's peaceful face and said, "Gemma, I wish you would wake up. I have so much I want to say to you. The holiday market’s not the same without you."
Her hand did seem warm and. after I’d babbled on for a couple more minutes, I felt her fingers stir within mine. I gasped and turned to look at the two vampires. Clara had also pulled out her knitting, now, and neither of them were watching me. I lowered my voice and said, urgently, "She moved her fingers."
They both put down their knitting and rose out of their seats and drew closer. "Are you sure?" Clara whispered.
Now I wasn't so sure. "I think so."
I felt it again, not strong but definitely. "She did it again. She's gripping my fingers."
"That's excellent," Mabel said. "Keep talking to her."
Now, of course, my mind went blank. I couldn't think of a thing to say to the poor woman. I couldn't tell her that her father's house had burned down, and someone inside was dead, not her father, though that probably made him the chief suspect. No one waking from a coma wanted to hear that.
I could also tell her that her ex-boyfriend, the creepy stalker, had tried to run me down on the street. No one wanted to wake up out of a coma and hear that, either.
I said, "I've been thinking, Gemma, when you wake up, you should learn how to knit. It's very soothing." I have no idea why I said that. Knitting was never soothing to me, but I thought, maybe, to Gemma it might be. She was clearly a crafty person since she could make soap, scented bath salts, and creams and things.
"Don't like knitting."
Three of us in the room gasped and looked at each other, wondering who had said it. Clara and Mabel both loved knitting and were happily engaged in it at the moment. I was the one who didn't like knitting and I hadn't said the words. That only left one other possibility. We all stared at Gemma. Her eyes were still closed, and her voice had been weak, but unless we were all three sharing an auditory hallucination, Gemma had spoken.
Mabel said, "Should we get a doctor?"
I shook my head. "Not yet. Give her a minute before the white coats start crowding in on her."
They nodded and we all perched on the edge of our chairs staring at Gemma.
Nothing happened. I said, "You’ve had a good, long, sleep. Gemma, it's time to wake up. There's so much I have to tell you. Besides, we just started getting to know each other and becoming friends. I don't have very many friends in Oxford. Or in England. Or anywhere come to that. Please open your eyes."
I was convinced her eyelashes flattered and then she said, "They feel heavy."
I looked at the other two. "Oh, that time she definitely spoke to me. And she clearly understands what I'm saying to her."
"Who are you talking to?" Gemma asked in a somewhat querulous tone.
I thought I might start crying. I definitely felt tears pricking my lashes. “These two ladies are strangers to you, but they’ve been sitting with you every day, so you’d never feel lonely."
Gemma made a noise and muttered a few words.
I thought she was falling back into a deep sleep but then, suddenly, her eyes opened. She looked around, somewhat confused, and then her gaze settled on my face. "Lucy. I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here?" Her voice was a little croaky, but her words were completely lucid.
She looked around again. "What is this place? Am I in the hospital?"
The tears were running freely down my face. "You are. You're in the hospital. You had an accident, but I think you're going to be fine." I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my free hand.
“My throat’s dry. Can I have some water?"
"Of course." I couldn’t bear to let go of her hand. "Clara, perhaps you could get Gemma some water and tell the doctor the good news."
But some mysterious machine must've already sent out an alert, for a nurse came bustling in. "Oh, bless her, she's awake."
She said it in a hearty tone that made Gemma wince. She checked the machines and then said, "I'm fetching the doctor now, my love. But I’m afraid your visitors will have to leave."
She made shooing motions to us. I was about to let go of Gemma's hand, but Gemma gripped it. "I want Lucy to stay," she said.
Nurse looked as though she was going to argue, but, at that moment Dr. Patek came in. He must've overheard Gemma's words for he said, "Of course, Lucy can stay. We’re glad very glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
Gemma looked from me to him and said, "I don't remember what happened. Did someone hit me?"
I looked at the doctor. Let him handle this one. He said, "Let's start with how you're feeling. Do you have pain anywhere?"
She seemed to think about it. "I'm thirsty. I want some water."
Dr. Patek chuckled. "That's easy to remedy. Nurse? Our patient would like some water."
"Of course, Dr. Patek," she said and bustled back out again.
Claire and Mabel had left, so it was only the three of us in the room. Dr. Patek picked up her chart and then he took out a ballpoint pen. "Can you tell me your name?"