Tiger's Eye (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Three)

by Barbra Annino

Lolly said, “That’s why I gave you the knife.” Then she chewed on an ice cube.

  “The difference,” Birdie said in a tone reserved for when she wanted to emphasize she was older and wiser than me, “is that you were forced into a situation that put you in harm’s way. You were being hunted.” She held up the gun. “But this tells me that you are the one who is hunting.”

  She put the gun in the bag and set it on the floor next to the chair between us.

  I stared at it for a beat, put my hands on the back of the chair. She was wrong; she was wrong about this one. Every nerve in my body told me so. She couldn’t see past her worry about my mother.

  I raised my voice, held it firm. “I am seeking justice.”

  “You are seeking revenge!” Her fury vibrated the room.

  “And what if I am, Grandmother, so what? Don’t we abide by Celtic law?” I flashed my right hand toward the blank screen and it snapped and twirled up into itself.

  Birdie yelled a Celtic triad at me. “Three things without which the protection of the Mighty Ones cannot be: forgiving an enemy and a wrong done; wisdom in judgment and act; cleaving to what is just, come what may.”

  Behind me, a frame leaped off the wall and crashed to the floor.

  I fired back. “Three things only a fool calls imprudent: to seek knowledge, come what will; to give alms openly; and to endure for truth and justice without fear of what may come.”

  The projector spun off the table and slammed onto the floor.

  “Why do you think the tiger has appeared?”

  “To warn me of danger.”

  “Wrong!” She slammed her hands down on the table. Behind her, the door cracked and flew off its hinges. “To warn you not to make the same mistakes your mother did.”

  I tightened my grip on the chair. “The difference is”—I leaned forward—“I won’t get caught!”

  The chair shook in my grip and shattered into a heap of dust and debris.

  Birdie stared at the broken pieces, flicked her eyes to her sisters. Finally she looked at me.

  “If you pursue this, you do so without me.”

  I picked up my bag, stepped over the pile, and stared her down.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 28

  I was shaking as I stormed out of the house, but I couldn’t let the scene with Birdie affect what I had to do.

  This was my mission, my responsibility to my father to find out why he was killed.

  And to bring down whoever was behind it.

  I had plenty of time before I was supposed to meet Cinnamon, so I went back to the cottage, grabbed the mail, and tucked the gun into my underwear drawer. I cranked the air on for Thor and removed his spy goggles and bandana. He settled into the couch while I reached for the CD case that Iris had given me.

  One by one, I checked the disks again, even consulted the Blessed Book (my family’s magical grimoire) for an electronic retrieval spell, but came up short.

  I flipped through the mail. Bills, advertisements, more bills.

  But something clicked into place.

  I snatched the last CD off my desk and looked at the code on the back again.

  GGGH225.

  GGGH—Geraghty Girls’ Guesthouse.

  The address of the cottage was 225 before they purchased the lot and incorporated it into their business. Long before I moved in. My dad would have known that.

  Did he wipe the disks after he printed out the information and bury the files here on the property? Hide them inside the house?

  Why would he do that?

  Unless…he knew he was in danger and it was his insurance policy.

  I got busy tearing the place apart, searching under, up, over, and inside every nook and cranny I could find. I looked under drawers, inside cabinets, closets, the crawl space, the tiny attic nook, even pulled out the refrigerator and the washer and dryer.

  An hour later, I was covered in dirt, grease, cobwebs, and grime and had nothing whatsoever to show for it.

  “Agh!”

  Thor trotted over to me and sat down. He cocked his head.

  I reached out to pet him and said, “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I picked up the CD and slumped into a chair, staring at it as if the answer would magically appear.

  My date with Cin was fast approaching and I needed a shower. Just before I got up to do that, Thor nudged the hand holding the CD.

  “That’s not a chew toy, mister.”

  He nudged again, sniffed it thoroughly. Then he sauntered over to the half wall between the living room and the kitchen and slapped it.

  I stood up, looked at the CD, and then looked at Thor. “You sure?”

  He grumbled at me and slapped the wall again, chipping some paint.

  I examined every inch of the wall, knocking up and down it. There were no outlets that I could find. No heating ducts or vents. I knocked all around the space and it seemed hollow.

  Chance had bought me a toolbox for the house about a month ago. I ran to the back closet and searched through it. The hammer didn’t seem efficient enough for what I was about to do. But I remembered he had left a sledgehammer by the back door from when he pounded in the posts for Thor’s dog house.

  I grabbed it, then said a silent prayer that there was no plumbing, electrical, or otherwise necessary equipment for modern-day comforts hidden behind the wall.

  I arched the sledgehammer back and took a mighty swing at the sucker.

  “You’re late,” Cinnamon said.

  “Fifteen minutes. That’s nothing.”

  “Get in here.”

  She yanked me into her office, shut and locked the door.

  “Why do you look like you got into a fight with the Pillsbury Doughboy?”

  “I toweled off.” I’d had no time for a shower after I knocked the wall down.

  She bit her nail. “Did you bring it?”

  “Yep. Got one for each of us.” I shook the boxes.

  “You go first.”

  This whole take the test with me idea was so girly that I couldn’t help but feel all soft and mushy. My cousin was not the girly-girl type and sometimes I wished we had more bonding experiences that didn’t involve firearms or flamethrowers.

  “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

  Yeah, that was more like her. “Fine. Be right back.”

  I took the test, enjoying the scent of citrus from the restroom air freshener, then washed up and used the toiletries in her private bathroom to make myself look less like the new guy on a construction crew. Except now I looked like the only albino cast member on The Jersey Shore. I think I overdid it with the hair spray.

  I slipped out and waited for Cinnamon to take her turn. A minute later, the sink was running. Then Cin stepped out and we waited. She handed me a timer. I set the timer according to the directions on the package and shoved both empty packages back into my bag.

  Cin paced as I filled her in on what I found.

  “You didn’t have a chance to read any of it yet?”

  “Not yet. Chance is meeting me, so the minute he gets here, I’ll probably head home.”

  Cin gave me a grave look.

  “You want me to stay?”

  “No, you don’t have to.” But the answer was really yes.

  Since the folder had been tucked away for all this time, I guess it couldn’t hurt to wait one more day.

  The timer dinged a few minutes later and Cinnamon sucked in her breath.

  “You want me to check?” I asked.

  “I’ll do it.”

  I stood up and followed her into the bathroom.

  Cinnamon gasped and said, “They’re both positive!”

  “What?” I grabbed the sticks from her hand and read them. I glared at her.

  She chuckled. “You should have seen your face.”

  I hugged her. “Congratulations, Mama.”

  She sighed and said, “Ready or not.”

  “You’re going to be great
at it.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “The band’s all set up. They went to grab a quick bite.”

  “Thanks,” said Cinnamon. We walked out and I asked if she needed me to do anything. She declined and got busy inspecting the bar to make sure it was fully stocked for the evening.

  I ordered a glass of wine from the young bartender and sat down just as Monique Fontaine sashayed through the door wearing a mesh tube top and leopard skirt. I downed half the glass of wine in an effort to gain some courage for what I could only assume was going to be an awkward conversation.

  How was I going to relay to Monique that her great-great-grandmother was proud of her?

  “Hey, Monique,” I said as she walked up to the bar.

  She took one look at me and said, “Hey, Snooki.”

  I couldn’t really blame her for that one. I patted my hair down and tried again. “Not working tonight?”

  She plopped her boobs on the bar and ordered a white zinfandel. “No, Stacy, I am working.” She swept her arms around her and said, “This is all done with smoke and mirrors.”

  Kinda wished I brought the gun at that point.

  She fluffed her hair and said, “Hello? I’m closed on Mondays, remember?”

  Thor ambled over and sprawled at my feet.

  “Jesus Christ, does this beast have to escort you everywhere?” She smoothed out her skirt and said, “He’s getting dog slobber all over my Manolos.”

  Sometimes you just have to hug it out. I downed the rest of my wine, tossed my arms around Monique, and said, “I’m proud of you.”

  She pushed me into the next bar stool and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you high?” To the bartender she said, “Harry, cancel the zin. I’ll take a shot of tequila and a can of bug repellent.”

  Cinnamon was walking by, carrying a few glasses. “Monique, you are a can of bug repellent.”

  Monique shook her head. “I don’t know why I come here.”

  Cin was bent over a cooler. “Neither do I.”

  This was not the way I hoped it would work out.

  I paid for Monique’s shot, grabbed her hand, and pulled her aside.

  “Easy, easy, these are five-inch heels!” she squeaked.

  I spun her toward the wall and said, “Okay, look. I know you don’t like me or my family very much—”

  “Your cousin is the anti-Christ.”

  “Whatever, just listen to me. I, I…”

  Monique stuck her chin out. “What?”

  The truth was probably not the best path. What came out sounded like one really long word. “I-had-a-dream-about-a-woman-in-a-flapper-dress-that-looked-like-you-and-she-wanted-me-to-tell-you-she’s-proud-of-her-great-great-granddaughter.”

  Whew! Glad that was over.

  Monique’s eyes widened and she paused for a very long time. Then she laughed so hard, spittle landed on my face.

  “You’re a nut, you know that? Give me what you’re smoking.” She cackled all the way back to the bar, and I was sure before the evening was over everyone would have heard the story.

  I liked her great-great-grandmother much better.

  Then I thought, Wait a minute, if she was as mean as Monique, I bet that bitch set me up.

  Couldn’t even trust the dead.

  Chapter 29

  “A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.”

  —Ogden Nash

  The band took the stage half an hour later. Becky sang the first song, a Joan Jett number. She was older than I thought, but I guess it’s hard to assess someone’s age by staring at the back of her head. She was shaking an ornamented tambourine against her hips. Brian was wailing on the guitar, while the spiky-haired guy, Sebastian, played a yellow bass. In the back, gearing up for a drum solo, was Rob, the one who dressed like an accountant.

  The pulse in the room was electric, but I wasn’t feeling any magic coming my way. I couldn’t conjure up the image from the other day that had sparked from Brian. Maybe it leaped to me in the first place because I had touched him. Or maybe it was a mixed signal. Perhaps the energy of the music streaming off the stage that night collided with the energy from Cole Tripp’s spirit leaving his body. He was killed—or at least sunk—close to where the band played.

  I sipped my wine and applauded when the set ended. The band announced a short break and they all approached the bar for a round of refreshments.

  Brian said, “How’d we do?”

  “Fantastic,” I said.

  Becky was sucking down a glass of water on the other side of Brian.

  “That’s a gorgeous instrument,” I told her, nodding to the tambourine.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Brain said, “I had it made special for her. Show her, Becks,” Brain said.

  She held it up, jiggled it a bit. There was a raven in the center, set between two crossed guitars. In rounded letters below it the word Nevermore was spelled out, save for a few letters.

  “Are you a Poe fan?” I asked.

  She nodded, breathing a bit heavy from the dancing, and sipped more water. “Unfortunately, the letters keep falling off.” She smiled at me and I saw something familiar in her eyes before she excused herself and made her way to the bathroom.

  Rob came up behind me and said, “Pretty good crowd for a Monday.” He was wearing one of those super watches that told time in twenty-six countries.

  I scanned the crowd. “Yep, not bad.”

  Someone bumped him from behind and his Heineken sloshed all over me.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He reached for some napkins and patted down my arm.

  When he did, a piercing pain blinded me for a moment and the vision came again of the man sinking to his watery grave.

  I yanked my arm away. “It’s okay. I’ll just wash up in the bathroom.” I backed away, a shaky smile on my face. “If I don’t get in line now, I’ll miss the next set!”

  I hurried toward the ladies’ room and smacked right into Becky.

  “Sor—”

  I doubled over in pain as the same vision hit me.

  Geez, were they all in on it or had my mind just gone around the bend?

  “You okay?” Becky asked.

  I nodded. “Cramps.” I swung through the door.

  I stared into the black lacquer mirror as I tried to pull myself together.

  None of this was going well. It was all too much too fast and I wondered if I was up to the task. My visions seemed completely distorted. No one wanted to hear the messages the dead sent me to deliver. The audio tapes may very well have been destroyed in the water and I hadn’t found Keesha’s family.

  Maybe Birdie was right. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to focus on my father’s murder right now. After all, if that were the right direction, wouldn’t I have received some sort of sign?

  I splashed cold water on my face and washed away the beer, feeling defeated and cheated, wondering why the hell my father couldn’t send me his own messages.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  In a wave of energy, the mirror misted over and the white tiger appeared. She was poised on a grassy hillside, so close I could almost touch her. She trotted over to a large stone. There was a sword protruding from its belly and the glossy tiger perched next to it.

  My sword. The three muses sword Birdie had given me. The engraving shimmered and illuminated, sending the letters dancing across the mirror.

  Follow your instincts. Trust in your power. Defend your honor.

  The door squeaked open then and the image fizzled as Thor poked his head inside.

  I steadied my resolve and said, “I’m okay, buddy. Probably time to hit the road, huh?”

  He made a Scooby sound and pulled his head back as the door swung shut.

  I turned back to the mirror and said to my reflection, “Game on.”

  Chance was leaning against the bar, enjoying the music when I emerged.

  “Hey!” He pulled me close and sunk his lips into mine. “You taste good
,” he whispered and swung me into a slow rhythm to the tune of a ballad I didn’t recognize.

  After a few minutes he said, “Sorry I had to work late. I’ll make it up to you, though.”

  “You bet you will,” I said. “I have something very specific in mind too.”

  He smiled wickedly and said in a sultry tone, “I like the sound of that. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Sure. Let me just say good-bye to Cinnamon.”

  I grabbed my bag and headed around the bar where Cinnamon was berating a customer. “You point that finger at me one more time and I will rip it off and use it as a swizzle stick.”

  “Hey, Cin, I’m going to take off. You okay?”

  The customer she was talking to said, “I think she has an anger management problem.”

  “I think you have a shut-the-hell-up problem. Order a drink that isn’t pink.” She said to me, “Freaking Sea Breeze, do you believe this guy?”

  And that’s when I knew she’d be just fine. I told her I’d call tomorrow, wished the guy on the bar stool good luck, and headed out with Chance.

  The night air was heavy, with the faintest hint of caramel corn drifting over from the candy store. I looked up, happy to see the stars out in full force. One of the perks of living in a small town was the lack of city lighting that drowned nature’s luminosity.

  Chance opened the back of the pickup so Thor could enjoy a friendly breeze on the short ride home. “Busy day tomorrow?”

  “You could say that.” I told him I had to take Keesha to the vet, pop over to the spy store to follow up on a lead, read over some files, and possibly interview a metal sculptor for a profile piece. I also filled him in on my meeting with Leo and his findings regarding the Junkyard Graveyard, Mr. Scoog, and Cole Tripp.

  We discussed all that for a few minutes before we pulled into the driveway.

  At the cottage, Chance jogged around to the passenger door to open it for me and then lowered the back gate for Thor. I fumbled for my key as the dog jumped down and chased a croaking frog.

  “Hey, Stacy, I was thinking it might be nice to go away this weekend. Just you and me.”

  I shoved the key in the lock and twisted. Then I turned to him. “It sounds like paradise, but Friday is the summer solstice. It’s a big deal to Birdie. However…” I snaked my arms around his waist and kissed his neck. “We could lock ourselves in the cottage Saturday and Sunday.” I kissed the other side. “Order delivery.” Then his chin. “Listen to some music.” Then his lips. “Get busy getting dirty.”