“It's where we keep all the magical convicts,” Riley said, her voice awfully quiet.
Suddenly I could see through the door, see Sage sitting there. She had handcuffs on and bright orange bands around her wrists and ankles.
“Those help us contain her magic,” Riley said.
I stared at her, a bit apprehensive. I mean, Marguerite had done the same thing with a bangle. What were they doing with all of these?
“If you don't want to, we don't have to.” Riley stood behind me, supportive.
I shook my head. “I want to see what she knows.” I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin. “Let's go,” I said, feeling braver than I felt.
She unlocked the door, doing a special double tap on it before it opened. Some kind of code? Or some type of magical lock? Maybe I would ask later.
“You,” Sage said, her voice sounding intrigued. “You brought a friend,” she said to Riley, her smile widening.
“You were so much less creepy before you went to jail.” I could feel the hairs on the nape of my neck standing up, and breakfast sat heavy in my stomach. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. Even if I did feel like I was going to throw up.
She rolled her eyes. “Not surprisingly, jail does a number on a person.”
“Even magical jail?” I was doubtful.
She chuckled. “Magical jail is still jail.” She turned to look at Riley, eyes narrowing. “What she didn’t tell you is that the magical jail cells are essentially solitary.”
Riley didn’t look apologetic at all. “She’s allowed occasional contact with the general population,” she said. Her eyes hardened. “Can't have her murdering anybody else.”
Sage spread her arms, half a smile on her face. “What can you do?”
Riley didn't look impressed.
Okay, there was the Sage I remembered. “What do you know about the threats?”
She looked at me, tilting her head. “Threats?” She laughed. “You have to be a bit more specific.”
I bit my lip and then forced myself to stop, to relax. I couldn’t let her know how nervous she was making me. Well, okay. I couldn’t let her see me get more nervous. “The ones against Marguerite.”
She hummed, and the noise was oddly grating. “I remember hearing about those.”
Riley frowned.
Sage rolled her eyes. “You can’t completely eliminate the prison pipeline.”
Riley scowled at her.
“I'm afraid I don't know who is doing it,” Sage said. “That much gossip hasn't come this far.”
“Is there anyone in your inner circle that you think could have done it?” Riley leaned forward.
She didn’t look impressed. “You know I work on my own.” Her voice was almost pleasant. No, it wasn't pleasant. It was kind of awful, a bit too smug for my liking.
Riley clenched her jaw. Then there was a soft flare of white light around Sage’s face, catching all of us off guard. When I looked at Riley, she had a finger on the watch on her left wrist. “She’s telling the truth.” She sounded disappointed.
I stared at her. “What was that?”
She shook her head, nodded towards the door. Obediently, I left without a backwards look. I could hear Sage shouting behind me, but the words didn't make sense. Maybe it was because it was muffled, maybe it was because she was trying to do an incantation or something. Then again, I wasn't even sure they had incantations in this type of magic.
“You can tell if people are telling the truth?” I asked, curious.
“Come with me.” Riley led me upstairs and back to her office. She didn’t shut the door entirely, but it was close.
“I can tell when people are lying to the best of their knowledge.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “It’s not always as helpful as you think it is.”
I blinked at her. “Do you use it on me?”
Riley rolled her eyes. “I don't use it on anybody but suspects. And even then, only when it is warranted.”
I was reminded of something Aspen had said when we were talking about her magic. “There's rules for when you can use magic?”
She nodded. “It depends on your type of magic,” she said. “You’re not generally allowed to do anything that invades somebody else's privacy without a very good reason.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Not liking somebody is not a good reason.”
I tried to blink innocently at her. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Maybe she'd heard about the whole window thing at Oscar’s. Maybe she’d caught Marguerite trying to do it before. Either one wouldn’t have surprised me.
She chuckled and shook her head. “Well, that was a blast,” she said, sinking into her chair and hanging her head in her hands. “What was the point? “
I was fairly certain that was a rhetorical question. “We know she’s telling the truth.”
She nodded. “The chief is not going to be happy.” She made a face.
“Is he magical?” I asked, curious.
She shook her head. “Human, but one of his parents was a witch, so he’s familiar with our side of things.” Distaste curled her lips downwards. “He doesn’t have the best opinions of magic.”
Yeah he didn’t sound like anyone I wanted to know. “How's your other case?” I asked, tentative.
She laughed, and it was a bit tired and brittle. “We’re no closer to a solution on those than we are on Clara's case,” she said wryly.
“Do you at least have the bodies?” I made a bad attempt at a joke.
She laughed properly at that, her eyes closing and the laughter lines making her look gorgeous even when she was exhausted.
Riley looked thoughtful. “We never did figure out how Clara's body got out of there.”
“At all?” I blinked.
She shook her head. “We reviewed the tape, over and over. There's nothing there.”
I frowned. “How easy would that tape be to manipulate?”
She shrugged. “Multiple different types of witches can mess with it,” she said. “Whether it's the electrics, or manipulating the tape, or – it's hard to keep up with what they can do.” She looked at me, curious. “Why?”
“Do you think the footage could have been doctored?” I asked slowly.
She looked thoughtful. “Possibly. But the original is always stored on the server, and it would've been way too difficult for somebody to edit the images without leaving the original one behind.”
I was a lot less certain of that. “Way too difficult? Or just very difficult?”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Very difficult,” she grumbled. “Like you’re making my life difficult.”
I did a pseudo-bow. “I try.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
“What are the names of the human homicide victims?” I sank into the chair opposite her, curious. I remembered Diane mentioning them, and I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were related to one of the cases going on.
She looked intrigued. “Why do you ask?”
“I think they may be related to something here,” I said with a shrug. “Plus I'm curious.”
Riley sighed, her fingers tapping against her keyboard. “I'm only giving you the names because they're already out in the media,” she informed me. “You won’t get any other information.”
I read between the lines. “So you're saying if I want to know more, I'm to go ask Charlotte at the library, who has all the articles.”
Riley winked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grinned at her, wishing I could hug her or something. I didn't want to, really, because it would come across as eager, and even worse, she might think I liked her.
“What are their names?” I asked. I rummaged in my pockets, finding the notebook I’d brought with me. Got my pen ready, too.
“Jonathan Duvois, Eric Meyer, and Richard Nathaniels,” she said with a sigh. “They all lived on the human side of town.”
“Do you happen to know addresses?” I was
hopeful she would humor me.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “How about I give you the workplaces,” she said. “That's public information.”
That worked for me. I could track them down from there.
Jonathan worked at a bar at night, Eric was a freelance artist who worked at the local studio, and Richard was an engineer.
“So nothing in common,” I said, sighing.
She grinned at me. “If it was easy, we'd be done already.”
“Well, I'll let you know what I find, since I’m going to solve yet another case for you.” I winked.
She leaned back in her creaky chair, and there was concern in her eyes. “Be careful.”
I paused, my notebook half-tucked back into my pocket.
“It's not just me on this case,” Riley said. “There's human detectives, too. And they’ll notice if you start asking questions.”
Apprehension prickled down my shoulders. “I thought you could take care of things.” I tried to tease, but it fell flat.
Her smile was crooked. “There's a lot of pressure on the department to solve this,” she said. “We haven’t had this many murders in Pine Lake in forever.”
“And you said there were three, in the last year?” I asked.
She nodded. “That we know of.”
I winced, trying not to think about the implications.
“Just.” Riley sighed. “Just be safe, okay?” She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. “If something happens to you, I don't want Marguerite coming after me for my blood.”
“At least you wouldn’t have to wait long.” I saluted her with my pen. “Shall do.”
“Away with you,” she said, waving a hand at me.
I watched her for a second more, then bowed to her and left.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Why did we agree to do this?” Sam muttered, staring at the ground. Her hands were tucked in her pockets, her feet raising dust as she shuffled forward. “You’re mad, you know that.”
“Because adventure is the spice of life,” Avery said, trying to keep a straight face.
Sam rolled her eyes. “Bullshit.”
I shook my head, glad that Gianna was at school. “Your language,” I tutted.
Both of them simultaneously turned and raised an eyebrow at me.
I stifled a laugh behind my hand.
We walked in silence for a few moments, then Avery stopped. “Why are we doing this?”
“I don't know if they're related for sure,” I admitted. “But I think they are.”
Avery's eyes softened. “How are human deaths related to Clara's?”
I shrugged. “Call it gut intuition,” I said. “I just had a feeling.”
Sam looked up at the sky. “Feelings have never led you anywhere before,” she said dryly. “Especially not right into the middle of a warehouse, being stalked by a witch.”
“We caught her.” I pursed my lips.
“With Marguerite's help,” Avery pointed out.
“Are you guys going to help, or just provide commentary?” I put a hand on my hip and tried to look stern.
Sam and Avery’s faces were entirely unconvinced. This time I couldn’t hide the laugh. “We’re going to start at the studio,” I said, turning my attention to our task at hand. “Then the engineer, and then the bar.” The bar had to be last, because it didn't open until late. But I hoped we could get there with enough time that I could still get Gianna from school.
“And what are we hoping to find out?” Avery walked on my right side.
I shrugged, as if that was the answer. “Stuff,” I said finally. “Theoretically, we’ll have an idea of what happened to them, since Riley wouldn't tell me.”
Sam narrowed her eyes in my direction. “You told Riley you were doing this?”
“Who you think gave me the names of the victims?” I looked at her as if she was ridiculous.
In return, Sam looked up at the sky as if it had answers. “You're insane,” she said, her voice mournful.
“Like you have room to talk,” I muttered.
She shook her head, as if she was most put-upon person ever, and we kept walking. The studio was a small, squat building. It didn't look the best maintained, but once we went in the front door it was gorgeous. It looked three times more expensive inside than it did outside.
“How may I help you?” A very well put together lady came out, her hands clasped. “My name is Amber, and I'm the manager of this here art gallery.”
She had a bit of a Texas twang, which I found sort of hilarious given her elegant outfit. I mean, I was from Minnesota. When we talked about Texas, it was cowboy boots and cowboy hats. Instead she wore a knee-length dress with a few bits of jewelry.
“I was hoping to ask you some questions about Eric Meyer?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, suspicious. “Who's asking?”
Sam opened her mouth, and then closed it. Both of them looked at me. I stood up slightly straighter and smiled confidently. “My name is Natalie Ethridge, and I'm with a small detective agency that assists the police on occasion.”
Her suspicion lessened slightly, but it was still there. “Who do you work with?”
“Detective Riley,” I said. “Lead on the case.”
Her shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she nodded. Apparently she recognized her name. “You better come with me.”
We followed her to her office, where Sam and I took a seat, which left Avery standing. “How well did you know Eric?” I asked Amber, my little notepad out with a pen in my hand.
Grief crossed her face. “We were married.”
I nodded the slow nod of the apologetic, inwardly swearing at Riley up-and-down for not telling me that crucial bit of information. She’d probably done it on purpose, too. Jerk.
“I'm very sorry for your loss,” Sam said, and it surprised me she was the first one to say it.
“We are,” I echoed. “I'm so sorry that you've already had to go through this.”
Amber shrugged and looked at her hands. “I just wish the police had an answer.”
I thought about all the questions in my life I didn't have an answer to. I could sympathize. “Well, I'll do my best to help the police find out what happened.”
Her shoulders relaxed further, and she even managed a half smile. “Who are the other two?” she asked, nodding to Sam and Avery.
“They’re my assistants,” I said smoothly. “They help me take notes, and interview witnesses.”
Amber looked thoughtful. “You’re big enough of an agency to require two assistants?”
“I like bringing them to the first interview, so they can get a good feeling for the case.” I said. “They normally occupy themselves at the office.”
Amber nodded, leaning back in her chair. Her face was still lined with sadness. I felt for her.
“What was your husband like?” I asked.
She looked at me, puzzled. “Wouldn't Riley have told you that?”
“I like to hear information directly from the source,” I said smoothly. “I prefer all of my information unfiltered by detectives.”
There was something in her eyes that made me think she believed me. Maybe she hadn't had a great experience with Riley. I wasn't really sure that was possible, but I sure as heck wasn't going to tell her that.
“He was a good man,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap. I could see her fingers moving, as she twined and un-twined her hands together. A nervous habit. “He was a hard worker, and he really loved what he did.”
“What did he do?” I asked, jotting down hard worker. I knew it had to do with the studio, but there was a wide range of jobs.
“He did a lot of our paintings that we feature out there,” she said. “If he didn't do them, he was often integral in talking to the artist.”
“Are artists as finicky as they seem on TV?” I went for an ice-breaker.
There was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips. “I'll neither conf
irm or deny such slander.”
I dipped my head to hide a giggle. Even she smiled a tiny bit.
“So Eric spent a lot of time here painting?” I glanced around her office.
She nodded. “If we weren’t at home, he was here.” Something twisted her lips, sadness darting across her face.
“Was there an exception?” I asked, my voice softer. I was suddenly quite grateful for all the interviews I’d done as a social worker. Interrogating was easy. It was just asking questions.
She sighed. “A couple nights before he disappeared, I came to check on him at the studio.” She hesitated. She didn't finish, but I could guess.
“He wasn't there?” I was starting to put the pieces together as to what she was hiding, what she didn’t want to say.
She shook her head. She was wringing her hands in her lap again, her eyes downcast. “He came home an hour or two later, and I asked him about it. He said he ran to the convenience store for snacks.”
“And what did you think?” I asked.
She looked at me, and then looked away. “I didn't know what to think,” she said, not very convincing. “I decided to trust him.”
I noted the wording there and nodded. “How was your relationship?” I asked.
She bristled at that. “We were very much in love. We'd been married four years, together for seven.”
I nodded, understanding. “I think that’s all the questions I have. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
“Find out what happened to Eric,” she said firmly, looking from me to Sam to Avery. “Please.”
“We will,” Avery said, her voice soft and reassuring. We took turns shaking Amber’s hand, and then she led us to the door before disappearing back into her office.
We stood outside the studio. For a second I wasn’t sure what to do, so I nodded for them to follow me. I made sure we were a half-block or so away before I stopped.
“It sounds like her husband was cheating on her,” Sam said.
“And here I would've thought that you were the hopeful romantic.” I did agree. I hadn’t expected Sam to catch on so quickly.
Sam snorted. “I am when it works,” she said. “But her answer smelled of her wanting to believe otherwise. Especially with him missing and then dead.”
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