Soulfire (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 4)

by A. Blythe

  “The butler did it,” she said with a laugh.

  She parked the car on the wide circular driveway and walked between the large columns to the front door. An older woman with gray hair and glasses greeted us there. She wore a beige cotton shift dress and orthopedic shoes. Not quite the butler I was expecting.

  “Good morning,” the woman said. “Right this way, please. Mr. Boyd is expecting you.”

  The interior of the house was as impressive as the exterior. The foyer had a Mediterranean quality with tile floors and a scalloped iron railing. We only took a few steps down the hallway before the woman made a sharp right into an office.

  A man sat behind a desk, tapping away on the keyboard of his computer. Although his sideburns were turning gray, the rest of his hair was still dark brown. He glanced up from a document when we entered.

  “Excellent. Thank you, Mrs. Northman.”

  The woman lowered her head before closing the door behind us.

  Mr. Boyd stood and gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat, please. Which one of you is Miss Winters?”

  I raised my hand. “That’s me. And this is my associate, Miss Edwards.”

  He peered at Pinky. “You look familiar, dear. You said the name is Edwards?”

  Pinky nodded. “You might know my mom. Serena Edwards.”

  His face lit up. “Of course. Serena and I have served on several boards together, although I admit we haven’t seen each other in quite some time. How is she?”

  “Busy,” Pinky replied.

  He frowned. “And so you are…” He looked at me. “Working as a what exactly?”

  “Whatever you need,” I answered for her. “How can we help you, Mr. Boyd? I understand something’s been stolen.”

  “Not exactly.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I need you to find my daughter.”

  My brow lifted. This was a missing persons case? “Mr. Boyd, we’re not detectives. I mean, we sort of are, but we recover things, not people.”

  “I heard you take on difficult jobs,” he said, opening his eyes and focusing on me. “Is that not correct?”

  “It is,” I said, “but…”

  “Well, this is a difficult case. And I don’t trust the regular police.”

  So did I. A missing teenager was often dismissed as a runaway until evidence to the contrary.

  “What’s your daughter’s name, Mr. Boyd?” Pinky asked.

  “Mikaela.”

  “And how old is she?” Pinky asked.

  “Fifteen,” he said.

  My stomach clenched. She was just a kid. “Have you tried to contact the police?”

  He shook his head. “They won’t do anything. They’re treating her as a runaway.”

  Not a surprise, although I caught the flash of guilt in his expression. “Is there something else, Mr. Boyd?”

  He gripped the edge of the desk. “We had an argument recently about a boyfriend. He’s most undesirable and I insisted that she end it. As soon as I told this to the police, I could see their eyes glaze over. They stopped taking me seriously at that point.”

  “So do you think she ran off with the boyfriend?” I asked. “Do you need us to track him?”

  “No, I think she’s been kidnapped,” he said.

  “Why kidnapped?” I asked.

  “Because my security team caught the boy tossing stones at her window last night. He clearly thought she was home.”

  “Did they question him?” I asked.

  “I did,” Mr. Boyd replied. “He was as shocked as I was over her disappearance.” He hesitated. “And visibly upset, I might add.”

  Visibly upset, yet somehow undesirable. I smelled a case of ‘wrong side of the tracks.’

  “What’s his name?” I asked. He’d still be the first person I spoke to, despite Mr. Boyd’s belief in his innocence.

  “Preston Mallet. He lives in Ardmore.”

  “How long has she been missing?” I asked.

  “Two days and counting,” Mr. Boyd replied.

  “And what about her mother?” I asked. “Is she in the picture?”

  His expression soured. “Mikaela’s mother hasn’t been in the picture for a very long time. Elizabeth had a drug problem and no efforts at rehabilitation were ever successful.”

  “Do you know where she is now?” I asked.

  “Haven’t heard from her in years, thank God.” He fixed his attention on me. “I know it sounds awful to say as she is Mikaela’s mother, but Mikaela is better off without her toxic influence.”

  I wasn’t about to argue with that. I’d had my own share of toxic relationships.

  “And is that the new Mrs. Boyd?” I asked, pointing to a glamour photo of a woman on the wall behind him. With her unblemished skin and long, flowing hair, she didn’t look much older than me.

  “Yes, I’m remarried now. My wife, Jayne, volunteers as a docent at the art museum. That’s where she is now.”

  No doubt she’d been an art history major at some esteemed women’s college.

  “And how does Mikaela get along with Jayne?” I asked.

  “They tolerate each other,” he replied, and I appreciated his honesty. Any statement along the lines of ‘swimmingly’ would have set off my bullshit detector. I trusted him a smidge more now.

  “When did you notice your daughter was missing?” Pinky asked.

  “When she failed to come down for dinner,” Mr. Boyd replied. “She didn’t have field hockey practice on Tuesday, so I assumed she was in her room doing homework.” He smiled to himself. “Mrs. Northman had cooked her favorite stew. Even made the Yorkshire puddings to go with it.”

  “No sign of a struggle?” I asked. “Anything missing?”

  “Just her phone,” he said. “But she always had that with her. You know how kids are these days.”

  “And did you track her phone?” I asked.

  He nodded. “There’s been no signal.” His face crumpled and I realized that he was barely holding it together for this conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Boyd,” I said. “I know how upsetting this must be for you.”

  He swallowed hard, collecting himself. “Will you take the case?”

  I thought of all the missing young girls who ended up in Aladdin’s harem. How could I not?

  “We will,” I said.

  “Money is not a problem,” he said. “Whatever your usual fee is, you can double it, plus expenses, of course.”

  “That’s very generous, Mr. Boyd.” I glanced at Pinky. “Are you ready to get to work?”

  Pinky snapped the gum in her mouth. When she managed to sneak in a new piece was beyond me.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Here’s my card with my information,” Mr. Boyd said. “I’d like regular updates.”

  “Of course. Can you write down Mikaela’s phone number, too? I have a tech savvy friend who might be able to help.” I knew Mix would be glad to assist.

  He scribbled down the number and handed me the card. “Mrs. Northman can show you out.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. We thanked him and left the office.

  I waited until we were in the car and rolling down the driveway to ask Pinky for her assessment.

  “What do you think? Is he involved?” I asked.

  “What? Like she’s chained in the basement?” Pinky asked.

  “Maybe.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “No, I don’t think so. He seems pretty beat up over it.”

  I agreed with Pinky. I didn’t think he was involved either, but I liked to test her instincts.

  “So what do you think should be our next move?” I asked.

  “Ardmore to see Preston Mallet,” she replied. “It’s on the way back to the city and then we can have lunch. There’s an amazing cafe there with a beetroot salad to die for.”

  I laughed. “I like the way you think, Edwards.”

  She popped her gum. “I learned from the best.”

&
nbsp; As we should have surmised, Preston was in school, so we ended up having lunch in Ardmore first. Pinky was right about the beetroot salad, though, and I wasn’t even a fan of beetroot.

  “So how’s everything at home?” I asked.

  Pinky slurped down a Diet Coke. “Good. Why?”

  “Just making polite conversation,” I said. “I try to exercise that muscle on occasion.”

  “You’re weird,” she said. “But I still like you.”

  “You mentioned your mom’s been busy,” I said. “Is it just her normal charity circuit?” I tried to keep my tone casual.

  “I guess so.” She fiddled with her fork. “It would be nice if she had more time for me, though. I bet Mr. Boyd spends a lot of time with Mikaela.”

  I forced a smile. “Now don’t go planning your own kidnapping to get your mom’s attention.”

  “Not a chance. Mommy would move heaven and earth to find me. I think innocent people would get caught in her net.”

  No kidding. And Pinky didn’t even know her mother’s real identity. I’d recently discovered that Serena Edwards was none other than the Dragon, the secret head of the crime syndicate in the Mid-Atlantic Colony. Between her charities and her evil schemes, she was busiest mom in the city.

  “What about your love life?” I asked, cringing at the question. “Any undesirables to report?”

  “Who has time for guys?” she asked. “I’m too focused on perfecting my craft.”

  I was glad to hear it. Pinky was young and had the potential for greatness. I didn’t want her to get derailed by some badass mage in a leather jacket with magical balls.

  “What have you been working on?” I asked.

  “Oscar finally agreed to let me use the pit for more intensive training.” She chewed thoughtfully on a spinach leaf. Oscar Martinez was the head of the Enclave in the colony.

  I sucked down the last of my iced tea. “What’s the pit?”

  She covered her mouth. “Crap. I’m not supposed to talk about it. Super secret Enclave stuff.”

  I waved her off. “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. As long as you’re getting the magical training you need. My team can only do so much.” We weren’t mages. Pinky’s advanced spells required someone with a comprehensive understanding of her brand of magic.

  Pinky checked the clock on her phone. “School’s out. Time to go.”

  We intercepted Preston on his walk home. I wasn’t sure why Mr. Boyd thought the boy was undesirable. He looked perfectly normal for a teenaged boy. Oversized backpack. Jeans. Messy hair. A little bit of acne on the cheeks. Honestly, he seemed like the kind of harmless boy you hoped your daughter to date.

  “Preston?” I said, slowly approaching him.

  He removed his earbuds and stared at us. “Huh? Do I know you?”

  “I’m Alyse Winters and this is…”

  “Pinky Edwards,” he interjected, his mouth hanging open.

  Pinky looked taken aback.

  “Do you know each other?” I asked.

  “No, I wish,” Preston said. “You’re like the Holy Grail of hot chicks.”

  I gave Pinky an approving nod. “The Holy Grail, huh?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about your missing girlfriend, Preston,” Pinky said. I liked the way she emphasized the word ‘girlfriend.’

  His cheeks colored. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean anything…” His brow furrowed. “Are you working with the police?”

  “Mr. Boyd hired us,” I said. He didn’t need to know the details. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “My house is just down the block,” he said. “No one else comes home until after six.”

  “Lead on,” I said.

  The modest brick house was in stark contrast to the Boyd estate and Mr. Boyd’s objection to Preston became abundantly clear. It had nothing to do with his character and everything to do with his financial status.

  The linoleum floors were straight out of the Seventies and not in a retro chic way. The kitchen was equally outdated. To his credit, Preston didn’t seem remotely embarrassed by his home.

  “I have iced tea,” he said. “It’s instant, though. Not freshly brewed like Mrs. Northman makes.”

  “Nothing for me,” I said. “Thanks, Preston.” The iced tea from lunch was still sloshing around in my stomach.

  “I’m good,” Pinky said.

  We sat at the round dining table and waited while Preston peeled an orange for his snack.

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m always insanely hungry by the time I get home. My mom says I seem to grow half an inch every other day.”

  “You live here with both of your parents?” I asked.

  His head bobbed as he slipped a segment of orange into his mouth. “My mom’s a receptionist at the car dealer down the street and my dad’s a mechanic.”

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked.

  He grinned and slipped another segment into his mouth. “This house? I know, it’s kinda outdated. It was my grandma’s. We moved in when she got sick so my mom could help out and we kept living here after she died.”

  “How did you meet Mikaela?” I asked.

  “After school in Bryn Mawr,” he said. “At the bookstore.”

  Ah, young dorks in love.

  “You’re a big reader, Preston?” I asked.

  “I am, but I also work there part-time,” he said. “Not today though.”

  I knew in my gut that Preston was not remotely our guy. I had to figure out if he had any useful information, though. Something Mr. Boyd didn’t know about his daughter.

  “What do you know about Mikaela’s relationship with her stepmom?” I asked.

  Preston snorted. “Jayne. She’s such a dimwit.”

  “More Botox than sense?” I queried.

  “Mikaela can’t stand her,” he said. “But she knows her father has blinders on when it comes to Jayne, just like he did with Mikaela’s mother.”

  I studied him. “What do you know about her mother? Does Mikaela ever talk about her?”

  Preston hesitated. It was enough.

  “Preston, how long ago did her mother contact her?” I asked.

  He nearly fell backward off his chair. “How did you know that?”

  I resisted the urge to smile. “You told me.”

  He raked a hand through his floppy hair. “A couple of weeks ago. She showed up outside school.”

  “She recognized Mikaela?” I asked.

  “Seemed to. She does look like her.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Did you meet her?”

  He lowered his gaze. “Once. She came with Mikaela when we met after school for coffee.”

  “Did she look like a complete druggie?” Pinky asked.

  Preston swallowed another segment of orange. “I don’t know. She looked older than I would’ve expected. Older than Mr. Boyd. Lots of lines on her face. Stuff like that.”

  “How was she dressed?” I asked. “Nice outfit?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing fit right. She looked like she was wearing other people’s clothes.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was homeless. “Did Mikaela tell you anything about her? Where she’d been all this time? Whether she was clean now?”

  He shrugged. “We talked a little bit about it, but Mikaela kept most of it to herself. She did mention that her mom needed money and she was going to help her get some.”

  “By asking her dad?” That would’ve been risky.

  Preston exhaled loudly. “I assumed so, but she didn’t say.”

  Mr. Boyd didn’t mention a request for money and I’m sure he would’ve seen the relevance.

  “When’s the last time you saw Mikaela?” Pinky asked.

  “Monday night,” he replied. “We argued. That’s why I showed up at her house the other night. She wasn’t answering my texts and I thought she was still mad at me. I hate when she gives me the silent treatment.”

  “What did you argue about?”
I asked.

  “Stupid stuff,” he said. “She seemed upset but wouldn’t tell me why. I kept asking and she got pissed off.”

  Maybe it was because of the argument she had with her father over Preston. She wouldn’t have wanted to tell Preston about that.

  “Do you think it’s possible that she ran away with her mother?” I asked.

  He choked back a laugh. “Not likely. Mikaela was excited to see her after all these years, but she likes a roof over her head. She felt sorry for her mom and wanted to help her. Running away with her was definitely not on the agenda.”

  “By any chance, do you have anything that belongs to her?” I asked. I should have asked Mikaela’s father.

  His brow creased. “For dogs to pick up her scent?”

  “Yes,” I lied. Or for a young mage to do a locator spell.

  Preston shifted uncomfortably. “I’m…not sure.”

  “What do you have?” Pinky asked. “Whatever it is, Preston, hand it over. It can totally help us find your girlfriend.”

  His face turned cherry red. “I’ll be right back.”

  Pinky and I exchanged curious glances. Preston returned a minute later, holding a lacy piece of fabric. He thrust it into my hand like it was on fire.

  It was a black lace bra.

  “Thank you, Preston,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.” And naughty, but mostly helpful.

  “Super helpful,” Pinky added.

  “Will you take my number and let me know if you find out anything?” Preston asked, slumping against the wall. “I’m really worried about her.”

  After our conversation, so was I.

  3

  I’d just stepped out of the shower when my phone sounded. I immediately recognized Farah’s ringtone—Animal by Neon Trees.

  “I’m dripping wet,” I said. “What’s the emergency? A partial shipment?” Farah was the owner of Tops and Bottoms, the adult entertainment store located below our apartment. There was also a secret armory hidden behind the dressing room area that could only be accessed via the magic mirror. Sex and violence—the two qualities embodied by my best friend.

  Farah’s voice shook. “There’s a dead guy outside the store.”