by Mia Marshall
“What about that guy with the goatee and the ear plugs that I always said smelled of broccoli?” asked Sera.
“Study partner. We never dated. The one with one green eye and one blue?”
“Bought him a drink when he lost his wallet, but that was it.”
Mac entered the room mid-conversation. After a moment, he turned to Brian, who was currently trying to turn vodka, grenadine, and ginger into a working cocktail. It was definitely time for a liquor store run. “What are they doing?”
“Making a list of everyone they ever dated. I’m helping. Aidan, what about the professional bicyclist with the Celtic tattoo?”
“The Italian one? Hell, no. Way too much spandex. Sera, you remember the coffee shop guy?”
“The one that was prettier than me and played guitar? Of course I dated him. Find me a college student that wouldn’t. And he was more than one kind of player, so an outsider might think it ended badly. Put him on the list. His name was... Richard something. Richard Hill.”
Mac leaned over me, watching me add the name. “You’re making a list of everyone you slept with?” I wasn’t sure if his dubious tone was due to the questionable use of our time or the length of the list.
“Not slept with. Dated,” I clarified.
Sera nodded. “Yeah, we weren’t the Whores of Babylon, Mac. We weren’t even the trollops of Tahoe. Coquettes of the college is as far as I’ll go.”
“Why are you making a list of everyone you both dated?”
“Not everyone. Just those who dumped us, or otherwise did us wrong.”
“They’re preparing to write a country song,” Brian offered.
Mac continued to study the list. I couldn’t help but feel offended. It was only a single sheet of paper. It wasn’t a scroll or anything. “So, this is, what, about half the men you dated?”
“Half?” asked Sera, offended. “You assume that at least half the men we dated willingly gave us up?”
“They ran away screaming,” said Brian in a mock whisper. A moment later he was leaning away from a small fireball that threatened his eyebrows. He blew it out easily and tried adding bitters to the grenadine/ginger concoction. His contorted face let us know just how ill-advised that experiment was. “Screw this. I’m going to the store,” he announced, grabbing his coat and keys. He shut the door carefully behind him. With so many buckets perched in the living room beams, no one was slamming doors at the moment.
“Ade, what about that guy who thought pot was a vegetable and playing Resident Evil was a form of exercise?”
“You mean Jeff Brown. I thought you dated him, not me. Didn’t he get kicked out of school and take a job at one of the ski resorts? There was no dumper or dumpee, at least the way I remember it.”
“I dated him?” Her face scrunched in her attempt to remember. “That must have been a love for the ages. You’re sure it wasn’t you?” I shrugged, only mostly certain. “Fine, put him on the list.”
Mac was silent. I felt a flicker of embarrassment about my dating history and wanted to defend myself. I was feeling a little like the slut of the ski slopes, despite what Sera had said. “It was college. You know how it is.” His face was blank. Maybe he didn’t know. I hurried on, hoping to cover any awkwardness. “Anyway, these weren’t all serious. Most of them weren’t, really. They were just guys we went on a date or two with who never called us back.” I really wasn’t making things better. “We didn’t sleep with most of them. Besides, the majority of them are Sera’s,” I finished, happily putting the blame for our slutty ways on her.
“Only because I’ve lived here every summer for the past ten years, while you’ve spent that time doing your best impression of a nun wearing a chastity belt.”
That was really not information Mac needed to know. I hurried to change the subject. “The point is that the killer seems to be targeting men that done us wrong. Or who might appear to have done us wrong,” I added, thinking of Mark. I had never really cared about him or what he did, but he was every bit as dead as Cal, who had broken my heart. “And the feds know it.”
“So you’re trying to figure out possible targets?” We nodded. “What’s so special about you two?”
“For the sake of our friendship, Mac, I’m going to pretend I never heard that.”
He waved off Sera’s false indignation. “That’s not what I meant. Why you? From what I understand, there are elementals all over Tahoe, dating humans and shifters, and last time any one of those humans was an acceptable target. Why are you the focus this time?”
I’d had a lot of time to ask myself this very question on the walk home. “If we’re still working off the second gunman theory, then this guy knows who we are. He knows Sera and I were involved. Hell, maybe it’s revenge for killing his partner. He’s taunting us, or maybe trying to set us up. The more ex-boyfriends turn up dead, the less innocent we look. We can’t really explain to the feds that it couldn’t possibly have been us, because the killer’s earth, but I’m water and Sera’s fire.”
“Just one more reason to find this bastard as soon as possible. I wasn’t meant for hard time. Here,” Sera said, ripping the list in half. “Tomorrow, you track these guys down, see who’s still in the area. And let’s ask Simon to redo our security system. We can put the soil in my trunk, and I’ll dump it. If the feds get a warrant, it will look a lot better for us if we don’t have buckets of the murder weapon lying around. No one looks good in orange, and I refuse to spend the next forty years wearing a jumpsuit that color.”
I discovered one upside to modern communication. Private investigation was a lot easier in the internet age. A few basic searches of various social media websites told me that most of the men had moved on—no surprise for a bunch of college students in a resort town. They’d left to find jobs, and in the process may have saved their own lives. On my list, only three of the possible targets might even still be in the area. Finding their current addresses had been a little trickier, at least until Vivian got her hands on the laptop. Five minutes later, Sera and I had all the information we needed. I decided not to inquire about her methods.
The first man, one of Sera’s recent local flings and a shifter, lived in King’s Beach at the north end of the lake. It was a classic wood cabin set amongst the trees. Pulling into the driveway in Mac’s Bronco, I noticed that his truck was almost entirely packed, and the man I was looking for was throwing a cooler in the back. “Excuse me?” I called, using my perkiest voice. “Hi! Sorry! I’m your new neighbor, just down the road,” I pointed vaguely behind me, trying to hit as many different directions as possible. “I just wanted to introduce myself, but it looks like you’re heading out? I don’t want to interrupt.” I really didn’t. The sooner he got out of town, the sooner I had one less potential victim to worry about.
“You’re not,” he replied, slamming the tailgate shut. “And you’re not my neighbor, either.”
“I’m sorry?” I could feel my face turning red.
“It’s not my home anymore. Tahoe ain’t exactly the place for me at the moment.” He looked me over carefully, obviously noting my classic water coloring and body type. I was getting a little tired of these shifters seeming to know everything about me when I still knew almost nothing about them. “And you definitely don’t look like the sort of woman a guy like me wants to be hanging around these days. Good day.” He climbed into his truck. Moments later, he was headed for the highway, running from whatever was threatening the shifters of the area. I hadn’t anticipated being this lucky, but it seemed the local shifters were more aware of the situation than I’d expected. It made sense, once I thought about it. If the elementals could figure out what was happening, the shifters certainly could, too.
My next stop was a full hour away in Carson City, Nevada, to visit a drunken junior year fling. I wasn’t much looking forward to the encounter, since I hadn’t figured out a believable cover story that didn’t make me sound like a stalker, so I was relieved to learn from the man’s neighbor t
hat my former fling was visiting family in Wyoming and wasn’t expected back for at least two weeks. For the moment, all I could do was drive down to South Lake Tahoe to check on Richard Hill.
It was another long drive, and it was already late afternoon. Steve Earle kept me company most of the way down, singing to me about how his “fearless heart just comes back for more.” I knew I couldn’t claim to have lived with a fearless heart—quite the opposite, this last decade—but something about Steve Earle’s certain delivery made me sing along and wish the words were true. Maybe, just maybe, when I wasn’t looking, I’d started to become fearless again. Just a little bit, but that was better than before. Whatever had happened years ago, I really was back, and this time I wasn’t going to abandon the story halfway through. I was going to see it completed and be certain this time. I didn’t know what would happen after that, but I knew, as clearly as I knew the feeling of a wave about to peak or a river swirling around jagged rocks, that I didn’t want to be fearful any longer. It wasn’t who I was, not really. Once, I’d been the sort of woman a man might write a country song about, and I liked that woman a lot more than the scared, hair shirt-wearing hermit I’d become.
It was in that spirit of hope and strength that I pulled up outside Richard’s condo. I was going to find this guy, I was going to get him out of town, and then we’d find this psychotic earth bastard, all without once wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, because Sera was right. No one looks good in orange. The positive feeling lasted only until I arrived at the front door. The lights were all on, but no one answered the door. I checked the mail box. It had been emptied recently, and the plants on the front porch had been watered. I rang the bell a second time, but again no one answered. Remembering some basic caution, I pulled on a set of gloves before hesitantly trying the door. It was unlocked.
“Hello?” I called. Silence greeted me. I walked slowly through the house, continuing to call out and receiving no answer. I felt sweat beading on my forehead. Richard kept his house ridiculously warm. Even Sera would feel toasty in his house. I wiped a forearm across my face, picking up the drops of sweat gathered on my brow. The living room held a couple of old guitars, suggesting he hadn’t completely given up his old life, but it also contained a plaque recognizing him as a local car dealership’s salesman of the month. I smiled. Sera would take a certain pleasure in hearing that, I knew. If he’d lost his hair, it would be even better.
If he was still alive, that is.
“Anyone here?” I asked, heading into the small galley kitchen. Food lay on the counter—mozzarella, mushrooms, and pepperoni. A pizza stone held dry dough covered in crusty tomato sauce. The heat came from the oven, which someone had preheated in anticipation of the planned meal. One shriveled mushroom lay on a cutting board, only halfway cut. Nothing appeared disturbed, but it also appeared that Richard had been interrupted while preparing dinner. Based on how warm the condo was, I imagined it had been the previous night’s meal, because it felt like the oven had been on for at least a full day. I looked through the rest of the house. I opened every closet and even peered behind the shower curtain, but there was nothing else to see. Suitcases rested on the closet floor, and his toothbrush remained in its charger. There was no evidence that he simply decided to take a vacation in the middle of making pizza. Neither was there any sign of a struggle. Richard simply wasn’t there.
Carefully, I closed every door that I’d opened, leaving the house exactly as I’d found it, although I did turn off the oven. I wasn’t going to be so stealthy that my caution caused a gas explosion. Once the front door latched behind me, I felt the tension I’d been holding in my shoulders slide away. I wanted to get away from Richard’s home as quickly as possible. Nothing about it felt right.
As soon as I turned around, the tension slithered back up my spine.
“Why, Ms. Brook,” said Agent Carmichael. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The office was much quieter on a Sunday night. Only a few dedicated agents lingered in the building. There were no ringing telephones or clunking copiers to disrupt the quiet. I sat in the same room I had a few days ago, only this time it was just me and Carmichael. The room’s fluorescent lights somehow seemed brighter, harsher in contrast to the peaceful night I’d left behind. I leaned back in my chair and tried not to fidget. I held the cup of tea tightly, locking my fingers around the mug so they weren’t free to tap against the table. I suspected I looked guilty enough, even without any nervous habits. Even so, under the table my toes performed a slow, silent tap dance of anxiety.
Agent Carmichael didn’t say a word. He was mirroring my pose, sitting back in his chair and simply watching me. I knew it was an interrogation technique. I knew he was deliberately hoping that the more silence he provided, the more I’d want to fill it. Sera had always used the same strategy when she wanted me to talk. I resisted it about as well with him as I did with her.
“Are you following me now?” I asked.
“Now why would I do that?” he replied.
“So, you were just coincidentally visiting one of Sera’s exes?”
“Does that seem likely?”
“No Johnson tonight? Or is he following Sera?”
This time I only received an enigmatic shrug. Great. He was taking the therapist’s approach to interrogation. “Look, I know how this must look. You think Sera and I are black widows, vengeful killers intent on ridding the world of heartless men. But, and I mean no offense, that’s stupid.”
I got an eyebrow lift. I wasn’t sure that was progress.
“Think about it. Why would I wait ten years to get my revenge? Even if I was a shrill bitter harpy, that’s a long time to hold a grudge. Plus, someone shoved earth into these guys’ lungs. The killer would have needed to hold the guys down, and we’re not that strong. I mean, Sera’s got muscles, but she’s barely 5’5”. Me, I don’t even work out.” I flexed my non-existent bicep as evidence. “So, yeah. Stupid.” I forced myself to stop there. He was not going to silently stare me into the “I’m water and she’s fire!” defense. Underneath the table, my toes continued their silent audition for the next touring company of Stomp.
“You know, the manner of death isn’t widely known,” said Carmichael. “In fact, it’s the sort of information one might only learn from reading a missing confidential file. For example.”
Oops. Look innocent. Look really freaking innocent. “One of my friends has a relative on the force. We don’t get a lot of murders up here. People talk.” I really hoped I hadn’t just sold out Brian’s uncle, especially since I knew Stephen Grant was probably the cleanest cop on the force.
“There could always be a co-conspirator. A man who shares your outrage at the poor treatment you received at the hands of these men. From what I see, you two have never lacked for loyal male companionship.” The words were snide, but the tone was not. In fact, Agent Impassive was smiling. “Relax, Ms. Brook. I actually don’t think you’re the killer.”
“Really?” I asked, likely sounding as surprised as I felt. I definitely had to work on this whole “appearing innocent” thing. It shouldn’t be as difficult as it was, considering I wasn’t guilty.
“Really. Though I’d still love to know what you were doing there and why you felt the need to wear gloves indoors, it helps that you showed up at the condo after Richard Hill disappeared. And honestly, it never seemed the most likely scenario. You don’t fit any serial killer profile I’ve ever seen, and you really don’t have the required strength, do you?”
I shook my head happily. “Total wimp. And I was at the condo because you scared the hell out of me earlier. Since I knew I wasn’t doing the killings, it seemed someone else was targeting guys Sera and I knew. I wanted to find them and, I don’t know, tell them they’d won a fabulous deluxe vacation and had to leave town immediately. And I wore gloves because I’m not an idiot. If one of those men had disappeared and my prints had been all over his house, I’d find myself in front of a grand jury pretty damn fast, regardles
s of how innocent I might actually be.”
“So, you’re telling me you were helping us.”
“Yes. I’m a very helpful person. Please remember that if more evidence turns up against me.” I smiled winningly. He appeared more amused than won-over, but it still beat accusatory. “But if you don’t think I did it, why didn’t you tell me at the diner? Why let me think I was a suspect? And why were you following me?”
“I said I didn’t think you did it. I didn’t say anything about Agent Johnson. And I wasn’t following you. I was doing the same thing you were, tracking down yours and Sera’s exes, making sure they were all still alive. I arrived twenty minutes before you did. I saw you arrive from the window and just headed out the back door. I was curious to see what you would do.”
“How’d you find him so fast? It took us hours to compile a list of our breakups.”
“Facebook is a magic and generous land for those with hackers on staff. It is amazing the photos people will post—particularly ones from their days as young guitar gods who dated beautiful women.”
I nodded. I was still getting caught up on the whole social media revolution and kept forgetting that privacy was nearly as obsolete as dial-up or cassette tapes. At least one advantage of my recent disappearing act was how little I existed online. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready for my life to be an open book to anyone with the right URL.
Echoing my thoughts, Carmichael said, “You were a bit harder to find. Any information we acquired on you came through third party sources and other people’s accounts. We didn’t find a single record of your existence during the last decade.” He obviously expected a response.
“I went off the grid for a while there. I decided to try the whole Walden Pond thing for a time.” That sounded likely enough. I had been an English major, after all.
He didn’t seem fully convinced, but neither did he press the issue. I wasn’t surprised when he asked for a list of my ex-boyfriends. I handed him the half sheet with the names and my notes on it and told him what I’d learned on my visits earlier that day. I even volunteered Sera to come in the next day with her list. Now that I knew he didn’t consider me a cold-blooded killer, I was far more willing to help him.