Honey House

by LAURA HARNER

  I, on the other hand, looked windswept. Quinn had picked me up on his motorcycle for our round of questioning. Jeans, boots, black leather jacket, and with my mass of black hair pulled back into a long braid, I made the perfect picture of biker babe. Swell.

  In less than five minutes, Susan managed to tell us she and Jason had never spoken face to face, and her contribution would have only been to fill in any blanks in the town background. The warmth that spread through me earlier suddenly flared, and I listened quietly to what she was telling Quinn as she stared up at him and batted her baby blues. She was lying.

  “Of course, I don’t know anything about false paranormal activity, unless you count KC’s fortune telling. No offense, I’m sure. I think this is all a big to do about nothing, I’m sure it will all blow over,” she said airily.

  “A man died, Susan,” Quinn said, and there was an edge of anger in his voice.

  “Oh, Susan didn’t mean anything by that, did you?” I asked sweetly, putting myself between the two of them. Considering I was four inches shorter than Susan and over a foot shorter than Quinn, it wasn’t exactly an impressive gesture, but I still needed something from her. That inner voice was telling me there was more here.

  “Susan,” I said, taking her arm and steering her away from Quinn, “Do you have crystals? Chakras?” I asked.

  “Of course I do, would you like to see them?” she asked, and for the first time ever, she sounded genuinely enthusiastic about something other than Quinn.

  That inner warmth flared again. “Yes, please,” I said, and I made a little gesture with my hand, trying to tell Quinn without words to wait here. Susan led the way to a small back room that was black as velvet from floor to ceiling. This room didn’t have the large glass display counters of the main store. There were small occasional tables topped with black velvet. Some of the tables had crystals displayed, while the others were empty, perhaps waiting for the customer to request which crystals or stones they wished to see.

  “This is an amazing room, Susan. I can feel the power,” I said, surprised to hear the sincerity in my own voice.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “What did Jason think of this room?” I asked.

  “He found it amusing. He called it crackpot central,” she said with a sniff. “Then he asked me a few background questions about Juniper Springs and Sedona, looked around the main store, then left.”

  I didn’t bother to point out that she had already told us she hadn’t actually seen Jason. What’s a little lie during a police investigation? Apparently, Susan and I had more in common than I thought.

  I walked around the space looking at her displays, the splashes of color that gleamed against their luxurious backdrops. A pale pink stone seemed to glow, drawing me in from across the room. I looked at Susan with my hand hovering. She nodded her permission for me to hold the stone.

  The label identified it as rose quartz, and I could see the delicate play of light through the inner cracks and crevices. Heat flared through my hand when I picked it up. I stifled my gasp. It felt the same as the heat that flared through my hands when I was able to read into someone. The quartz was large, about the size of the palm of my hand, and not as polished as the other crystals displayed. It felt perfect to me as my fingers closed over the heat.

  I didn’t bother to examine my motives, I just handed Susan the money and slipped the stone in my pocket where it lay warm against my thigh. I asked a few more questions about Jason before the bell at the outer door gave a delicate tinkle, and Susan hurried out to meet her new customer. I followed close behind and noticed Quinn had positioned himself near the doorway to the backroom. Probably so he could hear what we’d been saying.

  The customer was only browsing and Susan returned to us as we made our way to the door. “Really, Quinn, I don’t understand why you are dragging this creature along on your investigation,” Susan said, back to her catty self.

  Quinn looked down at me for a moment, and I watched his face fill with anger. He’d not been happy when I’d told him he could take me along or I’d do it myself. Now I watched as something mean crawled into his eyes. “Sometimes it’s nice to know where your suspects are,” he said blithely.

  Susan laughed.

  The two of them smugly dismissing me just plain pissed me off. If I’d taken the time to think about it, I might have let the comments go, just taken the high road. Instead, I took a broad swipe at both of them, and it didn’t take a word. With a bit of an exaggerated move, I tossed my braid over my shoulder exposing the bite marks and the bruising on my neck. The movement of my hand drew Susan’s attention to the marks, as I knew it would.

  “Whatever have you been doing, KC? You look as though you’ve been—”

  Her eyes flicked to Quinn, probably expecting to share her snide remark with him. What she saw on his face snapped her mouth closed into a tight grimace. There was no missing the slow flush as it crawled up Quinn’s neck and colored his face. She looked back and forth between us, then without another word turned on her heel and went back inside her store.

  I snapped on my helmet and climbed on behind Quinn, wrapping my arms around his waist as he accelerated away from the store.

  “Bitch,” he muttered.

  “Don’t you ever forget it,” I replied, and hid my smile against his back.

  ****

  Four businesses later, we didn’t know much more than Susan’s little morsel. Oh, wait. I did know more. I knew that everyone we spoke to was lying. What I didn’t know was why. Oh, yeah, and I didn’t know why Quinn was pretending not to notice they were lying.

  The questions the sheriff asked at each location were carefully worded. “Did you speak with Jason Brill about false paranormal activity?” he’d ask. “Of course not,” they’d answer dutifully. He’d end each interview with an invitation to call him personally, if they remembered anything important later. He was effectively shutting me out, even though he made it appear I was included.

  Unsurprisingly, we returned to the Honey House without any new information. Gabrielle came out as soon as we pulled up, and I wondered if she’d been watching for us.

  “KC, Jason’s brother is here. I gave him an upstairs room on the opposite side from Jason’s. He’s holding it together for now, but he’s strung pretty tight. He wants to see you.”

  “Not until he sees me first,” Quinn growled, and stomped past us to go inside.

  Gabrielle watched him go, and I noticed her mouth was hanging open slightly. She turned to look at me. “Whatever have you done to Quinn, girl?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He’s been sheriff here for about a year, I guess, and I’ve never seen him so wound up. He’s always been laid back, pleasant, even. He and Joanne were thick as thieves, you know?”

  “Really? Now that surprises me. I thought he didn’t like anything paranormal?”

  “Quinn? What gave you that impression?” Gabrielle asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

  “Seriously? All he’s done is give me a hard time about fortune telling and running cons. And every question he asked today was about fake paranormal activities. I was under the distinct impression that he doesn’t believe in anything woowoo,” I said.

  Gabrielle snorted. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, if I were you,” she said and started for the door. “You have another visitor in the library, by the way. Edwin Merkham, Jason’s editor.”

  “What’s he want?” I asked.

  Gabrielle pursed her lips, a little moue of distaste. “He says he’s here to finish Jason’s story for him,” Gabrielle said.

  “You don’t like him,” I stated. The tension in her body when she spoke of the editor telegraphed volumes.

  Gabrielle sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just too much with the brother and him both here. I don’t like this business. Something feels wrong and I don’t just mean the murder.”

  Gabrielle and I looked at each other then, maybe the first good look
of the day. She had dark rings under eyes that were narrowed by some other strong emotion. Fear? Did she think that Jason’s killing was random and that others might be in danger? I’d never considered that before this minute. Jason’s murder felt completely personal to me.

  Before I could offer reassurances, I caught the movement as her gaze flicked to my neck and back to my face. It had been quick, but there was no way she’d missed seeing the bite marks. Since it was patently obvious I must have engaged in some pretty rough sex with someone, I expected questions or at least teasing, but Gabi never said a word. Lack of curiosity and failure to make yet another observation on the state of my life were very un-Gabrielle-like. Instead, she just sighed deeply, and pasted on a neutral expression. The thought entered my mind that she was resigned to whatever was happening.

  “Let’s catch up to Quinn,” she said, and led the way upstairs.

  ****

  I put my hand out, “I’m Katherine Carmichael. Please, call me KC. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Brill.”

  “Thank you, and please, call me David.”

  David Brill looked nothing like his younger brother. Jason’s hair had been auburn and cut short, David’s was more brown, with longer, unruly curls. His deep brown eyes looked sad and a little tired. He was wearing a charcoal business suit that would look out of place anywhere in Juniper Springs. It just wasn’t a suit type of town.

  Quinn glared at me, and then continued where he’d left off before I’d interrupted. These questions seemed more “I’m-trying-to-catch-a-killer” type questions than the ones he’d been asking all day. Maybe he really was going to try to catch the murderer.

  It didn’t matter; David knew very little about his brother’s life in Phoenix. The family was from Ohio, and he and Jason hadn’t talked much except around the holidays. Nothing strained or unusual, just busy with their own lives.

  He planned to stay just long enough to collect Jason’s belongings before flying the body back to Ohio. His mother was gone, so it was just their dad and a half sister, who still lived at home. His voice choked a little on the last.

  “I really am sorry, David,” I said, feeling a little at a loss as to what to do.

  He nodded and turned away.

  Quinn and I exchanged looks before he said, “We’ll give you some privacy. My business card is on the table by the door. Call me if you think of anything. I’ll call you as soon as you can pick up your brother’s belongings. It shouldn’t be too long, maybe a day or two. Will you be staying here, at the Honey House?”

  David turned and looked at me, and I answered before he could ask. “David, you are welcome here as long as you like. Take your time.”

  He nodded his thanks, and then Quinn and I turned to go.

  “Would you two have dinner with me?” he blurted as we reached the door. “I’m sorry. You probably have plans. I just don’t feel like being alone,” he said, his expression forlorn.

  Quinn answered first, “I’m sorry, I have other plans for the evening, but I’m sure Miss Carmichael would be happy to join you.”

  “That would be fine, David. I’ll meet you downstairs, later,” I said, hoping I sounded gracious. It wasn’t as if I had any real choice. I couldn’t leave the poor guy alone.

  When Quinn was walking down the hall and we were well out of David’s earshot, I hissed, “You are such a bastard.”

  “Don’t you ever forget it,” he said. I heard the smile in his voice.

  Quinn always had a tat for my tit. So to speak.

  Chapter Ten

  The drive out to The Way They Were was longer than I expected. Of course, that might have been because the directions to the ranch were strangely difficult to find in this age of GPS and the Internet. Didn’t these people know about advertising or web pages?

  I'd finally found an obscure entry on a blog about werewolves from a young man who claimed to have had a real encounter on one of the were-safaris. According to S.B. of Seattle, he’d visited Juniper Springs earlier this year with the express purpose of becoming a werewolf himself. His final entry was: “Now I just have to wait for my first full moon so I can shift.”

  Sheesh, people were all kinds of weird, but he at least had attached a map to his post.

  The afternoon sun was warm, baking the red rocks and raising the peaty smell of the junipers. It was quiet out here, with only one other vehicle in the dirt lot outside the trailer that served as an office. I don’t know where they parked all the lime-green tour jeeps, but they weren’t in the lot right now. I parked the House’s…uhm…okay, my thirty-year-old pickup next to a sleek black late-model truck with tinted windows. I felt as though the whole place vibrated with power when I stepped outside my truck.

  A familiar looking cowboy in faded jeans, a denim work shirt, and a cowboy hat sauntered out of the trailer and down the steps.

  “Howdy, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’re closed and no one will be back until Friday. Please, just get in your truck and go now.” He said all this in an exaggerated cowboy accent better suited for Oklahoma or Texas. I half expected him to spit a chaw of tobacco out for emphasis.

  The cowboy raised his head to peer out from under the broad brim of the summer weight hat. “Shit, KC! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Raymond? How about I ask you the same question?” It was Gabrielle’s husband, and he looked positively unhappy to see me.

  “Seriously, KC, we’re closed. Come back Friday and we can talk. Better yet, I’ll meet you Friday morning at your place. I need to get going now. Why don’t you just turn around and I’ll follow you out and chain the gate.”

  Ignoring his suggestion, I leaned back against my truck. In case he missed the subtle detail that I wasn’t going anywhere, I tucked my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans and crossed my ankles while I thought about things. I don’t know what I’d expected to find out here, but it sure wasn’t to find someone I knew.

  Two weeks ago, I would have sworn TWTW was a gimmick. A place for tourists to spend money and have a unique and slightly scary experience. Nothing more than a southwestern version of a haunted house. I got that they closed up over the full moon to keep up the illusion that werewolves were real. The whole set up was the perfect fodder for Jason’s story.

  Could exposing fake were-tours really have been what Jason was talking about when he said he was going to blow the lid off something? His note sounded as though he’d changed his mind. Could he have discovered something of the paranormal experience was authentic? Was it possible that when Jason investigated TWTW he’d discovered the werewolves were real? Not a gimmick?

  My brain wanted to resist such an outrageous idea. This was the stuff of Hollywood, not some small Arizona town. That now familiar sensation of warmth flared briefly in my belly. Shit. I lived in a real haunted house, why would it be so hard to believe werewolves existed?

  Answer? It wasn’t.

  Jason was dead. Not just dead…murdered. If he’d discovered werewolves existed—

  The dream came back to me, the one with the eyes watching Jason. Someone…something slamming into him, knocking him down. Someone…something cutting away the evidence. Evidence of what? Had a werewolf killed Jason?

  “Does Quinn know you’re out here?” Raymond asked, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and jerking me back to reality.

  That was an unexpected response to my presence. “Quinn? Why would he care where I am? I’m just trying to find out if Jason Brill made it out here to talk with anyone, and if so, what did he want to know?” I asked.

  “Come on, KC, Quinn let you ride around town with him today talking to people. I can’t imagine he’d be too happy to know you’d come out here on your own. It kind of smacks of interfering in an investigation, don’t you think?” he asked, dialing his cell phone as he spoke.

  This wasn’t going at all the way I’d expected. I listened while Raymond spoke in rapid Spanish to someone, his side of the conversation quiet and fast.
I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Something about the situation getting out of control. His expression was serious when he handed me the phone.

  I took it cautiously, “Hello?” I’d expected it to be Gabrielle, but that wasn’t who was on the other end.

  “You have two choices,” Quinn said in a voice that was scary for all the suppressed violence it carried. “Get in your truck and return home now or I will come arrest you and put you in jail for interfering in police business. There is no room for debate or discussion. Choose now, because I am already on my way. If you’re still there when I arrive, you will spend the rest of the week in jail.” The connection was severed.

  I handed Raymond back his cell phone with as much dignity as I could muster. I was pissed that he had called Quinn, as if I was some misbehaving child and he was calling my parent.

  I wasn’t stupid. I would go for now, because Quinn was just enough of a jerk that he would put me in jail, just to prove he could. But, I wouldn’t go without a parting shot.

  “What are you trying to hide, Raymond? Why so worried about what I might find? I’m just looking for a little information to help comfort Jason’s family. His brother is upstairs at the Honey House right now, wondering why his little brother is dead. What do I tell him?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, KC, I can’t help you. Now please go.”

  ****

  Gabrielle was gone by the time I returned, which was probably a good thing because I didn’t need to take my anger at her husband out on her. I checked the ledger to see if anyone was staying the night, and found only the same two names. David Brill and Edwin Merkham. Well, shit.

  In my hurry to get to TWTW Ranch, I’d forgotten Jason’s editor had been waiting in the library. It looked as though he would be staying over. The evening was going to be long enough without talking to Merkham, too. I’d rather tackle his questions in the morning, when I was fresher.

  I wished I wasn’t meeting David for dinner because I wanted to be done with talking for the day. I’d remembered to stop at G&O on the way home to pick up a roasted chicken. Now I heated a tray of appetizers and tossed the salad with dressing. I’d already set up for dinner in my apartment, since it was a lot more private than the large dining room.