4 The Infernal Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  “You’ve got it backwards. I follow death. But unlike you, I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and just watch tragedy happen. I’m going to fight.”

  Barbara waved dismissively. “You can’t fight death.”

  “Did you ever try?” Riga put her hands on her hips, exasperated. “And if you failed, did you try again? Maybe if you’d reached out, tried to help, you would have felt some control over your life. You probably wouldn’t have won every round, but you might have had a purpose. You might have been happy.”

  “That isn’t the way of our kind.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your kind.”

  “A friend of the bride?” Donovan, resplendent in a black tuxedo, appeared in the doorway.

  Barbara sniffed. “Marriage. To a man. How pedestrian.” Stiffly, she pushed past him.

  “I take it she’s not from your side of the aisle.” His green eyes crinkled with mirth.

  Riga laughed. “I hope not. That was Barbara Yaganovich. What are you doing here? It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

  He prowled toward her. “Good thing I’m not superstitious. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Oh.” Riga stilled. “Bad news first.”

  “When I left Cam’s body, I left a problem for the Sheriff. As far as everyone’s concerned, Cam died in police custody. There’s an investigation.”

  “How bad will this be for the Sheriff?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Dammit. She liked Sheriff King. He was a good, honest cop, and didn’t deserve a smear on his reputation. She’d saved Donovan, but she’d left casualties on the field.

  “Don’t look so worried,” he said. “King is tough. He’ll get through this.”

  Riga smiled tightly, unconvinced. “What’s the good news?”

  “Vasily.” He ran his hands down her arms. “Smith agreed – or his agency did. They’re not asking any questions about how you got that computer drive, and they’re going to use it against him. The feds wheeled him out of his hospital bed this morning. He’s out of the picture.”

  Riga sagged with relief, rested her head against his chest. “Thank God.”

  “Thank Mr. Smith.”

  “I’ll thank whatever agency he works for. Which agency does he work for? It can’t be Treasury. They’re too square to go for our proposal.”

  He brushed his lips against her ear, murmured.

  “C.I.A.? The Culinary Institute of America?” she asked, laughing and stepping away. “What would they want with you?”

  “Let’s just say criminals aren’t the only ones who need to launder money.” He rubbed the scar on his jaw. “We’ll be seeing more of Smith. I’m not thrilled with it, but the deal he offered beat the alternative. And Smith comes with other advantages.”

  “Like the ability to take down Vasily’s organization, even though the chain of evidence is sketchy.”

  He nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

  “I won’t say anything.”

  “Are you okay with it?”

  “I’m used to spooks hanging around the casino.”

  “Okay that I kept it from you?”

  She took his hand. “I want to share your life, Donovan, but I don’t expect you to tell me every detail, just the parts that affect us both, the bits that count. Like your casino in Macau.” She leaned in close. “I’ve never been to Macau.”

  He pulled her closer, breathed into her hair. “Deal. And that works both ways.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got lots to tell you. Vasily’s criminal organization may be done with, but he was part of a black lodge and I doubt we’ve heard the last of them. And then there’s Pen – she’ll have to be watched, coached. And did I tell you about the hunting lodge? I can’t remember.”

  He laughed, a low rumble that vibrated through her. “Tomorrow. Now, let’s get married.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  *****

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  OTHER BOOKS IN THE RIGA HAYWORTH SERIES

  The Metaphysical Detective, Book One

  The Alchemical Detective, Book Two

  The Shamanic Detective, Book Three

  If you enjoyed this book (and even if you didn’t) please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Then contact me on my author page, let me know where the review is, and I’ll send you a free copy of The Metaphysical Detective.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2013 Kirsten Weiss. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites and their content.

  Misterio Press / eBook edition May 2013

  Cover image: Becky Scheel

  ISBN: 978-0-9855103-5-0

  Visit the author website: www.kirstenweiss.com

  About the Author:

  Kirsten Weiss is the author of the Riga Hayworth series of paranormal mysteries: the urban fantasy, The Metaphysical Detective, The Alchemical Detective, The Shamanic Detective, and The Infernal Detective.

  Kirsten worked overseas for nearly fourteen years, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep in the Afghan war zone. Her experiences abroad not only gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature, but also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.

  Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.

  Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine. You can connect with Kirsten through the social media sites below, and if the mood strikes you, send her an e-mail at kirsten_weiss2001@yahoo.com

  @RigaHayworth

  Kirsten's Facebook Page

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  Kirsten's Pinterest Boards

  Kirsten's Website: http://kirstenweiss.com

  Excerpt: Forever Road by Catie Rhodes, Another Fine Misterio Press Author

  An inhuman shriek sliced through the pre-dawn darkness, stabbing at the haze of sleep coating my brain. My keys slipped from my fingers and clattered to the porch’s wooden floor. Cursing, I bent to retrieve them and dropped my backpack in the process. I shook my head, willing myself to wake up.

  Another furious wail echoed over the pasture behind Memaw’s house. Anger shooed away the last of my early morning fog. I glared at the lights blazing from the sixteen-foot travel trailer at the back of the pasture. A crash shook the trailer, and a male voice cried out in protest. A few coyotes in the pine forest howled at the disturbance. They had the right idea.

  “You can’t tell me what to do, you…you wall-eyed baboon.” She was so loud Rae could have been standing right next to me. Damn, that girl has a big mouth. And a nasty talent for insults.

  The muscles between my shoulder blades rolled into hard knots. My cousin was a pimple on the ass of my existence. If she kept it up, she’d wake Memaw, our paternal grandmother. If I went
out there to tell her to shut up, she’d want to fight. Both options sounded almost as fun as running from an angry alligator. Almost.

  On cue, Rae let out another furious howl followed by a string of curse words.

  I left my stuff on the porch, vaulted the broken chain-link fence, and jogged across the pasture. My steel-toed work boots squelched and slapped on the mud, splashing my clean blue jeans. Of all the crappy ways to start a day. Rae couldn’t have driven me crazier if she brainstormed ways to do it.

  Halfway to the trailer, a light began to glow in the pine forest behind it. It stopped me in my tracks, but only for a moment. Rae picked that moment to escalate things.

  The trailer’s door slammed open and banged against the aluminum siding. Chase Fischer, sans pants, stumbled out. His naked ass glowed in the waning moonlight. I groaned. This can’t end well.

  I ran the last few yards to the travel trailer, doing my best to ignore the sounds and sights coming from the woods behind it. The odor of sweat and alcohol surrounded Chase, my earliest childhood and lifelong friend. It hurt to see him associating with my trashy cousin; I couldn’t even lie to myself about that.

  Rae charged from the trailer, her platinum hair a wild halo backlit by the trailer’s interior lights. Chase and I both took a step away from her.

  “Just go.” Her sandpaper smoker’s voice echoed against the pines. “You’re a clown and a monkey’s ass.”

  “Come on, sugar,” Chase slurred. “This dew’s cold on my bare feet. You don’t want me here, just let me have my pants.”

  He wasn’t the only one uncomfortable. There was no way to un-see this crazy scene. I redirected my gaze to the tree line, hoping to lessen the shock of it. Wrong choice. The air rippled with a cacophony of whispers as ghosts of the Palmore family clamored for attention. The lights in the woods glowed brighter, and a silhouette stepped to the edge of the forest, watching us. Fear crawled up my back and sat on my shoulders, so heavy it crushed the breath out of me. Coming so close to this part of the property was a serious error in judgment, Peri. I usually avoided the place where the Palmore family perished over a century ago.

  I dragged my attention from the woods and stepped into the light spilling from the trailer’s open door. Knowing Rae would attack at the first show of weakness, I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets. How she felt okay acting this way mystified me. I was no prize, but I didn’t have drunken screaming matches in my grandmother’s backyard at the ass-crack of dawn. It all boiled down to respect. Rae possessed none. Not for herself or anybody else.

  “Your grandmother is still asleep, Raelene Georgia Mace.” I stated the obvious, but I knew no other way to convince her to stop yelling. “It’s not even dawn, yet.”

  Rae ignored me and ducked back inside the trailer. She returned holding Chase’s jeans and slung them at him with a grunt. The jeans crumpled at my feet. Stinging embarrassment prickled the back of my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished myself out of the situation. When I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. I picked the jeans up and tossed them to Chase. He mumbled thanks, but I couldn’t even look at him. Why, you dumbass? Why?

  The air around the trailer cooled. That could only mean one thing. The ghosts responsible for the light show in the woods had found me. Fear stirred the coffee bubbling in my gut. I groaned at the tiny strip of pink and orange lighting the horizon’s edge. Full dawn, the only thing capable of chasing these nasties away, couldn’t come fast enough.

  Rae stomped to the edge of the wooden deck pushed against the travel trailer, every step screeching as the metal and wood rubbed together. Her loosely belted robe hung open, displaying her enviable, though fake, breasts. She twisted her mouth into a feral snarl and said, “What you want, Looney Tunes?”

  “I want you to hold it down.” That only covered half of it. I wanted to run back home with my tail between my legs. With the ghosts here, I cursed myself for deciding to confront Rae.

  Rae looked down her nose at me and thrust out her jaw. I halfheartedly returned her glare, too distracted by the spirits swirling around me to put my heart into it. Ghosts gravitated to me like bugs to a bug light. Too bad I couldn’t zap them and make them go away. Instead, I lived a freakish horror show of feeling dead people’s emotions and seeing their grisly spirits.

  Rae and I squared off, each trying to intimidate the other into backing down. Chase took a few steps away from us and shimmied into his dew-wet jeans. He patted the pockets, evidently searching for his keys and cursed when he realized they weren’t there.

  “You know this stuff upsets Memaw.” Breaking the silence first lost me a little ground, but I needed to speed things up. A ghost from the long ago fire stood not six feet from me. His tattered clothes fluttered and flapped in the early morning breeze. I smelled the reek of charbroiled flesh so acrid I bit back a gag. Every muscle in my body knotted with tension. I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. A scream built in my chest and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it back much longer.

  “You’re not the boss of me, Peri Jean Mace.” Rae propped her hands on her hips.

  A million replies, all smart-assed, came to mind. I swallowed them for the sake of brevity.

  “That’s true.” I let Rae win a small victory just so I could get away from the woods and the ghosts sooner. “Just do this for me, all right? I’ll owe you one.”

  “You mean a favor?” Rae slouched in her robe and looked exactly like what she was—an ex-con pushing thirty and living on her grandmother’s grace. Not that I’m any younger. Or that much more successful. Maybe I didn’t have much room to judge Rae. What I said next reflected my weakening resolve.

  “I’ll do you a favor if you’ll keep it down.” Oh, I know I’m going to regret this. How much remains to be seen. “Starting now.”

  Rae pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them to me. My nicotine demon, which I’d been starving for the past two weeks, begged and pleaded. I shook my head anyway.

  “That’s right, you quit. I gotta quit now, too.” She lit her cigarette. The dim flame from her disposable lighter revealed bruises on her cheeks and underneath her eyes. I gasped, skin tightening, as I imagined how much a beating like that would hurt.

  “I told her to call the cops.” Chase kept a safe distance from us.

  “And I said I’d take care of it...boy toy.” Rae’s tone brooked no argument. Chase developed a sudden interest in staring at his bare feet. I averted my eyes, too. His love life had nothing to do with me and hadn’t for some time. It didn’t make minding my own business any easier. My heart ached for him and the stupid choices he made.

  The sun, at last, peeked over the horizon. The burned ghost man faded away with a scream in my head, although the stench of fire and roasted human flesh lingered in the air. Relief loosened my tight muscles and left me feeling giddy. If only all ghosts faded away at daybreak.

  The growing daylight illuminated more damage on Rae’s face and my throat constricted. A raised patch with a crisscross pattern decorated one cheek. Both eyes were black and puffy. Handprint bruises laced her neck, and her nose looked broken. Rae watched me look her over.

  “Who did that to you?” Despite my current irritation at Rae, fury filled me at the idea of someone beating her so cruelly. I wonder what she did to deserve it. Oh, Peri, how shitty to even think that way.

  “Go inside and fix me some orange juice.” Rae jerked her head at the trailer. “I need to talk to Peri.”

  Chase hung his head and slouched into the trailer to do his mistress’s bidding. It caught my attention Rae hadn’t asked for gin or vodka in her orange juice. No telling what’s going on. I bet my pinky toe I’ll be in the middle of it soon enough. I glared at her after Chase shut the door.

  “What?” She smirked, and that pissed me off.

  “Don’t talk to him that way.” Even as I spoke, the logical part of my brain pleaded with me to shut up. Let Rae and Chase do whatever they want back here. Not my business.

  “You do
n’t own him just because y’all are best friends.” She put “best friends” in air quotes. “I bet you’re all bent out of shape because you’re jealous. That’s right, ain’t it?” Her grin reminded me of a shit-eating possum.

  “When did you get like this? You were a kind person once upon a time.” Rae opened her mouth to speak, but I talked over her. “He’s someone’s son. He has people who love him. How would you like it if people treated someone you love like shit? Wouldn’t it hurt you?”

  I braced myself for her fury. Instead, she shifted foot to foot, dropping those hard eyes to look at her polished toenails.

  “Life ain’t no cakewalk. You don’t let everybody know you’re the boss, they’ll try to run over you.” She said all this without taking her eyes off her toenails. I’d embarrassed her, and it stung me. I had no business looking down my nose at anybody, not even Rae.

  “I need that favor yesterday, cousin.” Rae took a hard pull on her cigarette. She squinted at me through the cloud of smoke. Calling me cousin meant she wanted something big.

  “All right.” A promise was a promise, and I’d keep my word. But I never doubted I’d regret this favor. Had I known how much, I’d have run right then and there. “I can’t this morning. I have to clean Mrs. Rudie’s house in town. Jolene wants it over and done with.”

  Rae muttered some words under her breath. They sounded an awful lot like, “Stingy old bitch.”

  I didn’t ask. None of Chase’s family was thrilled about his fascination with Rae. His late grandmother, Mrs. Rudie Rushing, had never minced words. No telling what kind of exchanges she and Rae had.

  “So you’ll keep it down if I do you this favor?” The terms had to be clear; otherwise Rae would twist things around to suit herself.

  “All right.” Rae tossed her cigarette butt at the deck’s edge. I told myself she didn’t almost hit me on purpose. “Before you go, tell me what you know about the Mace Treasure.”

  The change in subject caught me by surprise, although the thought of Rae digging around for a non-existent treasure didn’t. “It’s a load of bullshit the Chamber of Commerce uses to drum up tourist dollars.”