The Lady in Pink - Deadly Ever After 2

by J. A. Kazimer

  As I was making my last call, a knock sounded on my half-open office door. “Come in,” I called, but no one entered. At least as far as I could tell. Then a small, high-pitched voice reached my ears and I glanced over the edge of my desk to see a green-winged fairy named Jonas. I sighed, annoyed by the never-ending assortment of winged demons in my life. If it wasn’t for Izzy I would’ve wiped my hands clean of the lot of them or, better yet, electrocuted the entire batch as a public service.

  “What do you want, Jonas?” I asked, ending my call with a less-than-noble prince with ties to every villain in the surrounding countryside.

  Jonas crawled into the chair in front of my desk, his cherub face as innocent and clear as a baby’s. I didn’t buy it for a second. Fairies were far from innocent, this one in particular. I repeated my question in a tone destined for an answer.

  “I don’t want anything, Blue,” he said. “I have something for you.”

  I snorted.

  “No. Really.”

  “Okay.” I rubbed my hands together in warning of what would happen if Jonas was playing games. “I’ll bite. What is it you have for me?”

  “Information.”

  My eyebrow rose. “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “I . . . kind of figure I owe you . . . for giving me a job after the council fired me . . .”

  Considering it was Izzy who’d forced me to employ Jonas as a nighttime office security guard after the Fairy Council had canned his ass following his role in last year’s toothy folly, his gratitude was a bit misplaced, but I wasn’t one to let a little thing like the truth muddy up the waters. “So what sort of information do you have?” I asked.

  He licked his lips. “Two nights ago, while I was on duty, one of the alarms went off.”

  Now he’d caught my interest. I leaned forward. My chair creaked in response. “Did you check it out?”

  “Yes.” He nodded vigorously. “It turned out to be nothing, really. Just someone working late. But when I was looking around I noticed something else.”

  I rolled my eyes. Jonas was not one for making a long story short. “What?” I snapped when I couldn’t stand his rambling anymore. He jumped in the chair, which made me instantly sorry for the chair, as a burst of fairy dust rained down from Jonas’s wings. Guess he hadn’t had his morning dust off just yet. I inhaled the barest of whiffs of dust, just enough to take the edge off our continued conversation.

  Jonas glared at me but continued his tale, brushing off the dust on his sleeves. “A light was on in your office. I checked around, but nobody was inside. Since only you and Isabella have a key . . .”

  Damn her. Izzy had no business sneaking around my office, let alone sneaking around late at night. We were partners. If she wanted to know something, she should’ve asked. Not that I would’ve necessarily shared whatever information she wanted with her, but it was the thought that counted. Another thought occurred to me at the mention of Izzy and keys. Since she was the only other person with a key to my apartment too, how had James gotten inside? Had he stolen her key or mine? If so, why? I needed to find out why James was at my apartment in the first place. I decided my best course of action was to search James’s cubicle.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said, drawing me back to the conversation at hand.

  “Yeah,” I said waving him off, my mind still focused on James’s death. “Thanks.”

  He nodded, hefting his small body from the chair and heading for the door. “Blue,” he said, stopping in the doorway, “I hear you might have an opening for a new intern . . .”

  CHAPTER 8

  Around three in the afternoon, just as my eyes had begun to cross from hours behind the computer, another knock sounded at my open door. I glanced up, smiling when Izzy appeared in the doorway looking as fresh as a morning glory at first light, while I felt much like the stuff used to fertilize said flower. I’d spent most of my afternoon searching James’s cubicle, which sadly turned up nothing of interest. The kid didn’t even keep a calendar, let alone a list of possible murder suspects. The most I found was a matchbook from a Fairyland strip club, Wings, known for its fruity drinks, winged pole dancers, and short, seedy clientele. The kind of place one could order chicken wings and a hit man for less than I paid in taxes. James didn’t seem like the chicken-wing or short-hooker type, so I had to wonder why he’d ventured to the strip club in the first place.

  “Maybe you should take a vacation,” Izzy began, rubbing her fingers against her neck, a sure sign she wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. “Go someplace fun. A beach.”

  I snorted, half rising from my office chair. “This coming from the same woman who complains when I’m in the office less than fifty hours a week.” I rubbed my chin, raising my bluish five-o’clock shadow with static electricity. “I can’t help but wonder, are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I just think you’d be safer out of town.”

  “Worried about me?” I grinned. “How sweet. I didn’t know you cared.”

  Rather than respond with a smart-mouthed comment as I expected, she said, “I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with the company.” A small smile graced her face. “The investigation part is your baby.”

  “Right,” I said. “Reynolds & Davis comes first.” To her it always would. A part of me welcomed her cold-blooded business sense. Too much was at stake to mess it up with emotional declarations.

  “So about your trip . . .”

  I shook my head. “I’m not leaving, Izzy.”

  “But—”

  “Let it go,” I ordered.

  Her hands flew to her hips and her eyes turned violet. A sure sign I was in for a fight. I steeled myself for the onslaught. It wasn’t long in coming. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?”

  I winced, picturing James’s burned corpse. His death was my fault. No matter how much I denied it. He died because of me. Maybe she was right. If I left, no one else would get hurt. Including her.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  I waved her off. “I know.”

  “James was a sweet guy,” she said, wrapping her arms over her chest as if to ward off whatever evil had befallen him. “A good worker too.”

  I shrugged, a rush of guilt sparking along my nerves. I should’ve paid more attention to him, thanked him more often, or, at the very least, kept him out of harm’s way.

  “He idolized you,” Izzy was saying. “Wanted to become a hard-broiled PI one day.”

  I ignored the “broiled” part of her comment and asked instead, “Do you have any idea why he was at my apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “And?”

  “It was my fault.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It was my fault.” Her face crumpled under the weight of her words. “I killed James.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Under normal circumstances, Izzy wasn’t prone to dramatics like her fairy brethren. But no sooner had she admitted to killing James than she spun on her high heels and dashed from my office, her face in her hands. I ran after her, but I was too late.

  She’d already barreled straight into the path of our new VP of marketing. He caught her with one hand before she hit the ground. My dislike of him intensified as his hand slid up the small of her back. “Are you all right?” he asked her, glaring over the top of her head at me. I raised a blue eyebrow. He seemed to remember his place, for he quit glaring and refocused his attention on the half fairy in his arms.

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t get the wrong impression of our company. For the most part, we don’t condone nervous breakdowns.”

  I reached for Izzy’s shoulder but dropped my hand before I made contact. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. I looked up at Clark. “But we do offer
full medical”—my lips curved into an affected smile—“so don’t be afraid to try BASE jumping. Now, if you’ll excuse Ms. Davis and me, we have an important matter to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Clark said, holding Izzy a few moments too long before finally releasing her. “If you need me . . .” He motioned to his office, next to Izzy’s. While his office was smaller than mine, it was closer to Izzy, which bugged me for reasons I didn’t want to explore too deeply.

  I smiled tightly. “I doubt we’ll need your social media expertise for this one, but thanks anyway.” I motioned Izzy forward. “After you, Isabella.”

  She glanced at me through veiled lashes, nodded once, and slowly walked to her office, her head held high. I followed, wondering what the hell was going on.

  As soon as I entered Izzy’s office my questions flew from my mind. Or most of them, at least, with the exception of who the two three-foot guys with red wings wearing ninja outfits and standing on each side of her desk were. Izzy stood in front of her desk, her face pale in the fluorescent light. She looked far more beautiful than a confessed murderess should.

  “What’s all this about you being responsible for James’s death?” I asked her, ignoring the two red-winged interlopers. I wanted to get to the truth as quickly as possible, sort of like ripping a Band-Aid from a fresh wound. Not that I believed for a second that Izzy had actually killed James. But something was going on in her devious mind. That something didn’t bode well for me or anyone else.

  She took a shuddering breath. “I asked him to do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “I knew you’d forget, so I asked James to pick up your tuxedo from the dry cleaners and then bring it to your apartment.” She paused, her bottom lip trembling. “I gave him my spare key.”

  I closed my eyes, remembering the burned piece of black tie clutched in James’s locked fist. “Clayton’s fund-raiser.”

  “It’s tomorrow night.” She sniffed once. “I didn’t . . . I would’ve never . . .”

  A hot burst of anger filled me. “Stop it,” I said in a tight voice. “This wasn’t your fault.”

  “But if I—”

  “No,” I said, quickly filling her in on what the Ferns had claimed to see, a woman with hair as blond as spun gold discussing my murder. “Since you don’t have that color hair, let alone drink in places like that, you are not responsible. Get it?”

  Her eyes met mine. “You have to promise me something.”

  “I’m not running from this.” I cracked my knuckles, causing sparks to burst from my fingertips. “I will find whoever did this . . .”

  “Good.”

  I smiled, glad to have her support. For once.

  “Just one more thing . . .”

  Shit. I waited for the other glass slipper to drop. It wasn’t long in coming. “I’d like you to meet Right and Left,” she said, motioning to the fairies on either side of her. They were dressed in the typical black keikogis worn by the Fairy Council’s elite forces, which were known as the Tooth Unit, warriors in the fight against oppression and tooth decay. “To protect and floss” was their motto. Unappealing for sure, but they worked hard at guarding the Tooth Fairy.

  I was pretty sure I could take both of them without breaking a sweat. I began to say as much, but Izzy’s glare shut me up. “Since you won’t remove yourself from danger, I’ve hired Right”—she pointed to the fairy on her left—“and Left”—this time she motioned to the toothy ninja on her right—“to watch your back.”

  “No.”

  She laughed without an ounce of humor. “You have no choice.”

  That’s where Izzy and I disagreed.

  Blue Reynolds always had a choice.

  I just usually picked the wrong one.

  But not this time.

  I shot Izzy my most sincere of smiles, one guaranteed to ease even the purest of princesses from her chastity belt. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” I paused, my gaze hot on hers. “You’re the boss.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A few minutes later I was standing on the street outside our office building, Right and Left standing a few feet behind me. Since I was a great detective I quickly realized the obvious; Izzy had wanted me out of the office. I knew this because she said, “Have a nice night.” Then she proceeded to walk me out of her office, slamming the door behind me.

  Like I said, I’m a hell of a detective.

  I looked at Right and then Left, debating. I could give them the slip now, but what was the point? If Izzy wanted to waste her dough by hiring these clowns, I’d play along. For now. It wasn’t like it would be too hard to ditch them; after all, their legs were fewer than ten inches long. Not like they could run after me.

  I smiled at the image and then reached into the pocket of my jacket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. I lit one up, blowing out a stream of blue smoke in a small act of rebellion. While I was enjoying the toxic burn of smoke entering my lungs, my cell phone rang. For a second I wondered if Izzy had slipped some sort of smoke detector into my clothes. Not completely out of the realm of possibility, since she had bugged my phone on more than one occasion. To say we had trust issues was an understatement.

  When my phone continued to ring I pulled it from my pocket and checked the caller ID. “Unknown number” flashed across the screen. I’d learned long ago nothing good came from an anonymous number. Or anonymous sex, for that matter, unless one liked telemarketers and STDs.

  “Reynolds,” I answered reluctantly.

  Static crackled, and then a mere whisper of a voice drifted through the line. “Drop your investigation.”

  “What?” I said, cupping the phone tighter. The stench of burning smartphone tickled my nostrils, so I reluctantly eased up my grip.

  “Stop investigating now or else.”

  “Who is this?”

  The line went dead.

  I stared at the unknown number flashing on my screen and then slowly put the phone back in my pocket. I smiled, for the first time all day feeling as if I was finally making progress. On what, I had no idea. The caller should’ve been much more explicit about what I was supposed to stop investigating. After all, I was currently juggling ten open cases, not to mention James’s murder, Peyton’s missing-fairies case, and the mystery surrounding my own birth.

  My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d forgotten my promise of a large lunch and it was now closing in on late-night-snack territory. I flagged down a passing taxi, and the three of us got inside, Right and Left flanking me.

  As we drove through the city, darkness claimed the night and a chill settled in the air. The moon hung a mere sliver in the sky. As we drew closer to my apartment, I shivered in my suit jacket; not from the cold, but like someone had just walked across my grave. Most people went happily ever after without ever seeing a corpse outside a funeral parlor. I wasn’t that lucky.

  My job all but guaranteed I’d see things others wouldn’t. Maybe it was time to reevaluate my life goals.

  Of which I had two at the moment.

  The incredibly large lunch I’d promised my stomach about twelve hours ago.

  And a very big glass of whiskey.

  No ice. Not only did ice water down a perfectly good buzz, but the damn things always brushed against the metal filling in my right back molar, shocking the shit out of me.

  I took a deep breath of semi-exhaust-filled air as we exited the cab, feeling the energy pulsing through the city. It was as if the city knew something the rest of us didn’t. Was it a warning or the rush of Fey Trains beneath my feet?

  I motioned to the darkened street that led to my apartment. “I’ll be fine from here,” I said to my winged stalkers/molar guards. Apparently they didn’t get the hint. Right flanked my left, and Left did the same on my right. I rolled my eyes but didn’t press the issue. It was late, and I was too tired to deal with fairy dramatics. After a nice dinner of pudding, pickled peppers, and pie, I’d toss the short bodyguards out.

  My mouth watered just
thinking about the next hour, which said something about the current state of my love life. With a sigh I walked up the four flights of dimly lit stairs to my apartment. Surprisingly enough, when I entered, no one and nothing out of the ordinary greeted me. No dead intern. No fairies with demands.

  And most surprising of all, no one intent on a Blue barbecue.

  “Huh,” I said, wiping my loafers on the electrostatic mat on the floor just inside the door. Sparks crackled from my body to the mat. When the buzzing stopped, I headed forward, not too surprised to find Right and Left conducting a military-style search of my apartment for intruders. I decided to let them have their winged way. For the moment.

  With great interest I headed to the kitchen and my refrigerator. I pictured the bounty of goodies inside, all bought and paid for with my own money. Money I’d made through a semi-honest living. It wasn’t bad to be Blue.

  Until I opened the fridge door and remembered two things—first, my maid had done all the grocery shopping, and second, she’d quit more than two weeks ago, which explained the day-old coffee and moldy bread from this morning. I slammed the refrigerator’s door, nearly toppling it in the process. “Damn it,” I yelled as a bolt of low-blood-sugar-induced electricity shot from my fingers, burning a hole in the cheap kitchen countertop. I smacked out the burning embers and then blew on my now aching hand.

  So it wasn’t good to be Blue either.

  Tossing open the cabinet under the sink, I yanked out a bottle of relatively expensive whiskey and poured a healthy dose in an eight-ounce glass. I downed the first glass and poured a second. I vowed to savor this one, mostly because the first nip had gone straight from my very empty belly to my now even emptier head. I sat down on a chair, waiting for the effects to pass. When they did I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number I found myself calling much too often in times like this.

  “Fairy of India, how can I help you?” a guy answered in a distinctively nonaccented voice.

  I sighed. “I’d like three orders of beef saag and a steak. Rare.”

  “You got it, pal,” he said, adding to my already growing suspicion that Fairy of India wasn’t as authentic as one might suspect. After giving him my credit card number I hung up and started sorting through a week’s worth of mail. The Internet made two things more easily ignored—snail mail and normal pornography. Neither of which appealed to me much. I liked shock value.