Blood of the Pride

by Sheryl Nantus

  “I need to get to work.”

  The cat raised his head and yawned, displaying an impressive set of teeth.

  “Seriously.” I jerked my thumb back behind me at the house. “Don’t want Jess getting mad, now…do we?”

  The black cat leisurely rolled off the jeep’s hood onto the gravel road, stretching out his legs one by one and flexing his toes in the air. He arched his back and let out another yawn before strutting back toward the barn, tail held high.

  “Snob.” I got in behind the wheel and turned the engine on, tossing the tabloid onto the seat beside me. I sped back down the dirt road to Toronto and my real life.

  Chapter 3

  I probably should have stayed and asked for more details on Janey’s life, but I had little faith in the Board’s ability to give me the actual truth. Better that I find out for myself what exactly made this woman, only a few years older than me, a target to be murdered and then made into a centerfold.

  I pulled over to the side of the road, out of sight of the farm and grabbed my cell phone. I wasn’t fool enough to think I could drive and talk at the same time.

  “Attersley.” He sounded like he was situated in a deep, dark hole, which he probably was, given it was Station 14 deep in the bowels of west Toronto.

  “Hey, Hank—it’s Reb.” I checked my rear-view mirror out of habit. The road was clear.

  “Don’t tell me you want another loan. I can’t afford to support two ex-wives and you.”

  “But I’m so much more fun.” I picked up the tabloid rag and flipped to the page. “Besides, who else is going to put up with your crap? Not to mention that I wouldn’t invite you into my bed on a dare.”

  “If that’s your way of sweet-talking me, you need some work.” A rolling belly laugh sounded across the airwaves. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Murder case. Janey Winters. Left in an alleyway near Queen and Spadina two weeks ago.” I squinted at the grainy photo. “Got a photo in the Inquisitor, of all places. Family wants me to check it out.” It wasn’t a total lie. No matter where you were and what you did, the Pride considered you family.

  “Hmm.” The sound of scratching and banging signaled a search of his desk, with rapid tapping on a keyboard. “Case’s not mine. It’s down with Martin Huffington.” A minute’s pause. “They’re set to mark it down as cold, no real leads at this point. No witnesses, no obvious enemies. Sorry to say, but it looks like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Coroner says her neck was broken, one fast snap. Bruises are full and nasty-looking. She put up one hell of a fight but wasn’t able to throw him before he got a good grip and twisted. I’m thinking druggie, personally. And what’s with the fur?”

  I tucked the phone against my shoulder and stared at the paper. “Ah, costume party stuff, I think. Family’s not as worried about that as they are about the picture in this trashy paper. Have your boys already been out to interview the family?”

  “The detectives have already been there. Don’t feel that you’ve got to hold back for fear of my boys racing in and jacking you for information. Looks like just another crackhead jumping the girl for her purse, if you ask me. She fights back, he freaks and kills her.”

  “Possible. But the photo’s another problem. Family’s worried that the photographer’s got more shots and is going to spread this crap around.” I glanced at my rear-view mirror again. A dust storm appeared.

  “They could sue but as long as the tabloid blurred her face enough that she’s unidentifiable it’s not going to fly. Not to mention the reporter’s not going to give up his sources. Even the Inquisitor’s got some morals. And highly paid lawyers to keep them on the edge of the law without falling off.” The last few words were said in a choking laugh. “Reporter’s name is Brandon Hanover. Used to be a good journalist years ago and now he’s printing trash like that. Huffington’s pissed that it looks bad for the police but what can you do? It happens all the time, fellows looking to make an extra buck. When they get a juicy crime scene photo, they sell it to the press.” I could almost hear him shrug. “It’s the way of the world these days. With cell phones and everything but your underwear able to take pictures I’m surprised more crap doesn’t get online that shouldn’t be.”

  “Thanks, Hank. I’ll drop you a check in the morning.” The dust cloud resolved itself into a small car speeding toward me. I flipped the phone off without waiting for a response and tucked it back into my pocket.

  The dark blue Ford Taurus slid in behind me, the engine dying away in a shudder and snort. I stepped out and then stared at the driver with my hands in my pockets.

  Jess’s long, lanky body uncurled from the seat like one of those clowns from the little clown car. Rubbing the back of her neck, she strode toward me with a sheepish grin on her face.

  “Didn’t mean for you to run off so quickly.” She leaned on the hood of her car, arms crossed. “Figured I’d catch you chatting to Ruth or snatching one of her pies.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t think I was welcome for lunch. Or dinner.” I slammed my door shut and then moved around to lean on the back of my car, facing her. “So, what brings you out to talk to me outside of the Board?”

  One finger moved up to trace the scar on her face. She had never mentioned plastic surgery and no one had dared to bring it up. “Dennis didn’t want to call you in. Davis had a fit.”

  “And yet you did.” Spreading my hands, I shrugged. “However, I do have a phone. Could have just called. I have an answering machine.”

  “You’d have hung up. Or deleted the message.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and scuffed the dirt with a dark-brown cowboy boot. “We know you too well. You wouldn’t have come out here on a dare.”

  “So you send up the freaking Pride Signal?” I pointed at the sky. “Get a searchlight next time and toss up a cat’s head or something. It’s going to take days to get that aroma out of my office.” I wrinkled my nose at the scent memory.

  “We wanted to make sure you’d come.” She bounced on the hood of her car, stressing the thin metal. “Brought you the records on the Winters family.”

  “I was going to wait a day or so and see if they showed up before I made a fuss.” I didn’t move. “Figured you’d want time to black out what you didn’t want me to see.”

  Jess stood, shaking her head. “Reb, it’s not all about you. Not this time.” She looked out at the farmlands around us, over my head. “I thought you figured that one out.”

  We stood there quietly for a second, old memories running around us. When I had arrived in Toronto years ago, I had been terrified by the closed spaces, the small rooms and the narrow roads keeping me away from the wide-open sky and the fields I had grown up in. My legs tensed, daring me to whip off my running shoes and sprint along the road with bare feet as I had done for the first few years of my life. Damn, I’d missed being out here. Then a shiver of pain ran along my right shoulder blade and I remembered why I wasn’t out here anymore.

  “Point taken.” I walked past her, opened the back door and plucked the large brown envelope off of the seat. “Thanks.”

  “We think it was an inside job.” She didn’t move when I sat on the hood beside her.

  “I thought we had resolved that was a likely scenario. Not too many humans able to get the jump on us.” I didn’t open the envelope.

  “No, a real inside job.” She tapped the edge of her nose, a serious look on her face. “I’m thinking Dennis, to be truthful.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck began to curl up. “You think a Board member killed her?” My fingers tightened on the envelope. Good thing, too, otherwise I would have been gouging my palm with my fingernails. “What the hell has been going on since I left? First you’ve got blood killing blood and now you’re saying it’s Dennis?”

  “Things have changed, kit.” I clenched my jaw in automatic response to the gentle admonishment. “You never got into the internal politics and all that. It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a fact of life.
”

  “For you.” I bounced off the hood and walked back to my car. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to find out how much fun backbiting could be among family.” I opened the door and tossed the envelope inside. “Just out of curiosity, why Dennis?”

  Jess looked out over the fields. “He likes them young. He divorced Cindy a few months ago, and he’s been making trips into Toronto. I figured he was just finding companions down on Lakeshore. Now, well…” She shrugged. “Men. They’re all animals. Keep him on your radar, that’s all I’m saying.”

  I rolled my eyes and got inside the car. “I’ll be in touch. Thanks.” The last word grated against my teeth, but it was only good manners. My mother had always insisted on good manners.

  Jess remained where she was as I pulled out, growing smaller and finally disappearing from my rear-view mirror as I headed back to the highway. The traffic was light, the afternoon commute from Barrie back into the downtown chaos of Toronto just beginning.

  I pulled off at the first opportunity to get coffee. The shot of booze hadn’t given me a slight buzz, but it had been stupid of me to take it in the first place. I didn’t need to get into an accident or worse in my current state. Between the alcohol and grinding my teeth in anger I needed a chance to calm down.

  The Tim Horton’s employee smiled when she passed me a double-double and a small box of Timbits. I sat down at a table far enough from the counter as not to draw attention to myself but close enough to keep an eye on my Jeep, and opened the sealed envelope.

  Janey Winters had only been a few years older than me, but she had taken quite a different path. She had married Mike Winters when she was twenty, approved by the Board without any concerns.

  The Pride kept genealogy records that would make the Mormons blush. Every birth, every death was recorded and each branch of the family tree dissected and analyzed to make sure there was no way there would be any sort of genetic damage to new members. Still, there were always those who found true love outside of the family and decided to marry a human. For them, the rules were strict.

  Secrecy was mandatory. You couldn’t tell your new human husband or wife about your family history. Nothing about the kittens, nothing about the Changing, nothing at all. We couldn’t breed outside of our own, so there would be no kids. For some it was a heavy price to pay for true love but they went and did it anyway.

  I popped a donut hole into my mouth. The chocolate mouthful was chewy and covered with plenty of glaze, perfect. Flipping the page I read on, eyeing the cinnamon dough ball next.

  She had gone on to earn a Bachelor and a Master’s in English, obtaining her teaching certificate and a nice little job teaching English in downtown Toronto at the Upper St. Clair Girls Academy. A private school, it was the favorite of Pride women and an automatic guarantee of acceptance into whatever field you wanted to go into.

  Her husband had managed to wrangle a good living out of managing a corner grocery store, the type that charges you double for milk and triple for bread at midnight on the weekends. No franchise, but I knew there was Pride money behind it. They kept their fingers in everything you did, said and owned.

  Which led to the children, Michael and Fiona, both teenagers doing well in school. Perfect children, perfect little life with a townhouse in Cabbagetown and a good time for all involved. Except now the kids were without a mother and the husband without his wife.

  I went for a plain glazed instead of the cinnamon and washed it down with another sweet mouthful of coffee. The Pride had no reason to be pissed off at the Winterses. Both were registered as full Pride members, meaning they were able to manifest the same abilities as the others and were able to keep the family secrets.

  Whoever had trapped Janey in an alleyway and killed her was good, good enough to kill a Felis in her prime. And whoever had taken the photograph had hated her enough to try to expose her as a freak to the public. That wasn’t someone who was just ticked off at their daughter getting a low mark or something.

  The coffee had grown cold. The box was empty, chipped pieces of lonely glaze scattered around the bottom. I flipped the pages back and forth to see if I had missed anything.

  The police had called Mike. He had called Jess. Jess had called the Board together to manage the emergency. Dennis told Mike the Pride would take care of him and the kids. It was more symbolic than anything else. They would be fine financially. Mentally, there wasn’t much that could be offered other than sympathy. And the promise that Janey’s killer would be brought to justice.

  This would not necessarily be in a court of law, which is where I came in.

  After draining the cardboard cup of every last drop I picked up my cell and dialed Mike Winters. A young girl answered the phone, her whiny nasal tone signaling I had called at an inopportune time. Which, if I recalled my own teenage years, was any time.

  “Dad!” she screeched, pulling the receiver a few inches from her mouth. “Somebody for you!” The crash of the phone on the tabletop rang in my ears.

  “Yes?” The man’s voice sounded tired, as if he’d been running a marathon.

  “Mr. Winters, my name is Rebecca Desjardin. I’ve been asked by Janey’s family to help out with the investigation.” There was a sudden intake of breath on the line. “I was wondering if I could come by the house and talk to you.”

  “Sure. Now is as good a time as any.” A loud crash sounded in the background, breaking glass. “Do you have my address?” Mike shouted into the phone as a rap song threatened to overwhelm us both.

  “Yes. I’ll be there in about an hour or so.” I hung up the phone and shook my head, trying to clear the ringing from my ears. The stress in every word was like nails on a chalkboard, scratching a new wound. I flinched inside, wondering how I’d cope if I were in his place.

  It’s one thing to lose your mate, another to lose her to a killer. The crap from the Inquisitor wasn’t helping any.

  By the time I got back on the road with a refill of coffee the rush hour was in full effect, commuters racing home to the north of Toronto and the workers racing south out of factories and businesses toward their homes in the city. Years ago it had been reversed and it would probably reverse again in my lifetime as the cycle continued with people emigrating from the city and back in again as prices shifted and it became fashionable, not to mention affordable, to live downtown.

  The Gardiner wasn’t bad, for once, and I managed to slide into a parking spot not far from Mike’s home just before dinnertime. The row of houses had been there for decades, many of them built back in the day when having street after street of identical houses had been all the rage.

  The front of the house had a postage stamp-sized lawn, the grass brown and torn up by more than just animals. On the porch sat three stacks of plastic containers filled with board games and books, wedged up against the bay window looking out onto the street. I trotted up the steps and rapped on the front door.

  A stiff breeze shot up the street, carrying the sweet smell of dishes originating in a thousand countries being placed on a plethora of plates for people to eat, talk over or just savor.

  Mike Winters opened the door. He stood about six feet tall, with dark hair and a set of bright blue eyes that could talk you into anything, except now they were bloodshot with deep, dark bags giving his face a skeletal look. He gestured me in without talking, closing the door with a strange gentleness.

  “Fiona. Michael. Upstairs.” The quiet command had the two teenagers racing up the stairs, but not before a scowl attack from the pouting girl. Michael gave me a glance over the screen of the PSP in his hands as he disappeared from sight.

  Mike led me to the living room, sitting down on the faded red leather couch as I took the matching chair to his right. The table held a variety of papers, all open to the obituaries with a few clippings of Janey’s death lying near a pair of scissors.

  A coffee mug on the table didn’t contain coffee. I could smell the whiskey without having to concentrate too much. Mike gave a half-h
earted sad smile with no hint of an apology.

  “It’s been a rough couple of days.” He picked up the mug. His fingers gripped the ceramic so tightly I was afraid it would shatter. “We’re just… It’s been a shock.”

  “I’m sure.” I pulled my notebook out of my right pocket and flipped it open. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were trite, but true. I glanced at the photos spread across the walls between flower arrangements. Kids on horses, kids on hay wagons, kids at amusement parks with silly grins on their faces. One wedding picture with an ungodly number of people in the background, probably family and friends on both sides. “How are they holding up?”

  “Mad. Sad. Angry.” He glanced at the level of whiskey in his mug and frowned. “I’m thinking of sending them up to the farm for a few days and letting them run free, work it out of their system. After the funeral, of course.”

  I nodded. “Might be for the best.” A pair of wild cats dashing out and about on the estate wouldn’t be noticed and Ruth would probably welcome the chance to mother them to death. “Kids are pretty resilient. You’d be surprised what they can work out when they’re on their own.” A stray lock of blond hair flipped across my face as I spoke, forcing me to tuck it back behind one ear.

  “I guess.” He finished his drink and put the empty mug down on the table beside the cut pieces of paper. “Guess this is a little morbid, eh?” The man waved a hand over the clipped newspapers with a nervous chuckle.

  “Not really. Give the kids something to remember her by.” I picked up one of the obits. “You had her cremated.”

  “As per the rules.” He let out a low squeaky sigh, startling me. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but…”

  I nodded my agreement with the statement.

  “Tell me about that night, if you don’t mind.” I dropped my voice to what I hoped was a low, comforting tone. “I know you’ve told the police, but…”

  “But you’re kin.” A weak smile settled on his face. “She was working late that night, said something about making sure the school projects were graded before she came home. It was a bit of a mess at the school. Some jokers had scribbled crap on the walls the day before and everyone was out of sorts.” He glanced at the black-and-white photograph at the top of the obituary. A contented light-haired woman beamed back. “Kids.”