Bait & Switch (Driftwood Mystery Book 1)

by A. L. Tyler

  Nick shoved him out of the way, looking down on me with a mix of concern and disappointment.

  I kept my hands in the water as I gazed over my shoulder at him.

  “I don’t need a leash!” I hissed. I shoved my apprehension back into my mental closet and slammed the door. No one got near those feelings but me. “I could have left if I wanted to. I didn’t. I’m here.”

  “I have a policy of trust with insurance,” he responded, indifferent. “I knew you’d find a reason to stick around and help. You’re not a criminal.”

  I stared him down. “You really are a fool to trust anyone but yourself. I was going to leave.”

  “But you didn’t.” He raised his chin in question.

  I fixed my gaze on the blue tiled wall in front of me. The truth was as good as anything else, and I’d intended to tell Nick, anyway. “Travis Gregory has a daughter. She’s missing. So is his wife. That’s who the cops are focusing on.”

  I heard the floorboards creak. Nick remained silent. When I finally turned to look at him, his face was sullen.

  “We need to move fast. This guy already has his next sacrifice.”

  He walked away down the hall, and part of me rejoiced as I shook my head. I made the right call to stay. Nick wanted his killer. I wanted to be sure that kid was okay at the end of it all.

  He stuck his head back in the bathroom. “Did they find any extended family? Grandparents, maybe?”

  I closed my eyes. Damn. Every knuckle-dragging, money-lusting handler the Bleak had, and I got the good guy who cared about some orphaned human and where she would go when all of this was over. “No. I don’t think they’ve looked that far ahead yet.”

  “Well, let me know when they do.”

  The water in the tub had soaked up my sleeves and down the front of my shirt, and I sat there in a puddle pondering where this was all going.

  I could have been gone now. I could have left the knife and a note by the door, and caught my bus, and Nick would have stayed to find the killer. He didn’t think I was dangerous, but the Athame Murderer clearly was, and he was taking it all the more serious now that there was a potential child murderer.

  I should have left. What the hell was I thinking?

  I pulled my hands from the water, feeling sick. My goal was to free my father, and I was the only one who could do it because I was the only one who cared. I couldn’t get sidetracked like this.

  I walked back to the living room and found Kane stretched on the sofa and Nick pacing nervously as he flipped through the slightly burned crime scene photos again.

  He was pissed. “You should have told me your mana burn was still this bad. I don’t like living with a ticking bomb.”

  “I don’t like living with a vampire,” I shot back.

  Kane smirked. “Feisty.”

  “You can shut the hell up.” I turned on him. “And what is your middle name? Phineas sounds too smart and Kane sounds too bad ass, so please tell me it’s Josh, or Steve, or Joe...”

  “Or Darling,” Nick muttered under his breath.

  I gave him a look. He couldn’t be serious.

  “It’s his mother’s maiden name,” Nick said without blinking. “Kind of a common thing to do amongst the new age kids these days.”

  Kane looked up at me from the couch. He held out both arms. “You can call me Darling any time, honey. Especially when it’s a wet shirt kind of day.”

  Nick glared at him. “You need to play nice, or our arrangement is at an end.”

  Kane’s jaw dropped open in surprise, and he looked from Nick to me. “What did I do?!”

  I rolled my eyes and trudged back down the hall. This was the reason I didn’t have friends. Or roommates.

  “Does he live here?” I called down the hall. “Because if he lives here, I’m leaving.”

  “Just a friendship of mutual benefit,” Kane called back. “I’m sure we both have better places to be. Don’t hold my positive attitude in the face of adversity against me!”

  I pulled my new shirt down over my ears a little too hard. Stomping back to the living room, I placed myself directly in Nick’s path of pacing.

  “So, you’re blackmailing him, too?”

  Nick smirked. “I’m sorry to tell you it isn’t an exclusive arrangement. But no, Kane doesn’t live here.”

  “He’s not following me anymore,” I insisted, giving Kane a dirty look.

  “Oh, I’ve already told Nick I’m out,” Kane said, sitting up. “I don’t risk my good looks, and your temperament is a little too fiery for my liking.” He paused. “However, I will stay for dinner, as work has been slow. What are we having?”

  He looked at me.

  “I don’t cook,” I said in irritation.

  “Didn’t say that you did!” Kane said, looking nervous. “Nick? Since this is your place, I assume you’ll be providing?”

  Nick wandered over to a stack of mail on the kitchen counter and then thrust a handful of delivery pamphlets at Kane, all without ever taking his eyes off the photographs. “Pick something. Driftwood, there’s another box of curses at the foot of my bed. Get to it.”

  Kane gave him a sharp look. “You sleep with curses? Sweet gods, Nick...”

  “Vampires don’t sleep.” I closed my eyes and turned to go. It had popped out before I could rein in my tongue. Knowing what would come next, I started to walk.

  “Sweet gods.” Kane’s voice went a little higher. “That’s a hell of a twisted fetish. Do your lady friends know what they’re sleeping next to?”

  I didn’t hear the rest of the exchange. I was all too glad to leave and start the work.

  KANE STAYED FOR DINNER. He wasn’t any more charming over the Chinese takeout than he had been earlier.

  “So how long have you got, Sparky?”

  “Considerably longer than you if that’s my new nickname, Darling.”

  There were case file notes and printed photographs strewn about the room. I had looked everything over at least a hundred times and so had Nick. He had stepped away to make some phone calls to a fellow handler, asking about anyone new in town.

  Kane smirked as he leaned back. “The famous Jette Driftwood, on a middle name basis with me. It’s not fair that you know mine and I don’t know yours. What is it? Anne? Marie? Samantha? Tell me it’s Samantha. Samanthas are sexy.”

  I glared at him.

  “Melissa? Jessica? Ashley?” He leaned toward me. “It’s Ashley, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Henrietta.” Nick walked back in, still staring at his phone.

  “Hey!” I turned my surprised glare on him. No one knew my middle name.

  “Henrietta?” Kane said, eyebrows raised.

  “Josephine Henrietta,” Nick mumbled. “She went by Jo-Etta in grade school and changed it to Jette when she entered the service of the Bleak.” He gave me a look in passing as he pressed his phone back to his ear. “That information wasn’t easy to come by, either. Hello?”

  He ducked back out of the room.

  “Josephine Henrietta Driftwood.” Kane lifted his beer and tilted it toward me. “She sounds like a classy lady.”

  She sounded like a little girl to me. No one had called me Jo-Etta since my father had been taken away, and as far as I was concerned, Jo-Etta had died that day.

  “Jo-Etta,” he went on. “That’s cute.” He frowned. “You don’t like it?”

  I sat up a little straighter. “It brings back some bad memories.”

  I took the beer right out of his hand and took a drink. I didn’t usually consume alcohol—or share backwash with anyone—but it was a special occasion. Some lunatic had kidnapped a kid to use in a sacrificial ritual and a grown emo-man now knew my childhood nickname.

  I handed the beer back and Kane toasted me.

  “Long live Jette Driftwood.” He drank. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Really,” Kane said. “You’re not the only one with a damaged childhood. My old man taught me to sh
oplift when I was three. Three. Most kids are starting preschool. I was smuggling jewelry in my diaper. The human spirit is tougher than you think, so weather on. You’ll make it through.”

  I blinked. “Yeah, that’s... Not my issue. Sorry.”

  He gave me a long look. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The combined buzz of alcohol, regret, and too much magic suddenly made me tired, and there was no way I was discussing my personal history with Kane. The sky was full black outside the windows and I longed for solitude to organize my thoughts.

  I stood up to go. “Nope, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Please ask Nick to inform me if he’s letting you spend the night, as I’ll be sure to lock my door. Also, you should be aware that I shoot first and ask questions later. And when I shoot first, it’s likely to take out half the building, so...yeah.”

  He laughed a little. “I’ll stay on the couch. On my honor, you have misjudged me, Jette.”

  “You’re a con man.”

  “When I’m working.” He held up his arms. “Right now, I’m just hanging out with friends.”

  “I’m not your friend.” I paused. “Nick is your friend?”

  Kane smirked. “Nick has a lot of friends. Making up for the family he lacks, I suppose.”

  I wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t like prying into other peoples’ personal lives. I didn’t like them prying into mine.

  Kane was on his feet and moving to the fireplace before I could slip in a word of protest. He picked up the play sword that rested atop the well-worn mantle.

  “He made this for his son,” he said quietly, giving me a significant look. “Not too long before the boy passed. Nick was the only one to survive the vampire attack, you see, and the rest of his family died. His wife. His kids. All small children, too, and yet here he is. I wish I could be half as good a person as he is. Some days when things are going well I see him pick this up and give it a few swings. Can you imagine? Having been through what he’s been through, and he can still look at this and remember the good times instead of the bad?”

  My heart sank as I stared at the sword. It was a toy, but in remarkably good shape. The handle was dirty. The few warped notes it gave off spoke of happier times long since gone sour and some refurbishment with spells over the years. Kane was being truthful.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He set the sword back down, looking at the floor before he raised his eyes to meet mine. “Because I’m a con man. I read people and I exploit them for personal gain. And looking at you, I know you’re terrified of him. You’re terrified of me, and I think you desperately want to trust me when I say I’ve known Nick for years. You want to believe Nick when he says he won’t turn you in, and you hate yourself for it. Am I on the right track in guessing that your father broke a very important promise to you?”

  I felt my eye twitch the moment he said it. He didn’t wait for me to answer.

  “Nick is an honorable man,” Kane said seriously. “He’s damaged, just like the rest of us. But if you’ve looked around here, I think you’d realize that he doesn’t throw things away just because they’re damaged.”

  Nick walked back in, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He resumed his spot on the couch and picked up a few photographs before he noticed us standing there in silence.

  “What?” he grunted.

  “Any news?” Kane asked nonchalantly.

  Nick shifted his gaze from Kane to me and back, and I suddenly saw the whole scene in a new light. Here was this guy, a handler, who tracked people down and bought them Chinese takeout instead of turning them in for cash.

  He was lonely. We were the only work friends he had.

  “No,” Nick said. He nodded at me. “What did you do to her?”

  Kane shrugged. “We were just talking about our families.”

  I saw his hazel eyes dart to the sword before coming back to me.

  I didn’t want to feel pity for him. He was my captor. I had read ten sad stories a day, at least, since I started in the evidence room. I wasn’t an amateur, and I knew how to pull up a shield of professional distance when I really had to.

  But looking at him right then, he nervously diverted his gaze. And for just a second, I saw the look.

  It’s unmistakable and heartbreaking, and anyone who has ever seen it knows. Anyone who hasn’t... well, gods willing, we would all like to be so ignorant. When a parent loses a child, especially a young child, it steals something. Those people are never really whole again. Looking at them, you know. You can see it in their eyes, even when you’re not quite sure what you’re looking at. I had seen it enough times to make the connection.

  I saw it when a mother had to collect the personal items of her five-year-old after a deadly highway crash that claimed the lives of her husband and child. Little shoes, a blanket, a jacket, and a stuffed dog. The emptiness that had filled her when she picked up that jacket, hands shaking, and held it to her chest.

  “And?” Nick asked. His eyes flashed back to mine. He had inflated himself with a business attitude again, but I had seen under his mask to his one true weakness.

  I looked down to avoid his scrutiny. My gaze landed on one of the crime scene photos, and my brow furrowed. “And... I just realized something about this case. I can’t believe we didn’t see it earlier.”

  Chapter 18

  THE EVER-PRESENT HUM and chime of the spells, both illicit and mundane, that clung to the antiquities of Nick’s abode surrounded us. The long pause that followed what I’d said must have left a deafening silence in their ears. Nick made an impatient gesture.

  “Why leave the knife?” I asked. “I mean, if you look at everything else, this looks like someone who knows their stuff. There was no forced entry. There were no defensive wounds. No obvious prints or DNA left behind. But if this guy really wanted to evade, then why would he wipe the prints and leave the knife? I mean, why not just take the knife? That doesn’t add up. This guy’s an amateur.”

  Nick sucked in his upper lip, looking back at the photographs. I could practically see the cogs in his head turning.

  “You think they wanted the cops to find the knife?” Kane asked. “This isn’t about the murder at all?”

  “Could be our guy was just after the kid,” Nick said. “And he used the murder to give himself some extra time while procedure did its thing. But if he wanted to make it look like the wife did it and took the kid, there are dirty knives on the counter. Why not wear gloves and use one of those?”

  Kane nodded. “Then there would be a chance her prints would be on the murder weapon. Good point.”

  Nick’s eyes flashed to me. “She’s right. He didn’t think it through and he brought his knife with him. He planned through every step of committing the crime—getting in, drugging his victim, having the privacy to make sure he wasn’t interrupted—but things went south on the cleanup.”

  I nodded. “He wanted to take the body somewhere else to get rid of it.”

  Nick shuffled the pictures. “Drag marks in the blood. Yes, I saw that.”

  “But I think he didn’t realize how heavy dead weight actually is,” I added. “Maybe he panicked. Anyway, it doesn’t speak to someone who knew what they were doing or had done it before. Too many mistakes.”

  “But why an athame?” Kane asked. “I’ve never been into the rituals, but I know the folks who are take that shit seriously. Using an athame to kill someone, and then leaving it behind like it’s garbage? That’s next level.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. It was all so clear now. “Because he wasn’t going to need it anymore, and he didn’t want the reminder. This was the first time, and he wanted to use a special knife to commemorate it. Maybe he looked at it afterward and realized he would never be able to look at it the same way again. He didn’t want the reminder of who he used to be.”

  Nick nodded. He looked right at me. “We’re not looking for someone new in town. Anyone confident enough to do something like this while pa
ssing through wouldn’t have made those rookie mistakes. We’re looking for someone local. Someone who tried to dip a toe into the dark arts and stopped planning at the murder, completely forgetting about what to do with the body. I’ve got more phone calls to make.”

  Kane stood up a little straighter. He crossed his arms with a small smile. “I know that look. You like someone for this, Nick?”

  “Farrow Danvers,” he said, getting to his feet. “He got into some trouble last year for supplying to enemies of the Bleak. He makes athames, among other things. Some more legit than others. They let him off with a warning and on the condition that he became an informant. Only thing is, he hasn’t been much of an informant. He seems more like the type who was working against the Bleak because he doesn’t agree with their tactics. He wasn’t just in it for the money.”

  “Someone who would want to curse the government, or else make a grab for the power to do so,” I said quietly.

  To his credit, Nick’s eyes didn’t linger on me long, but I knew what he was thinking: whoever this murderer was, he was a lot like me. He reached for his phone and started to dial.

  “You know what?” He put the phone away. “We can handle this. Jette, get a jacket.”

  “Me?” I asked. “No, no, no—take Darling over there. This isn’t my gig.”

  “Kane can hardly light a candle with his magic—”

  “Hey!”

  “—and I need backup. This was your case. You want to see this guy go down? This is your chance.”

  I STOOD IN THE BACK lot of Nick’s building, watching as he cleaned out the passenger seat of an old blue Chevelle. It was decorated by rust around the fenders and a bumper sticker that had faded to a white rectangle long ago.

  “You don’t even eat fast food,” I said, crossing my arms against the cold and dark of the night. “How do you possibly have that much crap to clean out of your passenger seat?”

  He emerged, arms loaded with receipts, wrappers, and a lot of folders. “Case in point, I don’t always work alone. Also, a person buys more than food on the road. Get in.”

  He dumped the crap into the back seat. On approach, it didn’t look like the first pile to have been unloaded that way.