Bait & Switch (Driftwood Mystery Book 1)

by A. L. Tyler

  “Two men are dead now because of your incompetence. That’s what you called to say.”

  “It was so small and blurry, no one would have seen it unless they knew to look for it. Farrow knew the Gregorys. They had a connection to the magic community. We have to follow up. The girl—”

  “We don’t have to do jack shit, Driftwood.” His voice was dangerously calm. “The girl’s dead. It’s been too long. You know it. He got away with it and left town. And if you value your life, you’ll leave town, too, before my aim sobers up.”

  I SAT OUTSIDE THE CRIME scene for another hour. The cleanup crew was still at work. I drove back to Nick’s apartment, but no one was there. Exhausted and aching for release, I went back to my old, empty apartment and took a long bath. My anxiety was running too hot, and I didn’t want to wake up in a literal fire.

  When I curled into my bed of rags, I briefly contemplated that Nick could be telling the truth. He might shoot me the next time we met. He could turn me in, and with three unsolved murders on the books, my death sentence would be commuted all the sooner.

  When I woke up, sunlight was streaming in. I hadn’t overslept like that in years. Then, I hadn’t been this physically and emotionally drained in a long time.

  I hauled myself out of bed and did a pass at the crime scene. It wasn’t vacant yet, but a new van was there, so I hoped crime scene cleanup was done. Whoever these new workers were—they might have been renovators—they surely wouldn’t be there at night.

  I got out of my car, yawning and stretching as I fetched an energy drink from my trunk. What next?

  Labs. Labs might convince Nick. I needed him back on my side to do this. I felt like a bumbling idiot in the field, but he at least knew what he was doing.

  I went back to my apartment and put on work clothes. In the parking lot, I took some deep breaths and let some discreet ice crystals fall from my palms to relieve the pressure before going in.

  In and out. Make it fast.

  Charlene was lying in wait in the hallway. Again. “Janet! Oh, my goodness, I was just looking for you!”

  I’ve got to stop making plans. “Charlene. Hi.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder to lead me to the quiet end of the hall. I gritted my teeth to keep from lighting her on fire.

  She flashed a smile that reached all the way to her eyes. “Now, I know it’s early, but I was wondering if you have any theme ideas for your baby shower?”

  “Oh...” Damn memory spells. I’d nearly forgotten that I’d erased her memory after telling her the baby plans were off. “I, um, it’s not going to be for a while. My boyfriend and I broke up last night.”

  Charlene’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Janet. I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll talk to my... People. Friends. I have someone, I’m cool.”

  I tried to walk away, cringing. Charlene kept step with me.

  “How terrible. Can I take you out to lunch today?”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m busy.”

  “What about coffee tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I’m off tomorrow.”

  “Shopping, this Saturday? I hear there’s going to be a great sale at—”

  “Charlene.” I stopped to face her properly. It was so hard to gently tell off a woman wearing purple eyeshadow and neon yellow earrings. It was potentially my last day, and I didn’t want to die thinking I had crushed some overly optimistic eighties-lovers’ spirit. “It’s not going to happen. I know you’re trying to be nice, but I don’t really do the friend thing.”

  She looked baffled. “Everyone does the friend thing. You just said you had friends.”

  “I lied,” I said flatly. “It’s not personal. But it’s also not going to happen.”

  I left it at that and walked into the front office of the evidence room. Marge’s computer was logged on but locked. The steady stream of profanity told me she was in the back and having a bad day.

  I went to sit down and check for labs. I needed to scram.

  Something crashed in the back. “Fuck my life!”

  ...Plans. I shot up out of my chair and beelined to the back. “Problem, Marge?”

  She was sitting between two aisles next to a ladder, a box of evidence having spilled down on top of her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Did you fall?”

  She picked up the tag scanner sitting next to her, scowling furiously. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking.”

  I saw a printed list in the mix as we both started to check the dropped box for broken items and seals. “You’re doing an inventory?”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line as she breathed a sigh. “I’m trying to distract myself. My meeting with HR is today. I’m pretty sure I’m getting canned. Are you in for the day?”

  “Yeah, I wish,” I forced a laugh. “My aunt...it’s not good. I’ve got to leave shortly. I’ll explain later. Why?”

  “Higgins has a laptop he needs to check back in.” She hoisted the box up to her hip and we both walked out to set it on a table. “It’s for a drug case. I get that he’s been here twenty years and all, but he doesn’t get to break chain of custody. If I go up there and tell him to stop being a dumb-ass, he won’t take me seriously. You need to do it.”

  “If you didn’t call him a dumb-ass, he might take you seriously.”

  “Oh, please.” Marge rolled her eyes at me.

  Last day. Last chance.

  “Marge, you’re not getting fired today. If you’d read any of the policy books here, you would know that Beech needs three documented reprimands to fire you for something as inconsequential as a stupid disc. This is only your first documented offense. And the only reason he gives a shit is that Bailey feels like he can ask you for confidential case details and Higgins is breaking chain of custody. Why? Because you walk around stewing up new curse words in shoes with naked mermaids on them. It’s hard to take you seriously. And that’s a shame, because you know evidence law better than most of the lawyers that come through here. You’re really good at your job. Get off the job sites, read the personnel handbook, and freaking apologize to Beech. And mean it. You love this job. You love helping people. Do not screw yourself over and lose everything you have here for something as stupid as a disc coaster.”

  She stared at me. I stared back, raising my eyebrows as I crossed my arms in defiance.

  “I’m not getting fired today?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes wandered. “I suppose I can see your point with my mermaid booty booties.”

  “And with that, I’m out.” I turned and walked back to the front.

  I faked checking my email and pulled open the Gregory murder file. Labs came back that morning. Just as I had suspected, Travis Gregory had been heavily sedated at the time of his murder.

  Heavily sedated, and still fully conscious. I swallowed as I imagined what his final moment must have been like. He witnessed his own murder and was powerless to stop it.

  Marge was shuffling boxes in the back again. She was going to have to come back and print new inventory sheets soon, and as I started to shut down my computer, I realized that this might be the last time I would ever see her.

  I was terrible at goodbyes.

  My computer was off. I had everything, and I’d told Marge my piece. I wasn’t someone who could afford the luxury of getting attached to anything, let alone lonely coworkers.

  I hesitated at the door.

  “Hey, Janet? Are you still here?”

  I took a deep breath. She would be okay without me. She would know something was wrong if she saw me now, too.

  I forced myself to walk away.

  Chapter 27

  I SLAMMED MY FIST AGAINST Nick’s door. “I know you’re in there! I can hear it in the wards!”

  When he answered, he looked hung over. Quite a feat for a vampire. He stared at me with hunger, anger, and desperation. Furrowing his brow, he opened the door a little wider.

  He was wearing sweatpant
s, a bath robe, and one blood-soaked sock. I could hear Kane, healthy and well and yelling at the television behind him, so I tried not to think about it.

  “Travis Gregory was sedated,” I said firmly, keeping my eyes on his face. “We need to go to the crime scene. Now. I think that girl is still—”

  “Have you been crying?” he demanded. His red eyes searched me.

  I bit my lower lip. It wasn’t relevant. “We can still catch this guy.”

  Nick grunted. He pulled a beer bottle from his robe pocket, and I was glad to not know what it contained. “I should shoot you now. I told you I would shoot you.”

  “Gregory was sedated,” I repeated, gritting my teeth. “If we go now, you might be able to—”

  “I’m giving you a chance here, Driftwood,” Nick growled. He took a swig. “And because you’re a dumb kid I’ll spell it out. The Bleak knows about Joe. They came asking when he missed his drop. They’re here. They’re looking. They are going to find you. They are going to pin this on you. And you...” he shook his head. He swigged. “You’re not a mastermind. You’re not a criminal. You’re a dumb kid. Run. Before I change my mind.”

  I closed my eyes in defeat. My time had run out. Nick started to close the door.

  I stuck out my foot to stop him. I stared into his eyes as he gazed down at me. I could smell the blood on his horrid breath.

  “I am not afraid to die,” I whispered. “But I am afraid of living with this regret.”

  He didn’t blink in the silence that followed. When I heard the click of the safety release on his gun, fear and adrenaline flooded my system.

  “So am I.”

  I looked down. The gun was in his hand, pointed straight at my gut.

  Nick’s eye twitched. “Run, Driftwood.”

  He shut the door.

  I was too stunned to move. My mind was racing, and I couldn’t figure out my next step.

  I didn’t do street work. I wasn’t a handler. And now the Bleak were here, looking. What was I supposed to do now?

  Die. That’s what you do now.

  I closed my eyes and let out a slow, deep breath.

  It doesn’t end like this. Not part of the plan.

  I marched back to the elevator.

  If Nick wouldn’t go with me, then I would go by myself.

  THE BLEAK WERE HERE. Except, they weren’t.

  Nick said they were here looking for Joe’s murderer. Joe lived in Fowl Gulch, twenty minutes away from Fallvale.

  They didn’t know about Travis Gregory. Nick would have been forced to admit I was here with all the insider knowledge he was now denying, and he was trying to throw me a bone.

  They were in Fowl Gulch. They did not know about me. They didn’t have eyes on Fallvale.

  They wouldn’t widen the search for another day, at least. Maybe.

  That was what I told myself as I drove.

  No one knew magic this well. No one could kill like this and leave no trace at all.

  When I got back to Low Fennell Street, I parked a few hundred feet away to avoid drawing attention. I walked down the alley behind Low Fennel confidently. I tried to look like I knew someone who lived there.

  Like I was just there to visit friends.

  Dusk was setting in and that was to my advantage. The golden, rose-tinged sky was filled with the aroma of home cooked meals coming out through open windows. That was the kind of place that Fallvale was. Neighbors trusted each other and windows were often open.

  As I approached number 52, I took special care to look around without seeming suspicious. I didn't want anyone to see me wandering into the yard. It was sure to draw attention after everything that had happened there recently, and I didn't need the police called on my behalf.

  That would take some magic fixing for sure, and with the Bleak so close, I wasn’t going to risk it.

  There were yards with dogs here. Most of the houses had some planned landscaping even if they weren't well-kept. A nice neighborhood, but not pretentious.

  Number 52 was shielded from view of the back alley by several large evergreens. There was a sliding chain-link fence that blocked the drive, and from there I could see into the yard.

  The family had more flower beds than their neighbors. Less grass. These people were really into their herbals.

  A loud hiss startled me. I looked down at a cat standing near my feet, wearing a harness and dragging a leash.

  “Oh you naughty kitty! You get back here!”

  I raised my eyes and took in the woman who had been walking silently behind me. She picked up the cat’s leash as she hurried forward, and that did not seem nearly as weird to me as the fact that the cat itself seemed comfortable with the arrangement.

  Who keeps a cat on a leash?

  Her sharp blue eyes analyzed me before turning to the house.

  “Tragic, isn't it?” she asked. “Did you know the family?”

  I hesitated, trying not to let my magic seep from my seams. “No. I’m just here visiting friends. I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news. Stuff like this never happens in Fallvale.”

  “Oh, I know,” the woman said. Her Persian cat gave another disgruntled hiss. “It's such a safe area. I walk by here three times a day. Me and Mr. Jingles.”

  I tried not to let my surprise show on my face. Poor Mr. Jingles.

  “Did you know them?” I asked.

  “No,” the woman said. She held out her hand. “I’m just the first person to know about the tragedy. My name is Abigail Waller.”

  I frowned, hesitating to touch her. What was she getting at? Had she killed Travis?

  This woman didn’t look like a warlock, but then, whoever had committed these crimes clearly knew what they were doing. Poisoning a person required some premeditation and skill.

  I waved off her hand nervously. “Sorry. I’ve got a bit of a cold today, and you don’t really want me to...”

  She withdrew her hand more than a little snootily. Mr. Jingles gave a low growl; Mrs. Waller’s grip on her cat was a little too tight.

  “Naughty kitty likes to sneak out of the house,” she said. “Especially now that it's warmer and I have the window open more. I don't know why, but he loves this house. Personally, I find it a little strange.” She raised her eyebrows. “These people have always been strange.”

  I nodded and gave her a cautious smile. That wasn’t too bizarre. Most people were a little alarmed by magic users even if they weren’t consciously aware of why. If the Gregorys had Farrow around—let alone anyone else—he would have been off-putting enough.

  “So anyway,” Mrs. Waller went on, apparently willing to let my silence go as long as she got to tell her story. “When Jingles went diving out the window, I knew where to look. I came right to this house. Mr. Jingles was already half way over the fence. Just as I was starting to slide the gate open, an officer came running toward me saying it was a crime scene and not to come in.”

  I furrowed my brow. There wasn’t any mention of Mrs. Waller in the police report. I was sure of it. “An officer?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Waller’s eyes went wide. “Uniform. Badge. Well, I didn’t actually ask for his badge, but I’m sure he had one. He was just calling in the murder on his radio when he saw me.”

  I tried not to let my suspicion show. No one called in a murder in those words. Cops called in suspected homicide or someone in distress. They asked for assistance or an ambulance, and if they’d seen a body, they did it after forcing entry. Funny that Mrs. Waller didn’t mention the busted back door, which should have been visible from the back gate.

  Was my killer masquerading as law enforcement?

  “Thank goodness for that officer,” Mrs. Waller laid a heavy kiss on Mr. Jingles’ head. Mr. Jingles took a swipe at her and the older woman cooed in adoration. “Sweet girl, that’s why we had you declawed, remember?”

  I did a double take. “Mr. Jingles is a girl?”

  Mrs. Waller stood a little straighter. “Are you judging? Is the
re something wrong with naming a kitty after her father?”

  I held up both hands. “No ma'am.”

  Whatever she wanted to call her cat was fine with me.

  After talking with the woman for a few moments more, Jingles started to get antsy. Then she started to get growly. And then she started to get bitey.

  I waited until Mrs. Waller was out of eyesight and earshot to sneak around the fence. I ducked into the evergreens just to make sure that I wasn't going to be caught.

  Initially I smiled. The Gregorys were seriously into their herbals. Lavender, thyme, rosemary... And catnip. The mystery of why Jingles preferred this house was officially solved.

  Then I frowned.

  Even from here, I could hear the magic emanating from the house. It was a calm and steady presence always thrumming in the background of a silent symphony. To my ears, it sounded like a cello. It made my skin crawl. Whoever had done this, he had been so meticulous that there was no hesitation in this magic at all. It was a sound of comfort. It was at the site of a murder.

  I knew from the case report that an officer had forced entry at the back door when the body was seen through an exterior window.

  The broken door had already been replaced, and the new one had a big, fat lock on it. That was just my luck. Smart on the part of the landlord, sure, but it made my job more difficult.

  What would Nick do?

  I walked around the perimeter, checking doors and windows—all locked—until I decided to break a basement window with a rock.

  Once inside, the sounds of magic were so loud that it was hard to hear any other ambient noises. It was low and humming, high and sharp, winding in and out and up and down the stairs. I could hear it in the walls and in the living space above me, sad and lonely and broken from the misdeeds this home had recently seen.

  What happened here? This wasn't the kind of magic involved in a single spell on a single night. This wasn’t even the kind of thing one heard from a single magical entity. I could pick out three or four signatures, at least, and all of them had been here more than once.

  Whoever the murderer was, he had been here frequently. I cursed. With this many magic users in and out so regularly, it was possible the murderer hadn’t worked alone. If Farrow wasn’t dead right now, he would have been my number one suspect.