Well, that’s a good cover story, I thought.
I considered sneaking out to the site at some point to see if I could find anything useful and decided it would be a waste of time. I had developed an allergy against diamonds in particular, it seemed. They had no value for me anymore.
And guess what? After a quick search online I found out what happens when diamonds burn. They turn into carbon dioxide gas. No ash, no residue, because they are pure carbon.
There had been one thing missing from the news report. No bodies found. Brón and MacPherson had been obliterated. It bothered me a little that Caimiléir had made his escape. Where could he have gone? If it was me, I’d remain in the mortal realm and stay under the radar. Going to the Eternal realm would be stupid, unless Caimiléir had a secret hideaway where he could lie low in safety for the next hundred years, give or take a millennium.
Final confirmation that he was alive came the next day when I received a case of bagged potato chips. It took a minute of thinking, but I remembered that Caimiléir had offered to take assassination off the table for an entire century. I’d agreed by saying, “Throw in a bag of chips.” Here they were. He was keeping up with his end of the bargain completely. Those Eternals were sticklers for detail. I’d have to remember to ask for something better than chips next time. Although, really, what was better than chips?
I called Nat at the gym. He answered with typical verbosity.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fit as a fiddle and twice as stringy,” I replied.
“Kay,” he replied back.
“I would’ve called you. I didn’t have a chance.”
“I know.”
“You talk to Brandy? And Carlene?” As far as they knew, they’d slept off a drunk at Erin’s house.
“Yes. They’re fine.” Nat paused. “You find what you needed?”
“I did,” I replied.
“Good.” Then he hung up.
I guess we were good too.
I tried calling Erin, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message.
I went to the police station. I needed a story as quickly as possible. It needed to be believable for both Milly Mallondyke and the Chief. It took time, but I found a few facts I could work with.
I was on my way out of the police station when I felt someone watching me. I turned around and saw Erin. Her eyes were aflame in emerald shades. She was wearing her lab coat and she had her purse over her shoulder, but she was in the wrong building if she was going to work. We stood and looked at each other for a dozen heartbeats. In a movie, she would have rushed at me and slapped me for sending her off to Keeper and making her worry. Or maybe kissed me hard enough for my lip to bleed in barely-constrained passion.
Instead, she put her hands to her mouth and just looked at me as she walked into my arms. I held her for a long moment, neither of us saying a word. When I looked down, her face was right there and she pressed her lips to mine with a tenderness that filled my soul. Better than the kiss at the club because this was completely her.
Holy. Wow.
Her voice was deep and quiet. “Don’t do that to me again. Promise?”
“You mean, don’t get you involved in a plot to summon a deamhan that results in you being kidnapped by an insane and disgraced Fae knight who forces you to use your power to open a Jeweled Gate while you could possibly have your throat slit at the whim of a sadistic mortal before being transported to safety in the Eternal realm while I battle said deamhan, human, and disgraced knight, leaving you to wonder what happened for a desperately lengthy amount of time?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Never again. I promise.”
We stood there in the lobby of the Miami Police Station, holding each other long enough to draw some attention and then long enough for everyone to lose interest.
“Come over tonight for dinner?” I asked.
“That’d be great.”
That was the moment when Erin’s phone rang. She answered it and her eyes grew wide. For the longest time, all she said was, “Oh” again and again and again and again.
* * *
I asked Milly MacPherson Mallondyke to meet me at my office. We sat in precisely the same places on opposite sides of my desk. We wore different clothing, of course, and we both had black Stains now. Instead of a sunny day, it was overcast and raining. If Nature had ever sensed a mood and provided a setting to match, this was it.
I’d thought long and hard about what to tell Milly. I had to lie to her, there was no way to avoid it, but the troubling questions I had to answer were how much to lie and for what reason. First, I would need to satisfy her concerns about the murder of her husband since that’s what she’d hired me to do. But I’d also need to explain the disappearance of her father in a way that was final and convincing. There was no chance she’d ever see him again. In my opinion, no daughter should remember her father as a bad guy, even if he was one. I couldn’t paint him as too much of a hero either. As an intelligent woman, she’d know on some level her father wasn’t a saint.
So, I approached this conversation filled with angst.
“This is my fault,” I began. “As much as anyone’s.”
Milly nodded, patient, knowing there was bad news.
I stayed as close to the truth as I could. It wasn’t easy.
I pushed a matchbook across the table. In bright green letters it read “Voodoo Kitten.” It provided a concrete piece of reality upon which I could hang my lies.
“What’s this?” Milly asked. She picked up the matchbook and looked at both sides. She opened it and looked inside. On the inner flap, in a bold hand, I had written the address of a warehouse that had burned down in West Palm Beach on the same night her father had died.
“Have you seen Amad lately?” I asked.
“No. Not for a few days.”
“I believe he has fled the country,” I said. “He was using you and your family to smuggle diamonds. Or at least, he was trying to.”
“He couldn’t,” Milly said. “There’s too much security. There’s no way to get diamonds out of the facilities undetected.”
I nodded, trying to look resigned. As a point of fact, there was a way and Caimiléir had used it. He had smuggled undocumented diamonds out of the Mallondyke facilities in all kinds of large quantities. He had smuggled them inside the bodies of Barry and Milly and who knows how many others. Caimiléir had the ability to teleport diamonds in and out of people. I’d seen him do it to Greim first when he pulled the diamonds out of the little deamhan’s body. And I’d seen him do it again when diamonds vanished from his hands and reappeared embedded in Brón’s forehead. That’s what Caimiléir had been doing in all those jewelry stores. That’s why I had seen Caimiléir in the video using his magic. But the stores were tiny potatoes compared to the treasure trove of the Mallondyke stockpile, which was lightly-guarded and never inventoried because Barry was one of the very few people who had access to it.
And how do you get diamonds through security? The old shell game. The first person to go through has no diamonds. After that person is cleared, the diamonds are instantly teleported from one carrier into the person who is cleared. Probably sealed in small bags for safety. Caimiléir could have done it with his hands tied behind his back, which is probably where his hands were the whole time, to hide any telltale signs of magic.
I didn’t tell Milly any of it. “You’re right,” I said. “Amad finally realized that he couldn’t get the diamonds he wanted from your family’s company. The problem was, Barry had figured out what Amad had been trying to do.”
Milly interjected, “Did Amad kill my husband?”
“No,” I replied with painful honesty.
You killed your husband because your father made you do it.
Somehow, a part of her had known there was more going on with her husband�
�s death than she’d been told. Her subconscious needed more information, so she’d hired me to fill in some of the holes. I wished I could fill them with something better than lies.
I pointed at the matchbook. “Amad was working with an international ring of criminals out of a warehouse at this address. One of the people working at the warehouse made an appointment with Barry. He lured Barry to the hotel and killed him.”
“Who? Who was it?”
“I didn’t get close enough for a name. But I believe the killer is dead. Burned in the fire at the warehouse. You probably heard about it on the news.”
Milly nodded. It had been the more noticeable of the two fires that night, getting a full two minutes on the broadcast news because the area was more populated.
“What about the wound in Barry’s stomach?” she asked. “Why cut Barry open like that?”
I had prepared an answer for that particular question. “The criminal organization responsible is known to cover their crimes by making them look like the work of a cult. Disembowelment and Satanic symbols and things like that. I’m certain the killer simply didn’t have time to finish what he started. He made the first cut and then he heard something or saw something that spooked him and he ran. If he’d had time to finish what he intended, it would have made more sense.”
Milly was nodding. I hoped she believed me. The truth was far more disturbing and it was vital that Milly never know it.
Barry had to die. Somehow, your father found out that Barry knew too much. He couldn’t go to Caimiléir. Couldn’t ask him to just teleport the diamonds out of Barry’s body. It had gotten bigger than that. Caimiléir would have cut your father out of the deal. Your father forced you to kill your husband before he could talk. And to indulge his homicidal tendencies through you.
Because Barry had died with a bellyful of diamonds, your father had you cut him open to get them out. There would have been too many questions otherwise. The diamonds would be behind the wall of the abdomen but there was no incision where the diamonds had been implanted. It was a physical impossibility. So your father, who panicked when Barry found out their secret, had you kill him, then cut him open and take the diamonds away.
Back to the matchbook. “I followed Amad for days and I finally tracked him to that warehouse in West Palm Beach. Amad knew who I was and he knew I was getting close. But I was sloppy. While I was following Amad, your father was following me.”
“He didn’t like you,” Milly said. “He told me he didn’t trust you and that I should tell you to quit investigating. But I had to know. I had to know the truth.”
I looked down at my desk. It made me sad and ashamed to lie to her. She had paid for the truth and she was getting precious little of that. I hoped she would see me ducking my head as simple, uncomplicated regret over what had happened.
It was easier to continue the lie with a question than with a statement. So I asked it: “Do you think he was following me to discredit me?”
“Definitely,” Milly replied. “He must have been trying to get something on you, anything, so I’d fire you.” I was letting my client make up her own lies for me now. When had I become such a jerk?
She went on helping me lie. “You found out where the warehouse was, right?”
I just nodded.
“You wrote it down on this matchbook. This is your handwriting?”
“When we spoke that first day, you told me to take notes,” I offered. Helpful.
“I remember,” Milly said.
“I carried that matchbook around for a couple of days. I checked on that warehouse but there was no activity. I couldn’t go to the police without a reason. I had to find something incriminating, something linking my suspects to criminal activity. Then I’d convince the police to investigate Barry’s death again. That’s what I was trying to do when people showed up in black vans, carrying crates. When they went inside, I found a way to get into the building unobserved. They were setting up a meth lab in that warehouse. I got out. There was shouting, but I couldn’t see what was happening. I left and shortly after that, there was an explosion. The building burned down and the fire was so intense, the bodies are ash and what’s left is crushed.”
“My father was in there,” Milly said with finality. “He followed you. They caught him.”
“I can’t be certain,” I lied, coloring my voice with concern. “But the police found his car a block away.”
Because I had Lonnie’s keys and I drove his car and left it there.
“That’s why I feel like this is my fault, as much as anyone’s.”
I’m a jerk. And a liar. And a generally horrible human being.
Milly shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is not your fault. I asked you to find out what happened to my husband and you’ve given me more information than the police ever did. I’m certain now that whoever killed Barry got what they deserved. They’re dead now.”
She was more right about that than she would ever know.
“My father was not a nice man,” she continued. “He was mean and self-centered and he liked to hurt people. He got himself into trouble trying to hurt you. I can’t blame you. In my heart, I’m sad I’ll never see my father again. He’s gone and I’ll miss him. You always hope your father will be there for you, you know? But it will be all right. I’ll be all right.”
I believed she would be.
Milly stood and handed me an envelope. “I hope this will cover any additional expenses with something left over.”
I opened the envelope. There were a whole lot of zeroes on that check.
“This is far more than I need,” I complained.
“Good,” Milly replied. “Buy a pizza.” She walked out.
I knew I would be thinking about the things she had said for a very long time. I also knew I’d never cash that check.
Epilogue
Erin and I had originally scheduled to meet at the courthouse, conferring with a judge to declare Erin’s husband legally dead. We had canceled.
Instead we were at the airport.
Erin had asked me to come with her for moral support and I was happy to oblige. I was. Of course I was.
We were waiting for a passenger to arrive from Maine, of all places, by way of Washington, D.C. Erin looked fantastic, of course. Like she could help it. Though personally it felt like her hair was a little too perfect. Her heels a little too high. Her dress a little too tight. Of course, she also had an ugly black Stain along with her beautiful forest-green ribbons. I was the only person who could see it though, and I wasn’t ever going to tell her. I wasn’t going to tell her I had one that matched either.
We said barely two words to each other on the ride over, but it was just nerves. Who could blame us? We didn’t play any music to fill the quiet. Nothing felt appropriate.
After we parked in the short term lot, we walked toward the arrivals terminal. There was a space of about six inches between us. We were together but also apart. Anyone observing the two of us would never have guessed we’d felt incredibly close to one another a few days ago.
We stopped well short of the outlet where passengers came through from the terminals. We stood there and waited. The flight was a few minutes late and we were caught between baggage claim and a hard place.
After talking to Milly Mallondyke, I had put together a report, much of it fabricated of course, and given a copy to Chief Cuevas. The meeting was perfunctory and done in less than ten minutes. Most of the details spoke for themselves and were corroborated by the fire department and other reports from the various branches of law enforcement that had investigated the warehouse fire. Lieutenant Kapok had been the one to verify that MacPherson’s car was indeed the vehicle found abandoned near the warehouse. The other phony details had no other witness besides me, so the police department really had no choice but to accept what I told them. Cuevas had choked down my
story and let me go.
Guess I won’t be meeting him next Sunday for golf.
Erin and I watched passengers arriving in batches. Some were excited to have reached their destination and some were tired or bored. I tried to find a calm place within myself, feeling the earth. I listened to the noise of a hundred conversations and the rhythmic mechanical sound of conveyors carrying bags. I chanced a look at Erin. Her expression was a mix of anticipation and anxiety. I wished I could relieve her of the uncertainty and bear the burden of every worry on her behalf. Sadly, I didn’t think there was a spell for that.
Finally, a tall guy wearing a pink button-down shirt came into view. He had sparkling blue eyes and a sweep of dark hair. Erin went toward him tentatively, leaving me behind. I was glad she didn’t run to meet him.
Over the babble and noise, I heard her ask, “Blake?”
For a pilot in an airport, he looked a little lost, but his face lit up instantly the moment he saw Erin. His teeth were bright, even rows, and his eyes danced with a particular joy that I certainly understood. I wondered if that was what my face had looked like when Erin and I had come together a few days ago at the police station. Right before the phone call. Right before the series of events that had brought us to this time and place.
They shared a brief embrace.
“Hmm. He’s a very. Healthy. Looking man.”
I didn’t have to look to know who spoke. She was responsible somehow for the recent change in events, I knew. But this was about living, breathing people. So I didn’t respond in any way. I kept my attention on the reunion taking place nearby.
Got Luck Page 32