“I’m serious, PJ.”
“So am I. Did my mom put you up to this?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Last time I saw Mom, she got onto me about finding a new girlfriend. And now you’re doing the same thing. You two are in cahoots, aren’t you? Go ahead. Admit it.”
Magus laughed. “You’re crazy. Me and Eleanor haven’t spoken in months.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So you both claim.”
Magus gave me an annoyed look. “PJ . . .” He shook his head instead of finishing the sentence.
I sighed and held up my hands. “Alright. You win. I’ll take your advice. I’ll find a nice girl.”
“Now that’s what I want to hear.”
“A college girl—with huge breasts, a tiny waist, and flexible morals . . . among other things.”
Magus laughed “That’s the spirit!”
32
That night, a violent storm raged over the city. It had appeared out of nowhere, without warning. The TV weathermen called it a phenomenon and pretended to be baffled. But everyone in New Olympia knew the truth—that somewhere out there, Vice President Poseidon, the mighty God of the Sea, was having a temper tantrum.
Rain pounded against my living room window as I sat at the kitchen table, reading the letter Hephaestus had sent to Aphrodite.
My dearest Aphrodite,
I know you hate me. I know it well. But I need to talk to someone. I’ve done something terrible. Unforgivable. I despise myself for it. Despite the fact that I was capable of it. But I’m going to make things right. I’m going to redeem myself. I’m going to confess what I’ve done. Confess to everyone. Starting with you. But I won’t do it in this letter. I want to tell you face to face. See the hurt in your eyes. Hear you call me all the terrible things I know I am. I need to see you very soon. Until then, I just want you to know that I’m sorry for everything.
Your husband,
Hephaestus
For a God, Hephaestus had sloppy handwriting. They say that a person’s handwriting is a reflection of his character. If that was true, I wondered what the Smith God’s handwriting said about him. Now, I’m no graphologist, but if you asked me, I’d say he was a God in motion. Always in a rush. Probably had a million things happening in his head at any given time.
I read the letter once more, and then put it back in the envelope. No wonder the OBI couldn’t get anything out of this. The information—being as vague as it was—could have been interpreted a thousand different ways. I needed something more specific.
I swallowed the last of my beer, got another from the fridge, and plopped down on the couch. Outside the window, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. A second later, a crash of thunder caused my entire apartment to tremble. Poseidon must have been pretty pissed off.
I sipped the beer, my thoughts going back to the letter. What did Hephaestus do that was so awful? Did it have something to do with his secret projects? Was it connected to his and Eileithyia’s murders? I was leaning toward yes, to both questions. Problem was I couldn’t prove it.
On the plus side, I finally had new suspects to interrogate. Hades was one. Aphrodite’s lovers were the others. I’d start with the lovers. To question them all would have taken years, so I narrowed the list down to the big three: Ares, Hermes, and Dionysus. The next step was to decide who to go after first.
Ares passed his time living as a rock star. He had been on tour with his band, Inheritor, when the murders occurred, so I ruled him out as a suspect. That left Hermes and Dionysus. Might as well start with Hermes, since I already had his number. I took out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts list until I found his number, stored as “Jackass.”
I hit send. He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Mr. Jones.” Hermes sounded annoyed, as if I had interrupted him in the middle of something. He was probably scrubbing toilets at Zeus’s estate. Or sharpening Hera’s cheekbones.
“Hello, sunshine,” I said.
Hermes sighed. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to have a chat with you ASAP.”
“Regarding?”
“The case you insisted I investigate.”
Silence stretched across the phone line. Then Hermes said, “My schedule for this week is extremely tight, but I suppose I could spare a few minutes. Be at my office at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
“Oh, and Mr. Jones,” Hermes said. “Try to be punctual.”
33
Hermes lived in an estate on Mount Olympus. It looked similar to Zeus’s place, only smaller and with fewer windows.
Granite double doors opened into his office. Carved into the stone was an image of Hermes, naked and wearing his famous winged sandals. Seeing that jerk in his birthday suit made me grateful I had skipped breakfast.
I knocked on one of the doors. The sound reverberated throughout the hallway. Both panels slowly swung open. Hermes, in a navy blue suit with a pink tie, sat behind a desk at the head of the room, staring at a laptop.
“Come in,” he said, without looking up from his work.
I stepped inside, and the doors closed behind me as if by remote. The office was stylish. But it was the type of stylish that seemed too deliberate to be properly admired.
The walls had been painted black, surrounding a gray hardwood floor. The furniture, with its white leather cushions and stainless steel legs, was as cold and angular as Hermes himself. A fully stocked bar occupied the far left corner of the room, and a giant aquarium was built into the wall behind Hermes’s desk. Sharks and other exotic fish glided through the glowing blue water.
“You’re three minutes late.” Hermes’s eyes remained glued to the laptop.
“Not according to my watch.” I sat in a chair in front his desk. It was as uncomfortable as it looked, forcing me into perfect posture. Mom would have liked it. She was always getting on me about slouching.
“You said you wanted to talk about the case,” Hermes said.
I nodded. “I did.”
“So talk.”
I glanced at the minibar. “Mind if I have a drink first?”
“If you must.”
I got up and went to the bar. I suddenly felt like a kid in a candy store. Top-shelf liquors and wines filled the bar. Some of the vintages were hundreds of years old. A few of them I had never even heard of. I poured myself a glass of two-hundred-year-old scotch and sat back down. I took a sip. Its rich, mellow flavor went down easy.
“Mmm.” I pointed at the glass. “This is good.”
Hermes raised an eyebrow. “I’m a very busy God, Mr. Jones.”
“Sorry.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. “I have some questions, if that’s okay. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes of your time.”
“What would you like to know?”
“I want to know about your relationship with Aphrodite.”
Hermes looked up from his laptop. His blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Aphrodite and I are friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
Hermes smiled. “Yes.”
“Did you ever want to be more than friends?”
“Long ago,” Hermes admitted, with a hint of longing in his voice. “But I’ve since gotten past those feelings.”
I nodded and took another sip of scotch. The second taste was better than the first—the flavor seemed to build upon itself.
“Were you ever jealous of Hephaestus?” I asked.
Hermes burst into laughter. He finally looked up from his computer and into my face to see if I was joking. When he realized I wasn’t, he laughed again, louder.
“Jealous? Of that freak?”
“That freak was married to Aphrodite,” I reminded him. “The Goddess you were in love with.”
Hermes’s laughter dwindled to silence, but he continued to smile. He closed his laptop and pushed it aside. Then he laced his fingers and put both hands on his desk. “Mr. Jones, if you’re attempting to implicate me in the murders, you’re wasting your time.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Were you jealous of Hephaestus?”
“No, Mr. Jones, I was not.”
“Why not?”
“Hephaestus’s marriage to Aphrodite was a joke. He couldn’t please her in bed. He wasn’t even potent enough to give her a child. Why would I be jealous of someone like that?”
I sat silent for an interval, trying to come up with a reason why Hermes might by jealous, while swirling the scotch in my glass. Light reflected off the amber liquid. “I don’t know.”
Hermes grinned victoriously. “Is there something else I can help you with, Mr. Jones?”
I drank some more scotch. “One more thing. I’d like to know where you were the day of the murder.”
Hermes answered at once. “I was here in my office, filing reports, when the OBI contacted me with news of the murder.”
“I assume there’s some evidence to back up your claim?”
He nodded. “I maintain detailed records of all my schedules.”
“The records for this month, I’d like copies of them if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I’ll fax them to you as soon as possible.”
I gave him a thumbs-up. “Great.”
“Anything else?” Hermes asked. He opened his laptop again and pulled it toward him.
I thought about it and shook my head. “No, I think I’m good.”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
The office doors opened.
I finished the rest of my scotch in one gulp. “Thanks for the drink.”
34
When I got back to my apartment, the acrid smell of cat urine greeted me. I hit the lights and glimpsed a flash of orange fur vanishing through the window. Hair covered the couch, and there was a wet spot on the carpet, near the fireplace. One day, I thought, one day, I’m going to catch you. Then your furry ass is history.
I went through my usual routine of pouring peroxide on the wet spot and covering it with a towel. Then I rolled my vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet, attached the upholstery tool, and vacuumed the couch. Once that was done, I decided to check on Alexis. The Gods had promised not to harm her so long as I danced to their tune. But I wasn’t convinced. The Gods had made lying into an art form. A promise from them was about as genuine as a battery-operated Rolex.
I took out my cell phone and dialed Alexis’s number. The person who answered said nothing, but I could hear them breathing.
“Alexis?” I said.
Still nothing. Fear seeped into my heart. Had the Gods gotten to her?
“Hello?”
There was a sigh on the other end. Then Alexis said, “You’re a creep, you know that?”
Relief washed over me. I had to sit down. “Okay, what did I do this time?”
“It’s not about what you did. It’s about what you didn’t do. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Seeing someone? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s all over the tabloids. Aphrodite and her new boyfriend share a romantic lunch. I didn’t know Goddesses were your type.”
That instant, confusion gave way to flattery. A grin touched my face. She actually thought that Aphrodite, a Goddess accustomed to dating actors and pro athletes, was interested in a regular Joe like me. And she was angry about it. An evil little voice in my head urged me to play along, but I ignored it. She was already about to give me an earful. No need to add fuel to the fire.
“It’s not what you think,” I said.
“I’m so sure! The article says she shut down Arturo’s for the entire afternoon, so the two of you could have some privacy.”
“Okay, that part is true. But the rest of it is a lie.”
“You’re trying to one-up me, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
“You’re jealous of what Calais and I have.”
I chuckled, but not at the silliness of the accusation, because the accusation actually held some degree of truth. What got to me was the fact that she felt I was in a better place—relationship-wise—than she was. It made me feel like a little kid at show-and-tell—the kid who had brought the best toy to class.
“You’re not listening,” I said. “Aphrodite and I are not dating. We’re just friends.”
“Yeah right. I’ve heard stories about Aphrodite and her friends.”
“Those stories have nothing to do with me. My relationship with her is strictly platonic. And even if it wasn’t, what does it have to do with you?”
“Nothing.” Alexis’s tone went abruptly casual. “I don’t care who you screw.”
“Then why are you so mad?”
She gave a scornful laugh. “I’m not mad.”
“Okay.”
Agreeing with her somehow made her angrier.
“I don’t need this right now,” she said. “I have enough on my mind with the wedding. We’ll continue this discussion later.”
“Sure,” I said. “Stay safe.”
Alexis mumbled something under her breath and hung up. I closed my cell phone and smiled.
35
Dionysus. I had seen him on the news and in numerous business publications, but I had never met him in real life. Contrary to his title, the God of Wine and Ecstasy’s public image was one of a stiff, no-nonsense businessman. He’d never been featured in the tabloids, never been implicated in any scandals, and frequently donated to charity. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone with a cleaner reputation.
The same couldn’t be said about the people his businesses catered to. He owned three successful nightclubs, one in New Olympia, one in Miami, and one in Tokyo. Drunken celebrities were regularly seen stumbling out of them.
I looked for Dionysus’s home address in the phonebook and online, but it was unlisted. I then called the records office on Mount Olympus. The information they provided led me downtown to N.0.1, the tallest residential tower in the nation. The clear blue sky reflected off the building’s mirrored façade.
Dionysus lived in a penthouse. Considering that there were 103 floors, I doubted he ever took the stairs. A long corridor stretched to his apartment. The door was made of opaque glass, and there was an intercom beside it. I rang the doorbell.
After a moment, the glass turned clear—it was smart glass, the kind that turns from opaque to clear with the push of a button. A little old woman stood on the other side of the door, wearing a powder-blue maid’s uniform. A net covered her steel-gray hair. I could tell she used to be a looker back in her day.
The woman’s voice issued from the intercom.
“May I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrow.
I dredged up my friendliest smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Plato Jones. I’m a private investigator.” I showed her my badge. “I’m looking for Dionysus.”
“Mr. Dionysus isn’t here right now.”
I cursed silently, but my smile didn’t falter. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
The woman shook her head.
“Do you have any idea where I might find him?”
“I don’t,” she replied. “Would you like to leave a message?”
Now it was my turn to shake my head. “That won’t be necessary. Thanks for your time.”
The woman pressed a button on the wall beside the door. The glass turned opaque again.
Well, that was a waste of time.
I left the tower and headed down the street to Elysium, one of Dionysus’s clubs, in hopes of catching him there. The building bore a futuristic
design, similar to Zeus’s and Hermes’s estates: a white exterior with black windows and rounded edges. A neon sign on the roof spelled out the club’s name. At this time of day, the lights were off.
I entered the parking lot and pulled into a space near the main entrance. There were only three other cars in the lot—an Audi and two BMWs. They probably belonged to the employees. Next to them, my ride stuck out like a sore thumb. I missed my Lotus, now more than ever.
I got out of my car and checked the front door. Locked. I knocked on it. No answer. Another bust.
As I returned to my car, I heard voices. I followed them to the side of the building, where two men leaned against the wall, talking and smoking cigarettes. The taller of the pair was skinny, with brown hair and a scraggly beard. The shorter one was stocky, with sandy-blond hair and a goatee. Both men wore black polos and khakis.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The men stopped chatting and looked at me.
“You guys work here?” I asked.
The short man nodded. “Yeah.”
“My name is Plato Jones. I’m a private investigator.” I showed them my PI badge.
They barely glanced at it.
“I’m investigating a recent string of robberies that have been committed against the Gods. I think Dionysus might be next. I’d like to speak with him if possible.”
The short man puffed his cigarette. “He’s not here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be in?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have an idea of where I might find him?” I asked.
The short man took another drag. He blew the smoke from his nostrils. “Sorry.”
This was going well. “When was the last time he came in?”
“About a month ago.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He’s been missing for a month?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything before he left?” I asked.
“Just that he had some business to take care of.”
Two Gods murdered in the past month, and Dionysus was nowhere to be found. It was too convenient to be a coincidence. I needed to find him. Fast.
Murder on Olympus Page 13