NO FEIGN NO GAIN
A Sonic Sleuths Series Mystery
Carrie Ann Knox
NO FEIGN NO GAIN
Copyright © 2020 Carrie Ann Knox
All rights reserved.
Published by Xotolithic Press 2020
Suffolk, VA, U.S.
Cover Design by James T. Egan
of Bookfly Design
ISBN: 978-0-9990032-2-0
ONE
It was just . . . sitting there. Looking at me.
My eyes focused and refocused on the tiny black box, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. But the comprehension just wasn’t coming.
Then I heard the shrill scream from behind me. A scream to make your heart stop for an instant. A scream of holy terror.
And that was the moment I was certain that the bloody, sawed-off finger snuggled innocently in velvet was not, in fact, my mind playing tricks on me.
I leaped away from my desk, heart pounding.
My coworker Grant, the apparent source of the abnormally high-pitched shriek, stood in the doorway. He gaped at me, manicured hands up in a defensive pose. “Quinn. What is that?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His face told me he was equal parts incredulous and horrified. “Well, how did it get here?”
I shook my head, beginning to feel a strange sense of numbness. “No idea. It was just . . . here.” My voice was weak. Am I in shock?
Grant inched toward the box and leaned in carefully, as if it might bite him. “Is it real?”
I waited with baited breath as his face lowered toward the desk.
Suddenly he gagged and jumped back to safety again. “I smell it. Oh my god, it’s real.”
And then he promptly collapsed.
***
“Very exciting,” Sloan said, her piercing blue eyes wide with interest. “So, did you touch it?”
Her reaction to my traumatic story wasn’t going quite as expected.
I leaned back in my seat, my fingers scratching anxiously at the cracks in the vinyl booth at our usual hangout, Joe’s Diner. “Of course not.” I narrowed my own blue eyes back at her. “It’s evidence.”
“True.” She pursed her full lips. “But evidence of what, exactly?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Just a normal workday . . . and then there it was, just sitting there.” I grimaced picturing it. “Waiting for me.”
“Fascinating.” She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and propped her chin in her hand. Her delicate features clashed with her fierce intensity as she gazed back.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” I muttered.
“The only way.” She leaned in further. “So let’s figure this out, shall we? Where could it come from? An angry patient?”
My eyes widened further at the thought. I shook my head. “Doesn’t seem likely with my patient base. No crazies I can think of.”
“Well, I know they complain hearing aids cost an arm and a leg.” Her grin was sly. “Maybe one of them got confused?”
“Very. Funny.” Not.
She ignored my unamused response and turned serious. “Twisted secret admirer?”
I recoiled. “Jeez. I sure hope not.” I instinctively reached for my hair, pulled back in a long, loose braid. I fidgeted nervously with the dark end.
“You’re right. Let’s just put that one aside for now.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered. “How about some kind of I-Know-What-You-Did-Last-Summer situation? The beginning of some kind of sick blackmail for all your past misdeeds. I mean, how well do I really know you?”
“Such a comedian.” Clearly she wasn’t taking this as seriously as I was. “Actually,” I continued, giving her the side-eye, “how do I know it wasn’t you, starting some new little scavenger hunt? If this is your sick way of getting me back into investigating, I’m warning you. It’s not going to work.”
My first and only case assisting in Sloan’s private investigating work had resulted in a few quiet arrests and a profound sense of satisfaction. Turned out, I loved the PI game. But my involvement almost jeopardized my internship, and thus my future career as an audiologist. So I had resolved to stay out of the sleuthing game for good.
Or . . . at least until graduation.
Sloan shook her head. “Severed digits are definitely not my style. Promise. But I bet your butt it would work. I know you’re dying to know the story here.”
Excruciatingly so. I sighed. “Well if it’s not from you, then I want nothing to do with it. Maybe it wasn’t even for me. Just left in the office randomly, on what happened to be my desk.”
Her sarcasm was biting. “Right. Just one of those chopped-off-finger-left-behind situations. Nothing to see here.”
I sighed again. Hate it when she’s right.
“Anyway, let’s get back to the details.” Sloan looked waaay too into this. “I wonder, was it fresh and squishy, or hard as a rock?” She mock-squeezed the air with her fingers. “Could be stiff from rigor mortis. Or maybe even frozen. I really wish you’d touched it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not trying to implicate myself in whatever this is, thanks.”
Sloan waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. There are ways. I’ll have to teach you how to poke a dead body correctly. Or in this case, a body fragment. Didn’t think we’d be up to that lesson quite so soon.”
I cringed. “Maybe we skip that lesson altogether.” I quickly realized my mistake when Sloan’s face brightened just a tad. “When we’re having lessons,” I blurted. “Which we’re most definitely not.”
“Fine.” She shrugged, flippant. “So what about Grant?”
“You’re not going anywhere near my coworker with spycraft lessons. He’s nosy enough as it is.”
“No, the little surprise on your desk. Do you think it could’ve been him, trying to scare you off? You are about to take the job he wanted.”
After revealing my awareness of his fraudulent history, my co-intern Grant had pretty badly flubbed his shot at a coveted permanent audiologist position in our medical center. It hadn’t been pretty. I liked to think I would’ve landed the job regardless of his humiliation, though.
“Pretty bizarre way to get across that message, don’t you think?” I shook my head. “And you didn’t see him faint. He turned pretty green. Not very likely he could’ve handled it.” I smiled just a little picturing his reaction. That had almost been worth the terror. “And where would he possibly get a dismembered finger, anyway?”
For that matter, where does anyone get such a thing?
“Good point. But I still don’t trust that guy.”
I shook my head, trying to let it go. “I’m sure it’s just some sick prank. Maybe it’s not even real.” I attempted to convince myself of my own words.
“Probably right.” Sloan sat back in her seat and raised an eyebrow at me. “But I assume it looked pretty real?”
I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
“Good.” Sloan leaned in, her face lighting up again. “Then let’s talk specifics. Was it skinny like a woman’s finger, or a thick, meaty sausage?”
“Definitely not thin and delicate. Likely a man’s, I’d say.”
“Hairy?”
“Mmm. Couldn’t tell. It was face-up.”
“So you saw a fingerprint, then?”
I shuddered at the image burned in my brain. “Definitely.”
Sloan seemed pleased. “At least we can find out pretty fast who it’s from, then. There are worse body parts to receive.”
Gross. “So
then there’s no need to play the guessing game. We’ll find out soon enough.” I sat back, satisfied. Then froze, rethinking. “Wait, will they even tell me?”
“Likely not.” Sloan shrugged. “But I don’t know when that would ever stop us.”
A male voice intruded. “I honestly don’t know when anything would stop you.”
We both looked up to realize a passerby had stopped next to the table. The early-thirties man gazed down at Sloan with a boyish grin, brown eyes twinkling.
Sloan returned a surprised smile. “Christopher?”
His grin widened. “Funny running into you here.”
She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Is it, though?”
He gave a hearty laugh. “No comment. So how are you? Still playing your spy games?”
“What else would I be doing?” Her smile was devilish. “How’s the accounting world?”
“Just as stimulating, I’m sure.”
Sloan laughed back. “Right.” She motioned toward me. “This is my friend Quinn.”
He moved quickly to offer his hand, oozing well-bred charm. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” I immediately felt like an intruder when his eyes quickly returned to Sloan. “Think I’ll run to the restroom.” I scooted out of the booth and hurried away.
I took my time in the back, hoping to run out the clock on their chat. But upon emerging, I rounded the corner and I saw it had apparently not been long enough. Christopher hopped out of his seat across from Sloan as I approached.
“Alright, I won’t keep you guys.” He focused intently on Sloan, one eyebrow raised hopefully. “Any chance you want to continue this conversation later? Over dinner, perhaps?”
She studied him for a brief moment. “You know what? Sure.”
Christopher’s eyes lit up. He watched as she dug a business card from her bag and scribbled on the back.
“Just call me,” Sloan said as she handed it to him.
He tried to contain his grin, but failed miserably. “You got it.” He gave me a little wave and turned away. We watched him stroll out of the diner.
“Sorry that sort of hijacked things,” Sloan said.
I waved it off. “No problem. Old friend?”
She thought for a second. “Sort of. I worked for him on a case a while back. Pretty nice guy.”
“Seems like it. Did you date or something?”
She shook her head. “Turned him down. I was newly single. After Joel. He was alright, but I wasn’t really into dating anyone like him at the time.”
I knew the sudden death of her fiancé Joel a couple years before had left her uninterested in relationships, leaving her dating interest solely focused on macho guys she knew deep down were only of short-term potential for her. “Well he does look pretty clean-cut, so that would rule him out. At least no suit and tie, though.”
Sloan looked mock-serious. “Now that’s where I draw the line.”
I laughed. “So does that mean you’re interested in dating someone like him now? Like you said, he’s a nice guy. Seems maybe stable and reliable, even.”
“Who knows? I guess dinner with a stable, reliable guy doesn’t sound so terrible these days.” Sloan shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”
TWO
I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to it.
Lunch with Grant was sure to be a non-stop pop quiz regarding the, err . . . mysterious package from the day before. He was such a busybody. And I had really been trying to get my mind off it.
But in the spirit of continuing improved relations, I had accepted the meal invite from my hypercritical coworker. Ever since I had stood up to him several months before, revealing I was in on his little secret, he had changed his tune considerably.
Not that his little jabs in the guise of compliments had stopped entirely. But they had definitely lessened. He had evolved to become almost pleasant.
Almost.
Clearly, he didn’t want me to spill the beans about his real background I had uncovered. All of his lies about growing up poor and on the streets, when he really came from wealth. Or maybe it was that he actually respected me for standing up to him. Either way, I would take whatever niceties I could get.
When a break in our schedules came, we rushed to a small deli known for quick service only a few doors down from our downtown Norfolk office. He held the door politely, his refined upbringing finally starting to show through a bit. But the change began as soon as the hostess left the table.
“I heard they searched the whole building last night. To make sure no one was murdered.” Grant’s excitement was palpable.
My eyes widened. “Murdered? Did they find anything?”
He slumped back, disappointed. “No. Nothing yet. But could you imagine, the rest of the body stuffed in there somewhere? Like, behind a wall or something? How scandalous.”
I did not share his enthusiasm for such gory possibilities. I gave a weak nod. “That would be pretty crazy.”
“To put it mildly.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But I have to wonder . . . why you? Why did they leave a body part on your desk? Whoever they are.”
Definitely been wondering the same thing. I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s just some random prank. Maybe someone dug it up in the graveyard or something.”
“Right. Exactly.” Grant tried to wave it off, as if he had no interest. “Probably doesn’t mean anything, really.”
I nodded and tried to come up with a quick subject change. “So what do you think—”
“But,” Grant interrupted suddenly, index finger stabbing the air, “what about the note?” His eyes glowed with interest. “You have to tell me what it said.”
I hesitated. “Note?”
“Yeah.” He studied the confusion on my face, narrowing his eyes. “Well, surely there was a note, right? I mean, who leaves something like that with not even a note?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. But there was definitely no note, I promise.”
Grant looked visibly disappointed. Crushed, even.
His overeager interest in what he perceived as the delicious drama of it all was really starting to grate on my nerves. I made a show of opening my menu and studying intently, ready to finally move on from this confusing, disturbing subject. “So what are you going to get?”
It was as if he hadn’t heard me at all. “You know, they could’ve just as easily left the finger on my desk.” He seemed to be shaking off his disappointment just fine now. “Actually, it was left in our shared office, so it makes sense it could really be for both of us. Don’t you think?”
I sighed. This is going to be a long lunch.
***
Thirty minutes and a million what-ifs later, we handed our credit cards to the young red-haired server to settle our bills. The afternoon would be beginning back at the office soon. And I had successfully made it through my first voluntary tete-a-tete with my former adversary. It hadn’t been so bad, really.
But when the waitress returned to the table, she had a funny look on her face. “I’m really sorry. But do you happen to have . . . another card you could use?” Gingerly, she laid the little bill tray in front of Grant and kept her eyes on the floor.
He glanced to double-check the credit card and gazed back skeptically. “Is there a problem?”
“Declined,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“That’s weird. But I’m sure it was just an error.” He shoved the tray back toward her. “Why don’t you just try it again.”
The girl’s face flushed meekly as she slid it back. “I tried three times. I’m sorry.”
Grant pulled out his wallet and fumbled, his downturned face hiding his own reddening cheeks. “Um. Fine. Hang on.”
Former enemy or not, I wanted to put him out of his misery. I swiped the bill from his tray and hand
ed it to the waitress. “No problem. Just add it to mine.”
Grateful for an ending to the awkwardness, she hustled away with the tickets.
Grant forced himself to look up at me. “Well, I’m sure you’re used to this sort of thing.” He scowled. “But I’m not.”
I opened my mouth to retort, then thought better of it. I settled for a shrug instead. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.”
“You’re darn right it is,” he said bitterly. “But don’t worry, I’ll call the company. Somebody’s head will roll.”
I started gathering my things. “I’m sure it will. But it’s fine.” I smirked at him playfully. “I’m the one that knows you’re definitely good for it, remember?”
“Right.” He studied my face for a second before standing. “I’ll just get you next time, then.”
Next time? Who knows . . . maybe we could actually end up as friends after all.
***
“Ummm, Quinn?” Grant poked his head around the doorway to our office, just as I was shutting everything down for the day. “There’s . . . something you need to see.”
It had been a long afternoon, and I was more than ready to get home. My Grant-drama tolerance had pretty much reached its limit for the day. I continued packing without looking up. “I’m headed out. Can we see it tomorrow?”
“I . . . don’t think you’ll be able to miss it. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
I straightened quickly, stomach sinking. “Heads up on what?”
He avoided my eyes, looking everywhere but at me. “You should just come with me.”
What now? I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hall. He seemed agitated, if not excited. I offered a nervous laugh when we arrived at the front of the practice. “What, you find the owner of the finger or something?”
“No.” Grant’s return look was strange. “But maybe they did?”
We swung open the heavy double doors to reveal a large swarm of reporters surrounding the entrance. They turned at the movement and pounced immediately, crowding closer. They were all shouting at once.
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