Death of a Wandering Wolf

by Julia Buckley

  Runa laughed in my ear. “It should look familiar. It was taken at your tea house.”

  “What?”

  “A couple years ago. Remember, I told you I went to two of those book discussion teas? I met Amber at one. We hit it off; we’ve had coffee a couple times since.”

  “Oh. Uh—okay. What a weird coincidence.”

  “Not that weird. What do you have—a hundred people at every event?”

  “Not always. Somewhere between a couple dozen and a couple hundred, I suppose.”

  “So in a year, thousands of people come through. Thousands.”

  I thought about this, and it surprised me. “I guess so.”

  “I have to run. Call me later if you have more questions.”

  Runa hung up and Domo looked at me. “Did you say Amber Derrien? Her name comes up a lot these days.”

  “Right? How weird. Did you get the sense she had the hots for that guy who played peekaboo with her at the dance?”

  Domo laughed. “Kind of. I figured it was her subtle revenge against her husband for going out of town instead of taking her to the dance.”

  “Yeah. I vaguely remember him from school days. Or at least I remember a figure named Brad.” I grinned at him. “My memories become kind of ghostly after a while.” I stared through the windshield at some yellow leaves pasted onto Domo’s hood. “I’m glad to hear they’re back together.”

  Domo sighed. “High school seems really far away. Really far.” His face drooped slightly as he contemplated the relentless march of time. I patted his hand, reached in my pocket, and dug out a box of Halloween candy that I’d stolen from a bowl at Runa’s apartment building.

  “Want a Milk Dud?”

  “Sure,” Domo said, and we shared some chocolate.

  It was fifteen more minutes before we reached Domo’s place, which was just outside Riverwood, with a top-floor view of Hawk River and a ridiculously spacious apartment that he rented with his aforementioned computer-guy wealth.

  “Is Margie here?” I asked.

  “She will be later. She’s working on some drawings that she has to send tonight.” Margie was an architect who mostly worked out of her introvert’s paradise of an apartment. “She’s going to bring us some dinner when she comes. I told her I could just heat up the food Grandma gave me a couple days ago, but she likes to branch out to things beyond paprikás and kolbász.”

  “Okay. I just ate some granola at Runa’s place, so I’m not that hungry.”

  “You will be. What do you want to do for now? Watch a movie? Play a board game?” He pulled into his parking lot and did a quick visual check. “Not a soul around; we’re a little bit ahead of rush hour, so it’s kind of deserted.”

  “Good. And, no, you don’t have to feel you need to entertain me. I’m just going to jot down some notes, see if there’s any way I can help Erik.”

  We marched into Domo’s lobby together, then took the elevator to the fourth and highest floor. He had a corner unit with large windows on two walls. I did a quick survey of the parking lot and the grassy area across the street: no suspicious visitors. Domo’s home was slightly cozier than it had been at my last visit. I assumed this meant that Margie was slowly domesticating him. There was an orange ball candle on a gray stone plate in the center of his dining room table; he actually had a piece of art hanging on one wall; and there were two framed photos on his sideboard. One was a picture of Domo and me, in Christmas finery, standing by a towering pine in our parents’ living room. Another was a picture of Margie, sitting in front of the river on a picnic blanket and smiling. Like Runa, she had a girlish appearance but must have been at least twenty-five when the picture was taken.

  Domo came to stand beside me; he grinned stupidly at the photo of his girlfriend, and I said, “Grandma was right about the other thing, too. You’re going to get married soon.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I punched his arm. “Not whatever. You want to marry Margie.”

  “Okay, don’t say it like an accusation!”

  “I’m not. I’m saying it like you never tell me anything.”

  My brother, who had teased me for most of my life, now stuck his face in front of mine and said, “I don’t need to tell you anything. You’re psychic.”

  “Mature, Domo.”

  Grinning now, he said, “I’m going to check in with work. There’s some cheese on the board in the kitchen if you want some.”

  He disappeared into his bedroom to make his calls, and I strolled into the kitchen to see what sort of cheese was on offer. It was Brie. “Maybe just a little,” I said, slicing off a piece and digging a cracker out of a nearby box.

  Munching on my snack, I opened an iPad that sat on Domo’s counter and signed in with his password (he did tell me some things). I began to Google all the people that Erik would be investigating. First came Zane. How many Zanes could there be in Riverwood?

  I typed in just that name, Zane, and clicked enter. Sure enough, there was only one person who came up locally: Zane Talman, personal trainer. He had a website and an address in Riverwood. I clicked on the site but saw only connections to exercise routines and links to prices for various services. The site encouraged people to call or come in to the fitness center. There were no pictures of Zane.

  Had Sofia decided to stay with him, now that Will was gone? Had that been Zane’s motive all along? It was ridiculous, anyway, because killing a man wouldn’t make a woman stop loving him or make her love the killer more.

  I wondered how many men had loved Sofia. She was beautiful, and she probably had more than two decades of love affairs in her wake. She had been on and off with Will Kodaly. She had been (perhaps) about to leave Zane for Will again; had she ever been serious about Zane?

  She had also dated other men, according to Cassandra. Amber Derrien’s husband, for one thing. But he could be ruled out for two reasons: one, he had been in Indianapolis on the night of the shooting; two, he had dated Sofia as an act of revenge against Amber, but now was happily back with her again.

  Where was the man who felt so passionate that he wanted to kill? Was I being misled by my instincts? Was I leading Erik down the wrong path?

  On an impulse I Googled Amber Derrien’s husband, Brad Derrien. Once again, I didn’t find a photo, but I did get a newspaper article and a few business links that told me he worked in advertising. He had won an advertising award in 2016.

  There was another man who was part of the “interconnectedness” of Riverwood; Cassandra’s fiancé and Sofia’s former husband, Richard Crenshaw. He couldn’t still have feelings for Sofia, could he? And yet, he had been married to her. What if, despite his apparent devotion to Cassandra, he was secretly pining for Sofia? What if, when she told him she was going to marry Kodaly, he was suddenly filled with jealousy?

  I turned off the iPad and drummed my fingers on the counter. What was I missing? And how did this all relate to the man who had been in my parking lot? But of course we were looking for two men: the one who had killed Will Kodaly, and the one who had directed him to do so. What was the link between those two men? Hopefully none of this mattered; I assumed that even now Erik had detained Zane Talman for questioning. By tonight this would all be over.

  I went back into Domo’s living room and flopped on the couch. He returned a few minutes later. “Margie just texted me; she’s on her way, and she’s picking up Chinese.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I got a new video game. You want to play? There’s not that much violence. You have to build your own town in order to survive.”

  “Well, I am partial to surviving. But I’m terrible at those. My avatar always just floats around helplessly while yours kills me.”

  “This isn’t that kind of game,” said Domo, handing me a joystick.

  “Fine. I’ll build my town and make it very happy and cozy
.”

  “It’s the Wild West,” Domo said. “There is no cozy.”

  “Then what’s the point?” I asked.

  Domo laughed.

  * * *

  He was still teaching me the game when Margie got there. As I had predicted, she looked far more subdued than she had at the dance; this was her recovery period. She and I spooned food into serving dishes while Domo set the table and lit the orange candle.

  Then we sat down, and Margie said, “Are you okay? How’s your shoulder?”

  I shrugged. “It hurts a little, but I’ll be fine. I took some Advil.”

  She looked shrewdly at me. “You’re obsessing over this, right? It’s like last month, when you were helping Erik solve that crime. Are you trying to work things out? Do you want us to help?”

  This encouraged me. “Let’s pretend it’s kind of a board game. I’ll tell you all the suspects, and you tell me who you think did it. Like Clue.”

  “Oh, good,” Margie said.

  Even Domo looked interested. I began to lay out all the information: Kodaly’s reputation. His former lovers (many of whom were missing puzzle pieces). The potentially jealous men. Kodaly’s son and the ex-lover who had the child. The stolen painting. The man at my apartment. The shooting at the pavilion. The woman in Keszthely, who was most likely Sofia. Kodaly’s surprising link to just about everyone: our mother, Henrik Sipos, Cassandra, Ms. Derrien, even Runa Wolf.

  “Which reminds me,” I said, pointing at Domo. “Remember I talked to Runa about a picture she had at her house, of her and Miss Derrien?”

  “So?” He crunched into an eggroll, looking unimpressed.

  “So it’s odd that people from two very different segments of our lives are somehow connected to each other.”

  Domo raised his brows. “Did you actually think you were the center of the universe? Other people are allowed to know each other, Hana.”

  “Yes, but it’s such an odd coincidence. Almost unnerving.”

  “I think you’re taking this psychic stuff too far.”

  I shrugged.

  Margie said, “Well, like you said, it’s probably a jealous man. This Kodaly had a reputation.”

  Domo shook his head. “No, there’s something weird here. All these women are just totally forgiving of a man who’s had all these relationships? Does that sound real to you?”

  I met Margie’s eyes, and we both said, “No.”

  I said, “But it’s all kind of strange. Like Kodaly is a character out of one of those Hungarian fairy tales rather than a real person. If I hadn’t met him myself, I would have thought he was a fable.”

  “I think you should look at Cassandra,” Domo said. “She admitted that her boyfriend cheated on her in Hungary. Then he left her. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  He cheated on her in Hungary. That’s what Cassandra had said. And then he had come home, quarreled with Cassandra, and ended up dating Sofia. But if Sofia had in fact been the woman in Hungary, then the two of them came home knowing that they needed to end their current relationships. It was underhanded, pretending that they were dissatisfied with their loves at the time, when in fact they were in love with other people and pretending to break up for some other reason. Why? Why not just admit there was someone else?

  “I need to send some texts and make some calls,” I said, and I went into the living room with my phone.

  First, I texted Wolf my questions about Will and Sofia.

  Second, I texted my grandfather, asking him if he had heard the story about Henrik Sipos. “If not, you and I need to have lunch soon,” I wrote.

  I called Katie. We were supposed to meet for lunch the next day, my second free day before the tea house got busy again.

  “Sorry,” I told her. “Erik’s got me on lockdown until he nails this guy.”

  Katie paused, and I said, “Are you pouting?”

  She laughed. “Sort of. We never get to see each other, and I was excited to have lunch outside the office for once.”

  “I’ll commit to a new date.”

  “Or—hey, why not come see me at work? It’s a secure building. No one knows your connection to me, so whoever this random madman is couldn’t possibly know where you are. And we could have fun, without you being exposed.”

  “Hmm. Okay, I’ll ask Erik. I think that would be okay. I mean, he let me go to Runa’s apartment.”

  “Yay! Get back to me soon, so I can request a conference room for us to eat in. This will be fun.”

  “Okay. I’ll call back within the hour,” I said, and we said good-bye.

  Finally, I called my grandmother. “Yah,” she said softly. “Haniska?”

  “Hi, Grandma. Sorry to call so late.”

  “We are watching Netflix.”

  I stifled a laugh. She and my grandpa had bought a new TV and a Roku, and now they spent their evenings enjoying home theater.

  “Well, I won’t keep you . . .”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I mean, something, because there’s a murderer out there, but also—I don’t know. Why did you have to give me your genes? I don’t like this second sight stuff. I want to give it back.”

  “Why?”

  “It just complicates everything. And makes me second-guess everything. And then when I have these—insights—I have to worry that they’re false. That I’m totally wrong, even though my instinct tells me otherwise.”

  “Ah,” she said.

  “Grandma. Since you were four years old, looking at that teddy bear in Békéscsaba, you’ve known things. My question is, have you ever been wrong? Have your instincts ever led you in the wrong direction?”

  She sighed in my ear. “Hana, my little one. This voice inside is not like the brain that can think something this way or that way. It’s not about—interpretations. The voice inside tells you the truth. It does not have different sides, or different layers. Just one truth, shining bright.”

  “So you never had to doubt what this voice told you?”

  “No. But I never thought to doubt it. You have only doubts. I don’t know if this can affect things. Throw them off.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s the question. Thanks, Grandma. Enjoy your show.”

  “Be safe, Hana baba. Let your wolf protect you.”

  * * *

  “My wolf” drove me back to his place later that night. He filled me in on the day’s events, which had included calling Zane in for questioning. Talman had come with a lawyer and he had told them very little. He was not much interested in answering their questions.

  “We checked his fingerprints; so far nothing we can match to the scene. But something about his attitude, I don’t know. I think he’s hiding something,” Erik said.

  “You need to talk to Sofia. She’s the one that Will loved, so she might be able to explain things about Will’s final days.”

  He nodded, thinking about this. “I could. But I’d run the danger of having her clam up under such an official questioning. She responded very strongly to you, when you showed her sympathy at the dance. I might ask you to talk to her first, Hana. See if she’ll tell you anything casually that she might not tell us at the station.”

  “Okay, I guess. But in the morning, I said I’d meet with Falken to look at Kodaly’s things. I guess you guys are done with the house?”

  “We finished processing the scene two days ago. Your friend Falken is going to be itemizing everything in the house for Kodaly’s sister, and he’s also going to share that list with us. Our focus was on the basement, although initially the whole house was roped off. We got all that we could get, so now I’ll see if Falken can provide any additional clues, looking with the eye of a collector.”

  “So you’ll go with me? And who’s going to take me to Katie’s office at Imperius?”

  He gav
e me a stern look. “You’re only going there with the understanding that you wait upstairs until Domo comes to get you.” He stifled a yawn. “I might have to ask an officer to drive you there and escort you upstairs. I’m a little backed up at the office; I can’t really even spare the time with Falken Trisch, but frankly I need some clues. Talman might be our man—he certainly acts guilty—but I have nothing on him.”

  “And if he is the man, who was the guy at my apartment? Who is the man in the painting? And who was the man I saw at Will Kodaly’s house? The one who pulled over just as I was leaving?”

  Erik frowned. “All good questions,” he said. “And I’m going to get answers.”

  I didn’t even have to touch his hand to know that this was absolutely true.

  Chapter 17

  Unexpected Inquiries

  The next morning, I sat in Erik’s kitchen, smearing jam on a piece of toast. Erik entered, wearing the Ulveflokk sweater I had bought him at Kodaly’s sale. I stared for a moment, appreciating the sight.

  “Katie was right. That does look amazing on you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s warm.”

  Antony and Cleopatra, clearly feeling neglected in this new space, circled around his legs and made small sounds of protest. He swooped down and managed to pick them both up; they spent the next minute or so sniffing his face while he laughed.

  “I made some eggs,” I said. “Eat up, and then we should go. I want you to resolve everything today so I can go back to my apartment and my life.”

  He set the cats down and moved behind my chair, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t you like my apartment?”

  “I love your apartment, but I don’t like losing the freedom to come and go as I please.”

  He kissed my cheek, then buried his nose in my hair. “You smell amazing,” he said softly. Desire fluttered inside me, but I pushed him gently away.

  “No distractions,” I said. “We need to get going.”

  He studied me with a serious expression. “Is something making you feel urgent? Some inner voice, I mean?”