Flint arched an eyebrow. “You think Siobhan had Deacon killed? The evidence pointed to Morgan. What would her motivation be for helping Siobhan?”
“If Siobhan found out that Morgan is the one who sent Andy to Something Fishy in the first place, then it’s very possible that she hinted to Morgan that if she didn’t kill Deacon, Siobhan would make it known that she was also complicit in Raichel’s death,” Flint said. “If she sent Andy there, knowing he has a penchant for killing kelpies…”
“No, there’s no way Morgan would ever be punished for something like that,” I said flatly. “No sidhe is going to care about a dead kelpie, and no kelpie is going to go up against the sidhe.”
“Normally, no,” Flint agreed. “But if Siobhan had a powerful business partner…”
I froze. “Anton Winters. You think Siobhan hinted that he might see the attempted assassination as an attack on one of his business interests.”
“It’s what I would have done.” Flint shrugged.
I clenched my teeth. “I need to speak with her again. And Mickey V.”
“Might I suggest you go to Turning Tides first?” Flint glanced down the stairs to where the twins were still tied up. “You know nothing about the racetrack, or about Deacon’s former mistress, or indeed, any of the gossip a regular at the track would be privy to.”
“It would be good to know if Morgan was ever at the track,” Andy agreed grudgingly. “Though I doubt it.”
“I’d also like to find out if anyone aside from her assistant Jane knew about Siobhan’s tendency to let Raichel impersonate her at important meetings,” I added.
Flint nodded. “I would suggest learning as much as you can there, and then speaking to Morgan and Mickey when you’re better prepared to call them on any lies or omissions.”
I nodded and stood, mentally feeling for Peasblossom through our empathic link. A pulse of calm came from my familiar, letting me know she was fine. “Let’s scoop up Majesty, fish Peasblossom and Scath out of the hole, and head to Turning Tides.”
Andy didn’t stand with me. “I can’t go.”
I wanted to argue, but he shook his head. “I can’t be surrounded by kelpies,” he said quietly.
I almost kicked myself. Of course he couldn’t go to the track. That was asking for trouble. But then again, leaving him alone hadn’t gone so well last time…
Andy seemed to read my mind. “I’m going to call Evelyn. She told me I could call her if…if I needed help.”
“She knew about…” I stopped. Of course she knew. “She didn’t just come to heal you. She came along because she knew you were corrupted. But how…” My mouth fell open. “Vincent knew. He scanned you when he got there to heal you. He requested her, didn’t he?”
“I asked them not to tell you. I’m sorry, I just…” He shook his head. “It was bad enough for them to know, but I wasn’t ready for you to find out.”
“It’s not easy to show our dark sides to the people we care about,” I said, trying not to let the words sound as numb as I felt. “I understand. We’ll call Evelyn and Oksana. You need witnesses with you so no one else can frame you.”
I tried to inject some levity into my tone. “Well, it looks like I’m off to see a man about a horse. Or vice versa.”
Chapter 16
“So we’re not going to talk about the corruption at all?” Flint asked when we stopped at a red light.
I stared down at the notebook in my hands, tapping my pen on the plastic spiral around the top. “I don’t intend to discuss it with you at all. Assuming you give me a choice and don’t force me to talk about it.”
“Which I could.”
“Yes, you could.”
It was just after six o’ clock, and it was already dark. Well, as dark as a city like Cleveland ever got with all the artificial lights illuminating the streets and buildings. I twisted around in my seat to look into the back.
Scath lay on the rear seat. Her eyes and mouth were closed, and without those green eyes, or shining white teeth, there was nothing to break up the solid shadow that was her body. In fact, I could almost convince myself she wasn’t there at all, that the blob of darker shadow was just my mind playing tricks.
If it weren’t for the bag slung around her body with the slight bulge of a sleeping kitten inside.
Peasblossom shifted on my shoulder where she’d tucked herself inside my shirt collar to keep warm. She patted my shoulder, and I felt a pulse of reassurance through our link. Back at the house, I’d come down the stairs to find Scath asleep in the basement after her tumble through multiple floors, with Peasblossom sitting on top of her. The pixie had been stroking her fur, murmuring under her breath in Gaelic. I hadn’t asked any questions about why she’d put Scath to sleep, or why she’d been so determined not to let Scath bite Raphael. I’d ask those questions later, without Flint around.
“Bradford will be a lot harder to kill now,” Flint said finally.
“But not impossible. And given his current situation, I’d like to focus on the immediate future instead of talking hypotheticals about what you think is best for my partner.”
“Fine.” He glanced at my notebook. “What are you writing?”
“I’m organizing my thoughts.” I leaned back in my seat. “Right now, Deacon is our best suspect. He had means, motive, and opportunity.”
“When you say means, are you suggesting that he brought his own gun and then put Andy’s prints on it when he was unconscious? Or do you think he took Andy’s gun from him?”
“More likely he had his own gun. Andy was always armed when he went there, Deacon could have got the same type, then filed the serial number off. Andy bought the gun without a serial number, so he has no way of knowing if that gun was his.”
“Shooting someone isn’t as easy as most people think,” Flint cautioned. “Do we know if Deacon had any experience with firearms?”
“We can ask his mistress when we get there.”
Flint nodded. “What else?”
I studied my notes. “I need to know what the agreement Siobhan had with Deacon’s mistress specified would happen if she died. Would he return to Julia, or could Siobhan basically will him as property to someone else after her death? And I need to know who would take over at the racetrack. Whoever it is might have an interest in encouraging Deacon. Or killing Siobhan themselves.”
The Whiskey Island Marina was probably beautiful during the day. Rows and rows of boats bobbing serenely in the protected shelter of Lake Erie’s West Basin. It may even have been beautiful at night under different circumstances. But right now, with my partner corrupted, Liam injured, and me off to face down a racetrack full of kelpies, I just couldn’t see the marina as anything but a gateway to misery. I barely resisted the urge to throw a rock into the water. Just in case.
“I don’t suppose you know someone with a boat?” Flint asked as he parked the car.
“Sort of.” I glanced down at my cell phone, re-reading the text message from Vera. It had been a bold move, but I’d figured since the case I was investigating involved one of Anton Winter’s business interests, he might be willing to help out. Or, rather, his wife might. Vera was much more approachable than her husband. She’d been the one to invite me to the opera on my last case, so I’d hoped she might help me again. And I’d been right.
As I’d expected, the Winters had a boat in the marina that they used specifically for travel back and forth to the racetrack. And Vera had been only too happy to point me toward it.
Per the instructions on Vera’s text, I marched to the end of the pier, far enough that I could see a boat meandering closer to the edge of the basin that protected the small marina from the more enthusiastic waves of Lake Erie. I’d expected something grand, mostly because Anton could afford for everything in his afterlife to be grand. But the boat heading for me with the fuzzy lights glowing merrily in the darkness didn’t look like a rich man’s property.
“Do you hear that?” Peasblossom lifted off my
shoulder, flying a few cautious inches over my head.
I listened. Gradually, I became aware of a song. An old man’s voice carried over the water, and I caught the distinct lilting notes of ‘too-ra-laddie, too-ra-lee.’
“Is he singing ‘The Liar’ ditty?” I asked.
“He is,” Flint said dryly. “And he’s singing it the way it’s meant to be sung.”
“Drunk,” Peasblossom said happily.
I stared at the boat as it circled the edge of the marina and headed for the pier. “Vera sent a drunk Irish folksinger to pick us up?”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with my hearing, lass, and you’d do well to mind your manners if you intend to get on the boat I call my own.”
The boat came close enough for Flint to catch hold of the rope the captain pitched over the side—though I didn’t like his chances of grabbing it without preternatural agility. The drink might not have hurt the captain’s hearing, but it had done a number on his aim.
Now that he was near enough to make out, I could see that the captain was a man of small stature, with bright silver hair under a black bowler cap, and a suit that would have done just fine for church on Sunday. Despite his admonition about my manners, his eyes were bright with merriment, and he gave me a big smile. “Michaleen Thornton. At your service, ma’am.”
For a moment I thought I was hearing an echo, the song he’d been singing still reverberating in my ears. Then I realized someone was still singing. I stared at the captain as Flint hauled the boat alongside the dock. As the boat turned, the lights from the marina struck a tiny figure lying on the brim of Michaleen’s hat.
It was a sea fairy. A very drunk, pale green sea fairy, saved from falling off the hat only by the stiff edge of the brim, and probably the grace of the Goddess herself. The fairy was continuing on where Michaleen had left off.
“Search until you tire, you won’t find a bigger liar,” he sang, his voice meandering through the notes as if he’d been marinated in something stronger than him.
Scath tilted her head, her ears perking up as she listened to the song. She snorted, and it sounded amused.
The Irishman followed the direction of my gaze. “You like my hat?” Michaleen asked, reaching up to tap the brim. “A finer tribute to the art of haberdashery, I dare you to find.”
“She’s lookin’ at me, ye lout,” the sea fairy grumbled, struggling to push himself into a sitting position. He groped at his head as if looking for a hat. Finding none, he squinted at me, Peasblossom, and Flint in turn. “I’m…I’m Hiccup. And I’ll have another if you’re pourin’.”
I wanted to laugh, but held it in. Michaleen gestured for me to come aboard, so I climbed over the side with as much dignity as I could, then headed for the bow away from the captain and his wee friend. Flint walked with me, so close I could feel the warmth from his body fighting back the cold night air. If he’d been Liam, I would have leaned closer to take advantage of shared heat. But I’d rather push him overboard than share anything with the leannan sidhe.
Scath squeezed between me and Flint. I got the impression it was her way of trying to make up for our earlier conflict by acting as a physical block between me and the sidhe. And I appreciated it.
Lake Erie was fifty-seven miles wide from the southern shore that held Cleveland in Ohio to the northern shore that bordered Ontario in Canada. There was plenty of lake to lose an entire nation, so it didn’t surprise me that Siobhan had managed to stash an entire racetrack on the water’s surface. Back in the day when humans sailed by stars, they might have stumbled upon it, but now that they used modern technology—which even the youngest of fey could wreak delighted havoc on—hiding from them was…well, child’s play.
My first sighting of the racetrack was churning water. White froth kicked into the air, catching the light from the huge spotlights set on top of the boats so it looked like glittering silver fog. I held my breath, leaning out farther over the rail. I had to squint, but I could see the horses in that silvery haze. Beautiful white steeds, which could have sprang straight from the pages of a fairy tale about brave knights, charged along beside equine monsters with blazing red eyes. Blue horses with seaweed for manes flowed like the wind beside them, along with black beauties that loped across the water in leaps and bounds like obsidian skipping stones.
Buoys marked the track, a huge oval encircled by six elegant boats. I could just make out the square, glass-exterior of the ships, with blobs of color inside that I assumed were spectators.
“First time here?” Michaleen guessed.
He offered me a squat glass with rich brown liquid inside, but I held up a hand to refuse. “It’s my first time, yes.”
“A sight to see, isn’t it? Do you see those platforms at either end of the track?”
I followed his gesture to see what looked like a floating dock with several small shelters on it sitting on either end of the track between the last boats. “Yes.”
“When the race is over, they’ll move those to the center to form a courtyard. That’s where the mermaids groom the horses before and after the races.”
“They stay in equine form the entire time, then?” I asked.
Michaleen drained the glass in his hand and leaned down to grab the bottle off the deck. “Only for an hour before and after each race. The spectators like to see them as they mean to race, so they can get a feel for what they’re betting on. When that hour is up, they can meet the racers in their human form, if it pleases them.”
“It certainly pleases some of them,” Hiccup agreed. “Those that can afford a bedroom or who don’t mind—”
“Not in front of the lady!” Michaleen chastised him. He lifted the glass over his head.
Hiccup grabbed the edge and hauled himself up. “She’s no lady. She’s a witch.” He heaved himself over the edge and promptly fell headfirst into the glass, landing with a splash in the whiskey.
Michaleen scowled and fished the sea fairy out of his drink. “Have some manners!”
Peasblossom stayed on my shoulder, holding on to my hair. All the moisture in the air made her wings heavy. It wasn’t a good idea for her to fly, not when the race was kicking up enough water to cause waves to rock our boat. “Do you come to the races often?” she asked Michaleen.
“I do. Mr. Winters likes a commentary when he comes to watch, and I know more about these horses than some of their owners do.”
“What do you think of Siobhan?” I asked.
Michaleen snorted. “That lass is going to get into trouble one of these days. Sure I keep tellin’ her, you can’t run a racetrack like you run a casino. She wants to be the next Stavros, and that’s going to make her more enemies than friends.”
My voice sharpened. “You knew Stavros?”
He nodded. “I used to watch the races down at Fortuna’s. Talked to the man himself more than once. Arrogant, he was, but clever like a fox. But even he knew better than to treat the racetrack like the casino.”
“What do you mean?” Flint asked.
I’d heard all this before from Mickey V, but I didn’t stop Michaleen from answering. It was always good to confirm information with a secondary source.
“The casino has a ‘house.’ Everyone who comes in to bet is betting against the house. And the house always wins. Everyone knows that, but they risk it anyway for the chance to be rich without workin’ for it.”
He pointed at Flint with the hand holding his whiskey. “A racetrack isn’t like that. The owner of the track is just the middle man, the one who provides the land and the organization to have the race. It’s the owners who put up the horses, who put up the money by buying a spot. And of course the bettin’ public’s money is the bulk of it. But Siobhan keeps a private stable of three horses at a time, and they run in all races. If one of her horses wins, that’s between ten and ninety percent of the purse that stays with the track. Money she didn’t put in.”
He shook his head. “Nope, not a popular decision, that. Though of course it’s m
ade the track very profitable, since she pours all the money back into it.” He sighed. “Gloria would turn over in her watery grave.”
“Gloria who oversaw the races at Fortuna’s Stables?”
Michaleen nodded. “She was a grand leader for the herd before Siobhan took over.”
The race ended then. A few minutes later, I noticed the buoys moving toward the main ships that housed the racetrack’s viewing rooms.
“Mermaids,” Peasblossom whispered.
I followed where she was pointing and caught a brief glimpse of the track’s lights playing over scales as the mermaid pulling the buoy swam away from us.
A woman’s voice spoke from directly below me. “Michaleen, you’ve missed the race.”
I leaned over the balcony as the captain tipped his hat to the speaker, drawing a squeak of protest from the sea fairy as he rolled with the movement.
The mermaid’s dark hair flowed down her back to writhe in the water around her, the silken locks only a few shades darker than her skin. She gazed up at me with sharp eyes, her attention flicking from me to the captain.
“I was called upon to fill another duty tonight, Aerwyna, but I’ll be here next week, you mark my words.”
“Excuse me, Aerwyna,” I broke in, “But my name is Mother Renard and I would like to get to the bottom of what happened to Deacon the jockey. Could you tell me where I might find his former mistress, Julia?”
“She’s here,” Aerwyna said. “Though I would warn you, she’s in a foul mood. It might be best to wait until she’s had time to process Deacon’s death.”
“You know about Deacon’s death?” Peasblossom asked.
Aerwyna snorted. “Everyone knows the details by now. The racing world is full of gossips and word travels fast over the water.”
“Deacon’s death is precisely what I wanted to talk to her about.”
“Have you…met Julia before?” the mermaid asked.
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