Vice and Verdict

by Nic Saint

  And he stalked off, without waiting for a response.

  I shook my head, watching him fume in silence.

  His love affair with Logan was clearly over. Again.

  I decided to walk the short distance between the police station and the fire station, which is only two blocks over. The station house seemed deserted when I arrived, its crew probably resting upstairs, above the garage where the big red fire truck stood gleaming in the morning sun.

  I walked in through the open gate, anxious to find out who amongst the fire department personnel was related in some way to Kandace Slaker or any of the people we’d interviewed over the course of the last couple of days.

  I called out but my voice echoed back in the cavernous empty space.

  So I shrugged and wandered around, hoping to bump into someone—anyone—who could put me in the right direction.

  And that’s how I came upon the locker room. I stuck my head in, and called out, “Anybody home?” But only silence greeted me.

  My eye fell on the row of lockers, several of which were open and unlocked. And since I didn’t have anywhere to be or anything else to do but snoop around, I decided to do just that. So I snooped.

  I opened one locker and checked its contents. And once I was going nicely, I couldn’t stop. So I opened locker after locker, hoping to find some indication as to who could have wielded that ax with such terrible consequences.

  The lockers all carried the names of their respective owners. There were two Jakes, one Martin, a Virgil and even a Jock and a Hock. Suddenly my eye fell on a name tag and the blood froze in my veins: Rycroft.

  I paused, my hands trembling slightly, as I approached the locker. It was locked, of course, a sturdy padlock hiding its contents from prying eyes.

  I gave the padlock a yank but it didn’t budge. So I tried 000 as its combination, then 999, and finally 123. The lock magically clicked open.

  I slowly removed it from the locker and swung open the door. And that’s when I saw it: a sturdy ax, about two feet long, wrapped up in plastic.

  I gingerly took it out, and saw that it was stained: dark, burgundy stains that could only be… blood.

  “You Diffleys are all the same,” suddenly a voice rang out behind me.

  I dropped the ax, sending it clattering to the white tile floor, and swung around.

  I found myself staring into the dark eyes of Rycroft Slaker. His thinning hair looked unkempt, his suit was rumpled, and he had dark rings under his eyes.

  “You and your brothers just can’t help yourselves, can you? You miserable bunch of snooping busybodies.”

  “You killed your wife,” I said. It wasn’t a question—simply a conclusion.

  “And why wouldn’t I? Once I found out she was having an affair with that Storer kid I knew I had to get rid of her before she got round to divorcing me.”

  “But why?”

  “Why not? If she divorced me I’d be left with nothing. She would take her vlogging empire along with her. And the proceeds of all those bestselling books. Now all of that lands right into my lap. My family’s lap, I might add.”

  “You killed them both,” I said, my voice sounding strained to my own ears.

  He grimaced. “No sense leaving a witness. The kid tried to make a run for it, but I caught up with him before he reached the foot of the hill. When I planted my boot on his chest and buried my ax in his face he gave me the most stupid look anyone has ever given me.” He grinned. “I considered chopping them both up but decided against it. Better to let the kid take the fall. But that was before you got involved. You just can’t let go, can you? Have to keep digging until you find your guy.”

  His eyes darted down to the ax and I held up my hands. “You don’t want to do this, Mr. Slaker.”

  He ignored me. “I should have buried the thing—or dumped it in the lake. But no, I figured I was safe. With the Storer kid being the patsy nobody would come looking.” His gaze traveled up to my face. “But I should have known a Diffley would mess things up for me. You just can’t help yourselves, can you?”

  At this, he lunged at me. I uttered a yelp of anguish, and inadvertently touched my ring in the process. Immediately, I felt suspended in midair, everything around me becoming more vivid and more striking—the colors—the sounds—even Rycroft Slaker uttering an exclamation of surprise when suddenly the woman he’d tried to grab had vanished before his very eyes.

  Lucien had once told me that our rings don’t actually grant us invisibility—that the molecular process at its heart is much more complicated—but to Rycroft the effect was the same: he’d become incapable of seeing me.

  “Where are you?!” he roared once he’d recovered from his surprise. “Where did you go, you annoying little twerp?!”

  I materialized again a few feet away from the killer, and said, “Maybe it’s best you repeat your confession to the police, Mr. Slaker. I think you’ll find that only genuine remorse and contrition can save your soul.”

  With a loud cry of rage he hurled himself at me, but the moment he reached me, his hands touched nothing but thin air. “Come back here! Show yourself!” he roared, spittle flying from his lips. “You cheat!”

  “Who are you talking to, Rycroft?” suddenly a rumbling voice spoke from the door.

  I smiled when I recognized the lanky figure of Logan, leaning against the doorframe.

  Rycroft stared at him, eyes bulging. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to hear your full confession,” said Logan.

  My smile vanished. “Crap.”

  “Saffron?” asked Logan. “I know you’re in here. I don’t know how you’re doing this, but you can show your face now. You’re safe.”

  So I did as I was told. No point in hiding. I materialized, a blithe smile on my face. “Hi, Logan.”

  He returned my smile. “Hi, Saffron.”

  Just then, Rycroft tried to make a run for it. Logan went for his gun, but it slipped from his hand, eliciting a startled grunt from the cop. I streaked forward, and tripped Rycroft up. He landed straight into Logan’s arms, and within seconds, the killer was face down on the floor, Logan outfitting him with a nice pair of handcuffs. Lucien would have been pleased.

  As Logan picked up his gun, he gave it a puzzled look, turning it over in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s… soapy,” he said, surprised. “As if someone has washed it with soap.”

  I uttered a groan, then my eyes met Logan’s and we both uttered the same word: “Rodrick.”

  Then we both burst out laughing.

  Rycroft? Not so much. He was going to prison for a very long time.

  Epilogue

  The capture of Kandace Slaker and Blas Storer’s killer called for a celebration. And even though we’d agreed to let Dalton have the credit, he was kind enough to drop his claim and grant me and Lucien full credit instead. Though he would still get credit for finding the unfortunate videographer’s dead body.

  Calvin, Lucien, Brice, Grandma and even Rodrick stood gathered in the kitchen while Dalton and I did the honors and placed the two canisters back into the tube system that ran through the house. There was a loud sucking sound as the canisters zoomed up the system and disappeared from view.

  Lucien picked up a glass of bubbly and heaved it high for a toast. “Cases 560241 and 560242 are now… closed!” he said with a cheerful bow of the head.

  We all joined in, except for Rodrick, who was relegated to orange juice. And Jerome, of course, who slobbered away at his bowl of water instead.

  Just then, the doorbell rang and at the same time a voice rang out through the house. It was a woman’s voice and Calvin immediately darted away.

  When I gave Grandma a curious look, she shrugged. “Some woman named Rosa Snap or something.”

  “Rosa Nappe,” said Brice. “She’s Calvin’s new girlfriend.”

  “Ooh, I like her,” said Rodrick. “She smells nice. And she likes me
, too!”

  Rosa, led into the kitchen by a beaming Calvin, was quickly welcomed by all those gathered, and when Grandma pressed a glass of champagne into her hand, she asked, “What’s the occasion?”

  Rodrick cried, “We solved two murder cases!”

  “Oh, isn’t that cute?” said Rosa, tousling Rodrick’s hair. “And aren’t you just the most precious little darling?”

  Just then, Jerome came waddling up, gave Rosa a curious sniff, and dropped down on her foot, emitting a loud fart. She uttered a yelp of surprise.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Calvin nervously. “It just means he likes you.”

  “Yeah, it’s like the seal of approval,” Dalton added. “A great honor.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, extracting her foot and giving Jerome a tentative pat. He licked her hand and heaved a happy woofle. Yep, the lady had a fan.

  Soon we were joined by one more guest in the form of Logan, and then dinner preparations were finally officially launched, all of us pitching in.

  Under Lucien’s watchful eye, Logan thoroughly soaped, rinsed and dried his hands, and then took charge of the onion chopping station.

  He looked more relaxed than the last time I’d seen him, which wasn’t surprising. The case was solved and whereas we’d been given Karma Corps credit, he’d been given credit from a more earthly source: Chief Whitehouse.

  “So how are things at the police station?” I asked as I stirred a pot of bubbling pumpkin soup. Logan, who’d tied an apron to his sturdy form, turned out to be as at home in the kitchen as on a crime scene: slicing and dicing a pile of onions with no-nonsense accuracy. No vegetable got away.

  “Can’t complain,” he said. “Chief Whitehouse’s chickens have stopped molting and started laying, and when the big man is happy, we’re all happy.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said.

  “There is one thing that still puzzles me, though,” he said, hovering his knife over the onions for a moment and dabbing at his tear-filled eyes.

  Uh-oh. It was the moment I’d been dreading.

  “How did you pull off that disappearance trick back at the fire station? I mean, one moment you were there, and the next you were gone!”

  “Magic,” I said blithely. “Us Diffleys are very adept at magic tricks. We’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

  “You mean like Houdini?”

  “Yep. I guess you could say I’m like the female Harry Houdini.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, then glanced over. “Can you teach me? It might come in handy when I have to arrest some lowlife with a gun.”

  “I’m afraid a real magician never reveals her tricks,” I said, flicking at my hair and accidentally transmitting a bit of pumpkin to my blond locks.

  “Now how did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Because you’re starting to get to know me?”

  “That’s true,” he said. “You and your family.” He glanced around at the others, who were either playfully assisting Gran to create dinner, or sipping from their glasses of bubbly. Calvin, of course, was wooing his date by regaling her with anecdotes from his many years in the insurance business. That’s what you get when you put two insurance professionals together: they exchange insurance tall tales. At their feet, Jerome paid rapt attention.

  “Hey, Logan,” said Lucien, sidling up to the cop.

  “Lucien,” he said cautiously.

  “I wanted to apologize for last time.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  He bowed his head contritely. “I was totally out of line. I shouldn’t have said those things about you being a disappointment as a cop, a human being and a lover.”

  “I… don’t remember you saying any of those things,” Logan said, confused.

  “You don’t?” asked Lucien, fixing Logan with a heated look. “You should. Cause it’s all true!” He abruptly turned, and if he’d been wearing a cape would have swished it like the diva he really was.

  Logan stared after him. “What was that all about?”

  “Lucien is still mad at you for telling us we’re a bunch of amateurs and you’re the pro.”

  Logan closed his eyes. “Oh, God. I said that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I sound like a total jerk.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, removing the piece of pumpkin from my tresses in the process. “For what it’s worth—you’re the real pro here, Saffron. You and Lucien. You solved this crime and you deserve all the credit.”

  Well, now he made me blush. “It’s no big deal,” I said with an embarrassed wave of the hand. “I just got lucky. And don’t mind Lucien. He’s just sore his vlog isn’t the kind of success story he was hoping for.”

  “Oh? Not pulling in the big numbers, is he?”

  “Not exactly.” I leaned in and whispered, “So far he’s got six views.”

  “That many, huh? Poor guy.”

  “I think we’re seeing the end of Lucien’s vlogging career.” And not a moment too soon. All this filming was starting to annoy even Gran, who didn’t appreciate being filmed at all hours of the day or night. She’d already told Lucien she wasn’t Kris Jenner and they weren’t the Kardashian boys.

  “Logan,” said Dalton, joining us and clapping the cop on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it. Listen, I owe you an apology.”

  “And why is that?” said Logan.

  “Last time I went to the gym I might have let slip that you and me are training buddies. So when anyone asks, just tell them we’re cool, okay?”

  He frowned. “But we’re not training buddies, Dalton.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t know that.”

  “Won’t they suspect something when they don’t see us training together?”

  Dalton frowned. He hadn’t looked at things from that angle. “Can I get back to you on that?” he said, then excused himself to do some hard thinking.

  Calvin, who’d followed the interaction, came drifting over. “Logan, I feel like I owe you an apology,” he said, slightly slurring his words.

  “And why is that?” asked Logan, unperturbed by this procession of Diffleys offering him an apology.

  Calvin waved his champagne flute. “I feel like I haven’t always been all that kind to you. And I see how I was wrong. You and Saffron, you’re great together. And I want to welcome you into the family, for what it’s worth. Officially, I mean.” Then he leaned in. “And if you’re not covered for auto, fire, life, give me a holler. I can make that happen for you. I’ll make you a deal.”

  Before Logan could respond, Calvin melted away and Brice took his place. “I feel like I owe you an apology, Logan,” he announced. “When we first met all I could think of was you and me going on one of those ride-alongs. You know, like Kevin Hart and that other dude in that movie called, um…”

  “Ride Along?” asked Logan.

  Brice tapped the cop’s chest. “Exactly. I knew you were a film buff. Now I see that was selfish thinking on my part. So I want you and my little sister to tie the knot and then I want you to take me on that ride-along. Sounds fair?”

  Before Logan could respond, Brice slunk away.

  “Listen, Logan,” I said. “I feel like I owe you an apology on behalf of my idiot brothers.”

  “No, I owe you an apology,” he said.

  I uttered a nervous laugh. This was quickly turning into one of those Oprah moments. Soon Gran would come over and start apologizing for whatever.

  “I haven’t always treated you right,” he said, deeply looking into my eyes. I saw his were flecked with green. How fascinating. “I like you, Saffron. And I would like to date you—officially.”

  “You mean on the record rather than off the record?”

  “Funny. This is why we’re compatible. We have the same sense of humor.”

  I patted him on the back. “Lemme think about it.”

  “Good enough for me,” he said, then sud
denly swept in, dipped me down, and placed a passionate kiss on my lips.

  There were loud whoops and hollers all around, as my family erupted in a display of wholehearted approval. When finally Logan brought me back to the real world, I had trouble finding my balance.

  A hush had fallen over the kitchen, and then I said, “I thought about it and the answer is yes. Logan Munroe, I’ll marry you and bear your children.” At least that’s what it sounded like in my head. What I really said was “Okay. But I get to pick the movie.”

  At our feet, Jerome had materialized. He gave an authoritative bark, arresting all of our attention, and promptly plunked down and let rip the loudest butt bark ever. Yep, it was official. Saffron Diffley was off the market.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Final Ride (Charleneland 2)

  Chapter One

  Steve looked over to his buddy Garrett, who stood bent over to strap a pair of spurs onto his flashy new cowboy boots. A slow smile spread across Steve’s handsome face and he suppressed a chuckle.

  He picked a towel from the dresser and moved over to where Garrett stood softly swearing under his breath. Then, without warning, he slapped the towel across his friend’s ample hind quarters.

  The sound the slap made echoed through the small space and bounced off the walls of their dressing room. As if stung, Garrett jerked up and let rip a high-pitched squeal.

  Steve broke into an infectious laugh when Garrett snatched the towel from his fingers.

  “What did you go and do that for?!” Garrett complained.

  “You should have seen the look on your face!” Steve snorted, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Ha ha. Very funny,” Garrett muttered, shaking his head. His eyes were sparkling with fun, though, and Steve knew his co-worker was already thinking up an appropriate retaliation for this latest prank.