AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Which is why, every time I picked up that phone, I put it back down. If I was going to be the mature investigator Jesse thought I was, then I had to get through this on my own.
Forty-five minutes later, Jesse came back with beer and snacks. I told him I was convinced Michael's death had been murder after stumbling on a ritual in progress. The ritual going on that night might not have been a deadly one, but it had turned out that way.
Bruyn said Michael's cell phone hadn't been found with his body. While it was possible that he'd sent the message--Jesse said that the preliminary report on time of death didn't rule that out--I was betting that the killer sent it right after killing him. Then, when I'd arrived, he--or she--had called Chief Bruyn to report a disturbance at the warehouse. That to me was the most damning piece of evidence. Someone had brought the cops there just in time to catch me with the body.
Jesse absently twisted his beer can, still looking doubtful. "As someone who got arrested twice courtesy of a citizen who reported seeing me break into a place, I gotta say that I'm not convinced it wasn't coincidental. People notice, especially in a small town. But while I think Michael Kennedy's death was an accident, I'll consider the possibility that it wasn't. That possibility, though, means that you're in danger. We need to get this figured out ASAP. I'd like to stay and help. I know you didn't want that, but--"
"No, you're right. When Michael was here I was worried about the three of us tripping over each other, but now ..."
I trailed off and pulled my legs up, tucking them under me.
Jesse leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "How're you holding up? I know you liked the guy."
"I did." I took a deep breath. "Right now, though, I need to solve this case and catch his killer. So please don't suggest I go home."
"I wasn't going to."
"Good. Okay, next--"
A hard knock at the door.
"Ms. Levine?" a deep voice called.
It was the sheriff's department.
twenty-three
The lab techs had confirmed what Jesse said. One set of stairs. One set of prints going all that up. One set of prints at the top. Michaels death was being ruled an accident, though they took all my contact information,
just in case.
After they left, I kicked Jesse out. If he was working this case, he needed to go home, pack a bag, cancel appointments, whatever. He was reluctant to leave me alone, but I said I was fine. I wasn't, but he didn't know me well enough to tell.
By the time he left, it was after seven, which I figured was late enough to call a few of my shadier supernatural contacts out east. None had heard of either Cody or Tiffany. Never heard of Columbus, Washington. Never heard of Alastair Koppel and his commune. The only one who was any help was the last call I made, to a local witch, Molly Crane, who was up early getting her girls off to school.
Four years ago Molly had tried to kill Jaime Vegas. I'd intervened and left Molly tied up in a swamp. In the underbelly of the supernatural world, that marked the beginning of a working relationship based on mutual respect. A temporary gift of zombies a couple of years ago hadn't hurt matters. Molly liked me. Can't say I felt the same about her, but she was useful.
"If there's a witch living so close to me, then I should know about her," Molly said. "If I don't, she's not just flying under the radar, she's crawling under it. You said her magic looks old?"
"That's what I'm thinking. I was going to run it past Paige but ..."
Molly snorted. "Like Paige would recognize magic that wasn't pure as the driven snow."
Not true, but part of cozying up to Molly meant letting her disparage Paige and Lucas.
"That's kind of what I thought," I said. "And Paige hates me getting involved in anything dark ..."
Another snort. "E-mail me those pictures. I'll find your ritual."
THE MOTEL ROOM got too quiet again after that. I paced, struggling to focus on the case. I couldn't. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I headed out for breakfast.
I walked to the diner. It was a good hike, but I needed the air. As I approached the door, though, I slowed, and my stomach twisted. Word of Michael's death would have spread. There would be questions, probing questions, small-town curiosity spreading its tentacles. I couldn't handle that.
So I walked past. Got ten steps before the door whooshed open and Lorraine called out after me.
"Savannah? Hon? Nothing open down that way. Come on back and get yourself some breakfast."
When I turned to face her, she gave a sympathetic smile.
