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George
“It’s definitely Howard and Ainsley. They’re the right ages, and aside from the signet ring, I can match the clothes they’re wearing to the last pictures we have of them alive.”
Claws taps her fingernails on her arm as she watches me work. I circle the coffins. It’s weird – after what happened to my dad, death should completely freak me out, and yet there’s something about holding the ashes of a gerbil instead of your father that makes you realize death’s nothing to be afraid of.
That, and helping Galen perform that autopsy on Brutus has destroyed any squeamishness I might’ve had about getting elbows deep into a corpse.
Claws needs answers, and we can’t exactly take these bodies to the cops. That would mean exposing the fact Claws has been living in the house these last four years, not to mention her current employment as one of the city’s foremost crime lords. (Crime lass? Crime lady? Crime Mistress? I’ll have to ask her for the correct term.) In our family, everyone has their job – Claws runs the show, Eli’s the heart, Noah’s the mathematical genius and the muscle, Gabriel causes chaos and provides a killer soundtrack. And I’ve got to roll up my sleeves and get cozy with Howard and Ainsley’s bones.
“You okay if I head up?” Claws asks a few minutes later. “The smell is making me sick.”
I read between the lines. She might not have known them in life, but these corpses are her parents. And I think it’s clear to all of us who murdered them – her sister. Mackenzie Malloy.
Not everyone’s as comfortable around corpses as I am, not even crime lords.
I nod, and she heads upstairs. I get back to work, jotting down my observations in the Notepad app on my phone. The bodies were never embalmed, just shoved in these coffins and placed down here so no one would discover them. I take some samples of the… goo… dried on the silk linings. Galen will help me figure out if there were any poisons or other substances present in their blood when they died. Howard Malloy was a big dude – I’m curious how Mackenzie overpowered him and dragged his corpse all the way down here. I can’t see any signs that they were killed in this chamber.
When we found Brutus, he was high as fuck on Grey Death. I think that’s how she kept him pliant. Did she do the same thing to her parents?
As for how they died, that’s easy. Howard Malloy’s face practically doesn’t exist anymore – multiple blows have turned the bones to splinters. Added to that, his ribs have been broken in three places by something sharp – maybe an ice pick? One of those blows would have been fatal. Ainsley isn’t in nearly as bad a condition, but she had several broken bones and a wound to her skull that looks like it might’ve come from hitting a hard, flat surface like a floor or table.
The killer beat them to death using a variety of implements. It looks as though they took great pleasure in choosing different weapons – the killer dropped one object and picked up another, and chose targets on the body that would maximize pain before death finally overcame the couple.
I know Mackenzie is fucked up. That girl made it her life’s mission to torture me, and she had a talent for cruelty. But this…
This is next-level hate.
I finish my observations and carry my vials upstairs, the sickly sweet smell lingering in my nostrils. I emerge from the bookshelf just as Antony thunders into the room. He steps right over the dead, still-oozing-blood body of Odette and frowns at the singed rug, which tells you everything you need to know about Antony. “What the fuck happened here?”
Claws leans against the wall, a joint hanging from her fingers as she glares at her cousin with those terrifying icicle eyes. “I knocked over a candlestick. And then Gabriel tried to put it out with absinthe because he’s a fucking idiot. We were lucky Eli is such a Boy Scout; he knew exactly what to do. Oh, and someone broke in and shot at us.” She laughs, but it sounds a little high-pitched, manic. She’s more shaken up by this than she’s showing.
I don’t blame her. I mean, Mackenzie was literally right in the room with us. A cold chill creeps up my spine. It’s a fucking miracle Odette is the only one who got hit.
Why did Odette get hit?
Why Odette and not Claudia?
“Did you get a look at the intruder?” Antony demands.
“No. But it’s Mackenzie. I’m sure of it. No one else could know about that tunnel.”
“Can we get out of here? This place stinks.” Antony marches out of the room. We trail after him into the ballroom. Tiberius is already there, holding Ms. Drysdale against his chest as he fingers the pistol at his belt.
“I’ve checked all around the house,” he says. “I didn’t see anyone come or go. I don’t understand how this fucking happened.”
Noah and Eli flank Claws. They sweep across the room as a pack and stand by the window. Claws stares across the empty pool to the high garden wall. She takes the last drag from her joint and grinds the roach into the marble beneath her heel. Gabriel flops down on the opposite sofa. He pats the cushion beside him and beckons to me. My heart does that annoying skipping thing it does sometimes around Gabe – it’s not a crush, exactly. It’s more a… sense of awe. I’ve been at school with Gabriel off and on since he moved to LA (mostly off, since he’s always on tour) and I’ve never been able to say a word to him because I’m afraid what will come out is a random stream of nonsense about how much I love his music, how much his songs meant to me after Dad died. And now we’re friends. Now we have in-jokes and banter, and I’ve seen him at his absolute worst and it’s… it’s a lot sometimes.
Antony slams the door behind him with such force the entire wall rattles. Queen Boudica looks up from her bed on the cat tower and shoots him a withering look. Claws’ cousin collapses onto the sofa and puts his feet on the table, scattering chess pieces everywhere. He’s usually so put-together with his sharp suits and sardonic smile, but tonight he looks… disoriented.
Antony runs a hand through his short hair and glares at Claudia. “Who was that dead girl? Why are you bringing more randoms into this house?”
“She’s a friend of mine,” Gabriel says. His fingers tremble around the joint in his hand. His other hand is still gripping the absinthe bottle, and I can see the alcoholic glaze over his eyes. This is going to send him spiraling again. “She was a friend. Was. She was helping us celebrate Claws’ birthday. And now she’s… fuck.”
“Based on the angle of the shot and position of the killer, I think the intended target was Claudia,” I say. I pry the absinthe bottle from his fingers and grip his hand in mine. Antony’s gaze falls on me, hard as nails, and I swallow. “In the dark, her purple dress would look similar to Claudia’s red one. And their hair is the same length and color.”
“Claudia’s is prettier, like spun gold,” Gabriel slurs.
“What are we going to do with her body?” Ms. Drysdale asks, her lip quivering.
