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Of course, that didn’t excuse the fact he hadn’t yet called me, although technically that might be my fault. I did tell him at the airport that I didn’t want to discuss anything until I returned home. The damn man didn’t have to take that literally, though.
I tugged up my coat’s hood and loped toward the exit gates. As I drew near, several cars pulled up, and three people climbed out. The woman—a Sarr with dark curly hair streaked with a silver as brilliant as her eyes—gave me a nod of acknowledgement. The other two—royal witches by their coloring—strode into the park without even looking my way. I nevertheless recognized the second man—he was thinner, older, and grayer, with a thick mustache and a combover, but he was definitely the man who’d ignored my warnings all those years ago.
I couldn’t help but wonder if me being so right last time would make any difference to him this time... and then crossed all mental fingers that it didn’t come down to that. That I was wrong about this kill, despite every instinct saying otherwise.
I called for an Uber and headed to Hattie’s compound. It was situated on Mugga Way in Red Hill, a street that was known as the golden mile, though it did in fact run for three and a half kilometers rather than a mere mile.
The compound was situated on an expansive corner block and, like so many of the houses along this street, was a large and somewhat sprawling sixties-style building. The bricks had been rendered over in a fashionable gray, and the old cypress pines that ringed the entire property had been cut back to form a tall but thick hedge. The gardens were spectacular, and the house, despite its age, modern and pristine. I’d never envied anyone’s home before now, but I’d felt a twinge when I’d first walked through the place.
Just think of all the cleaning a place this big would involve, Belle commented.
I grinned and climbed out of the Uber. If I could afford a place like this, I could afford the staff to look after it.
Hey, if the ogres bow to your demand, you’ll be able to.
Five million is barely enough to buy a house in the neighboring suburbs, let alone along this street.
But it would certainly buy Monty and Belle a rather lovely property in the reservation in which to raise their kids. She deserved that. They both deserved that—although Monty wasn’t poor. He might no longer be the favorite son, but he was still a very wealthy man in his own right.
As I keyed in the code and pushed open the security gate, thunder rumbled overhead, and fat drops of rain began to fall. I tugged up my hood again and raced for the main door. While the house looked single story from this angle, it had been built into the hill and actually had two levels. The living areas and master bedroom were all located on the upper level, while the guest suites were underneath, next to the three-car garage.
The front door—a double width, intricately carved wooden thing—opened as I approached, revealing Belle. At a smidge over six foot, she was a good four inches taller than me. She was also built like an Amazonian, with long, straight black hair and silvery eyes.
Her looks, rather surprisingly, were not the reason Monty had fallen in love with her. Instead, it was her treating him no differently to anyone else, despite the fact he’d been deemed a child prodigy, that had made him fall.
“Perfect timing,” she said cheerfully. “Eli is just dishing up lunch.”
“I hope he hasn’t gone all out, because I don’t think my stomach will handle anything too fancy.”
“It’s just toasted sandwiches. We’ve dinner with Mom tonight, remember, and Dad is barbequing. You know what that means.”
I did indeed—mountains of meat and a ton of salad. Dinner with her parents had been the highlight of my teenage years, and the one place I’d always felt wanted and welcome. “Looking forward to it.”
I stripped off my coat, hung it in the concealed cupboard, then followed Belle down the pristine white hall to the open-plan kitchen living area. There was a more formal living and dining room, of course, but apparently, they were only used for very special occasions.
Ashworth and Eli were both in the kitchen, the former making tea and coffee while the latter flipped toasties onto a plate. Ashworth glanced around as we entered, his gaze scanning me critically. He was short, thickset, and bald, with a heavily lined face and muddy silver eyes. He looked more like an old rocker than a witch, and I rather suspected that was a deliberate ploy on his part. He might love his old jeans and band T-shirts, but he also loved being underestimated. In a world where royal witches judged everyone on their appearance and their bloodline, being easily dismissed definitely worked in his favor.
“You’re looking a little peaked, lass,” he said, the brogue in his voice stronger than usual. Not surprising given the copious amounts of alcohol the three of them had consumed during their “just a few drinks” reunion. Hattie might be a confessed teetotaler when she was home, but that had definitely gone out the window last night. “How bad was the crime scene?”
I stopped in front of a kitchen counter large enough to seat ten people and pulled out one of the barstools. “I’ve seen worse. It was more the memories it evoked that caused the problem.”
“Meaning your sister’s murder.” Eli placed a platter of sandwiches on the counter and motioned me to help myself. He was a tall, well-built, and very handsome man in his late sixties, with neatly cut salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes.
“Yes.” I grabbed one of the chicken, avocado, and cheese sandwiches and bit into it. “The thing I’m wondering is, are my memories coloring my perception of today’s crime scene?”
“Don’t you be doubting or second-guessing your instincts,” Eli said. “They’ve proven their reliability over and over again.”
“I know, it’s just—” I stopped and grimaced. “We never saw the official reports about the sorcerer who took Cat’s life, and maybe there’s something in them that could confirm whether I’m right in thinking we’re dealing with the same one.”
Eli and Ashworth exchanged a glance that tweaked my “something’s off” radar, but I didn’t bother questioning it. Whatever it was, they’d tell me eventually.
“They’ll be in the archive, so Hattie could probably get hold of them for us.” Eli slid a pot of tea and a mug my way. “But what’s made you think it is the same man?”
I hesitated. “For a start, it struck me as odd that Samuel made no mention of the similarities and seemed taken aback when I asked if we could be dealing with a sorcerer.”
Eli flipped several more toasties onto the platter. “Your sister’s death was over thirteen years ago now. It’s hardly surprising it’s no longer a part of the general consciousness.”
“Yes, but he’s an investigator for the high council and we’re talking about the worst serial killer Canberra has ever known.” In fact, probably the only serial killer Canberra has known.
