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Around Suffern, the town where New York meets New Jersey, my phone rings, and Slate sounds through the SUV’s speakers. “The slug you sent matches one dug out of a murder victim a couple years back. The case remains unsolved. The primary suspect was a guy named Vapes. I’m sending you his deets.”
The line goes dead before I can say thanks.
“That’s weird. Why would thiskiller be involved with stolen trees?” Sam voices the sameconcern rattling around in my head.
“Well, I suppose we could go check out his address after we drop off our sweet-smelling evergreen.” Again, my preternatural sensestingle. What do a mobster’s warehouse, the FBI, stolenpines, and a cold case, all have in common?
While I ponder this multi-million-dollar question, we eat dinner, ask Joey to babysit, and drop our prizeat home, otherwise known as Santa’s stench-shop.
“Here goes nothin’.” I open my door and immediately regret not buying a gas mask.
Holding my breath, I set the fir inside the stand, andrun back outside, gasping for fresh air. “We need to solve this damn case so we can pressure Vincent to deliver on his promise.”
Sam grabs my arm. “No time like the present. Let’s find Vapes.”
Chapter 13
Sam
“Sebastian, yousure this is theplace?” I rub my elbow on the steamed-up, passenger-side window and study the blue-collar neighborhood.
Six-foot inflatable Christmas figures, including Santa, Snoopy, and the Grinch, overwhelm postage-stamp-sized front lawns. Nothing about this Newark neighborhood screams murderer-in-residence, but hey, a former FBI analyst does not judge a romance novel by the sexy guy on the front cover.
“I hear ya, babe, but this is the address Slate sent us.” My partnerstops at the curb, frowns at his phone, and after jumping out of our SUV, trots to my side.
My arm in his, he walks me up the cracked front steps and rings the bell several times. Because no one responds, my partner opens the stormdoor and lifts the brass knocker. On the first rap, hinges creak and the wood swings free.
“Oh shit.” At the scent of death, my jacket sleeve shoots up to cover my nose.
“Fuck it, Sam, step back.” Gun out, mister-machismo pushes me behind his back.
On his heels, I creep by a pendulum grandfather clock who’s incessant tik-tok covers the sound of my labored breathing. In the living room, we pass between a forty-inch monitor and a gold sofa. After walking under an arch, we arrive in the kitchen where Suds points at the stick-on vinyl flooring. Between the sink and the refrigerator, a man lies dead, a dark red circle growing larger as we stare.
Face grim, my partner squats by the body, checks for a pulse, and shakes his head, no. “Call nine-one-one. Tell them thebody’s still warm.”
Thinking of the lessons I’ve learned from Frankie-the-hitman, I point to the man’s bloody chest. “Two slugs to the heart at close range. Professional?”
With the words barely out of my mouth, a door slams at the back of the house.
“Fuck, the killer is still here.” Sebastian races toward the noise,a shot is fired, and my heart races so badly, I can’t push the three numbers.
A few seconds later, he returns, completely unaware that I thought he ate a bullet. “Too dark, I couldn’t see a damn thing.”
“Jeez, don’t ever scare me like that again. Are you even listening?” My arms wrap around his waist, and I hug him until sirens sound in the distance.
Not wanting to be found in close proximity to the deceased, we return to our SUV. By the time the police show up, a thin layerof ice covers our windshield. With sleet pelting our jackets, we get out and show the local cops ourPIlicenses.
Not happy with our answers, they escort us to the precinct, which is fine with me because by now, I’m fucking freezing.
Both sides of my family agree on one thing. Should you ever find yourself in front of a dead body, demand a lawyer. The primary goal of the police is to find a suspect,beginning withyou.
Worried he’s going to ramble, I narrow my gaze at my husband. “Not a word without ourconsigliere.”
“Yes ma’am.” Grinning, he winks, which generally means he’s going to do as he damn pleases.
I’m about to give him hell when the same jerk who took over thewarehouse investigation, enters the room.
After slapping his wet fedora against his long wool coat, he glowers at me. “I told you to stay clear, but I suspect you never listen, do you?”
