Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Jason. Jason. Jason.

I keep rolling his name around my mouth on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t sound right. I wonder if he’ll be offended if I keep calling him Alex. Probably not. He doesn’t seem like the type to get offended about much—except murderers.

I’ve been mulling it over for the last two hours while he’s been here. His name, that is.

There isn’t much to mull over where the cases are concerned. They’re all the same. Between six and eleven victims each time. All drugged, raped, and killed. A different poison is used each time, but every one is a hallucinogenic. The runes, the burned pentagram… They’re all the same.

But the Holly Woods case is the only one where any kind of evidence beyond semen has been collected. Of course, evidence is all but useless unless we can tie that to someone.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the victims, either. They’re all women, sure, but their occupations vary from students to pensioners and everything in between. Whoever our killers are, they aren’t picky.

Something that makes finding them even trickier.

“I don’t have much of a list of suspects.” Jason huffs out a breath and rubs beneath his eye. “Maybe four or five, and at this point, I don’t know if they’re there because I think they did it or because I just don’t like them.”

“Seems as good a reason as any to me,” I mutter, pulling the wrapper away from the raspberry cupcake.

Yes, it’s my third one today. So what? I’m stressed.

“Who’s on it?” I ask.

He sighs. “Jackson Bullock, Alistair Carpenter, Ricky Roy, Samuel Barker, and Eddie Roy.”

“That’s why you’re always around whenever I see him,” I say as soon as it hits me. “That first time I met him—I felt you watching us.”

He shrugs, scratching behind his ear. “I don’t like him. I never have. He’s the only person who’s ever come close to finding out that I’m not actually Alex. He watched me like a hawk for several weeks. If he isn’t a killer, he sure as hell knows something about what’s going on.”

I put my finger, loaded with frosting, into my mouth and suck so hard that my cheeks hollow. My eyes dart between Drake and Jason, and I see Drake’s jaw tighten.

“No,” he says. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t fuckin’ like it.”

“What’s she thinking?” Jason asks, looking at us both.

I pull my finger from my mouth with a pop. “Why don’t I find out?”

“No,” Drake growls.

“Find out what?” Jason leans forward.

Oh boy. “If he knows anything.”

“Noelle!” Drake says angrily. “No!”

“Oh, come on!” I throw my hands up. “What’s he going to do to me in the middle of the fair, even if he is the killer? Whack me over the head with a fucking hot dog?”

“It’ll put a target on your back!”

“Newsflash, idiot! There’s already one! That’s why a pair of dumbass fuckers broke into my house!” I take a deep breath and try to fight past my annoyance. “Knew I should have waited and shot at them instead of my window.”

Jason laughs but quickly covers it with a cough. “That would have been helpful, yes.”

“I’m sorry. Next time someone attempts to kill me, I’ll make sure to think my actions through. I’m not exactly thrilled about the window myself.”

“It’s a window. It’s replaceable. You’re not.” He shrugs.

I hate it when men throw logic around. It messes with me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’m cute. I can get away with asking questions. We know without a doubt that a traveler is the murderer—at least one of them. It’ll be all too easy for me to go in there and ask questions and act like a dumb, pretty woman. Plus, I have the whole body-language-expert thing going for me. If someone’s lying to me, I’ll know.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t hold up in court,” Drake drawls. “We can hardly arrest someone on your gut feelings, sweetheart.”

“But I can give you a starting point.”

When neither of them replies, I groan and drop back on the sofa.

“Come on. I’m not telling you to let me go alone. Jason, you’ll be busy being Alex anyway, and I promise to check in every fifteen minutes. And Drake… Well, it looks like you’re not going anywhere soon, so just keep tabs on me.”

“Wait—you’re telling me to follow you?”

“If you don’t want to—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Spit out what you’re saying then. We’re wasting time here.”

“From the one with her finger stuck in cupcake frosting?”

“Hey!” I point said finger covered in the pink sugar at him. “I’ve had a traumatic day. Don’t bring my cupcakes into this!”

“Fuck me, you’re exhausting.”

“You’re the one arguing!”

“I’ll follow you!” he finally gives me. “Give me fucking strength.”

“You know what Nonna would say?” I ask him, standing up. “She’d say that God gave you this life because you’re strong enough to live it. I say you were a little shit in your past life and drew the short straw.” I tap his cheek, leaving some frosting on his cheek. “Oopsie.” I swipe it away then suck it off my thumb.

Drake wipes at the side of his face, frowning at me. “Short straw. Right. That’s all I drew.” He shakes his head. “Knew I should have gone to church more as a kid. At least confession.”

“Doesn’t work. I tried it. Still got stuck with you, Fred Flintstone,” I tease him, skipping toward the stairs.

“Hell,” I hear Jason say once I’m a few stairs up. “She’s crazy.”

I open my mouth to respond, but Drake’s laugh makes me stop.

“Yeah,” he replies. “She’s completely and utterly fucking crazy, but she’s my crazy.”

Aw.

That’s probably the sweetest—wait. Bastard.

I stomp my foot against the stair. “I am not crazy!”

Mmm, hot dog.

I may or may not turn to food in terms of high stress. Problem is, I don’t turn to the treadmill in times of low stress, and the high-stress periods seem to be longer and more frequent than the low-stress ones.

Anyway… Jason finally convinced Drake that I wouldn’t come to any kind of harm at the fair and that, if anyone gets offended by my questions, then they’ll just brush me off as kind of insane. Apparently, my clumsy-yet-literal run-ins with Eddie Roy will be enough to label me at a bit of a klutz.

I’d be offended. But yeah. I agree. I was kind of klutzy those days.

So, right now, I’m meandering around the fair, eating my hot dog, and trying not to spill ketchup on my white shirt. One day, I’ll wear a red one and it won’t be such a big deal.

The only person on Jason’s suspect list I know is Eddie, so I figure he’s as good a place to start as any. The large, Canadian man likely won’t take any offense to my questioning. He’ll probably subscribe to the “Noelle is a klutz” way of thinking.

I find him in the area that straddles the stalls and the fairground. He has a knock-down-the-cans game, and up for grabs are various stuffed toys. At two bucks for five balls, I’m glad I pulled a ton of change for tonight. I had a feeling I’d have to pay for some games.

I lick the remaining ketchup from my fingers and dab at my mouth with my napkin. I swear I can feel Drake staring at me and shaking his head, but I don’t dare turn around. I think I’ll just carry on here.

“Noelle!” Eddie bellows with a cheery smile on his face. “How are ya, darlin’?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Eddie. How are you?” I ask, approaching the stall and running my eyes over the soft toys.

“Good. I’m good. Anything in particular you’re after?”

“Would you believe my nephew is dying for one of those bears in a basketball uniform?” I lie. “My brother is fed up of spending all his money at this one stall, so I figured I’d try. My aim isn’t the best, but hey, I thought I’d see if I can get lucky.” I finish with a sweet smile.

Eddie winks. “Why don’t you have a go on the house? That way you won’t have to waste your money.”

Time to fake an aim.

He puts five solid, white balls in the small basket in front of me. “Here y’are, darlin’. Give it a go.”

“All right.” I throw, and my first ball skims the side of a can but doesn’t quite knock it off. I throw—and miss—twice more before Eddie says anything.

“You hear about that break-in last night?”

I open my mouth then press my lips together with a tight nod. I sigh. “That was my house.”

His eyes widen. “No.”

“Yeah.” I throw again and knock two cans down. “My best friend stayed over and woke me when she heard them come in.”

“Did you really shoot your window?”

“Not intentionally,” I lie. “Honestly, I forgot it was loaded. I just meant to scare them, and now, I’m stuck with a huge bill.” I roll the last ball between my fingers, looking down. “Oh well. Better the window than me, right?” I offer him a pathetically weak smile and throw again.

“Here. Take another five.” He puts another five balls in front of me and reorganizes the cans. “Do you know who did it? Was it the murderers?”

I lift one shoulder to my ear then drop it. “I guess so. I fit their MO by just being a woman, right?”

He looks at me, concerned. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I’m okay. There’s a lot of people, right? My brother is meeting me in an hour. I just needed some fresh air, and well, I’ve always loved the fair.” I throw the ball and hit two cans. They clatter to the surface behind them. “Have you heard anything about them? The murders?”

“No more than anyone, I guess.” He puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the sides. “You know these ain’t the first, don’t you?”

“I did hear that, but I thought I was a rumor.”

“Aren’t you a private investigator?”

“For cheaters,” I confirm. “I don’t have much to do with murders unless I just happen to stumble across the killer. Which has happened once or twice.”

Stumble. Right. That’s what I do.

Eddie sighs. “Of the last eight towns we’ve been to, there’ve been murders in four. All satanic crap. I don’t get it, me. I’m an Atheist. Figure I can’t offend anyone that way.”

“Tell that to my grandmother,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “This is the eighth town and the fourth string of killings. I don’t wanna believe it’s one of these boys…” He takes a deep breath, his eyes looking over my head and scanning the fair. “It’s gotta be, ain’t it? Our women are out of their minds. A year ago, we didn’t even lock the doors to our caravans. Now, they’re all fuckin’ padlocked, and none of the girls live together. They’re bunking with their male family members. They’re terrified.”

“I don’t blame them.” I play with the ball again. “It is scary, isn’t it? Do you have any idea who might be behind it?”

Another shrug. “Like I said, I don’t wanna think about it.”

“I understand. I don’t really, either.” I offer him another smile and throw my last ball. I deliberately miss and shrug. “Thanks for the free tries, Eddie. I’m gonna go wander around some before my brother gets here.”

“Here.” He tugs down a bear wearing a red basketball uniform. “For your nephew. I’m glad you’re all right, girl.”

“Thanks. That’s real sweet of you.” I take the bear, smile, and tuck it under my arm. “Hey, you wouldn’t know where I could find Alistair Carpenter or Jackson Bullock, do you? My sister-in-law told me that Jackson does the best ice cream cones and that Alistair has the hardest darts game.”

“Sure. They’re next to each other, right across the way. You know Dina’s stall?”

I nod.

“About three down from her. Jackson has short, dark hair, and Alistair has light-blond hair, pretty scraggly. And take it from me—that darts game is insane. Four bull’s-eyes or bust.”

“Sounds fun. I don’t have the greatest aim, but why not?”

“Just be you and you’ll charm one of those cash piles outta him.” He winks.

“Thanks, Eddie. And for the bear.” I tap its head, hold my hand up, and walk away.

He’s either telling the truth or a real good actor. I don’t know which it is, but hey, I scored Silvio a free bear. That’ll give me aunt points for sure.

Now to find Jackson and Alistair. I figure I can get another two under my belt tonight before Drake says enough and takes me home.

Well, his house home.

Jason is busy being Alex at his stall, and he throws me a wink when I walk past. I smile and duck my head. It’s weird seeing him with dark hair and dark eyes when I know that, two days ago, he was my prime suspect.

Damn the way life works.

Now, though… Now, I have five whole suspects to play with. Knowing my luck, they’ll all be innocent.

That’s just how it goes.

Dina’s stall is shut, and I make a mental note to run by her store in the morning and check on her. It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from her, and I’d really like to chat with her some more about the runes. I figure, if anyone knows more than they’ve let on, she does.

I approach the darts stall just as a young boy is comforted by his mom. I see that there’s more than just the cash prizes Eddie eluded to. There are soft toys, goldfish, and a range of those other plastic toys kids obsess over but discard within a week.

“You wanna go?” A tall, lanky guy with long, blond hair falling around his face approaches me. “Three bucks for four darts.”

I tuck some hair behind my ear and lean forward. “What do I have to get to win?”

“One bull’s-eye for a toy.” He points over his head at the soft toys and waves at the plastic ones simultaneously. “Doesn’t matter which dart. Three bull’s-eyes for a goldfish.” He crooks his thumb toward the fish sitting on a shelf beneath the dartboards. “And four for the cash prizes.” He gestures to the rolled-up bills.

“How much are the cash prizes?”

“Nothing under one hundred dollars.” He smiles, almost leeringly. “What do you say? Wanna go?”

I pout. “I don’t have a good aim. Do you do practice tries?” I give him my widest, most innocent look, making sure I add a good dose of concern to it.

Alistair Carpenter’s deep-blue eyes scan my face in a scrutinizing manner. They soften, and his lips curve up into a smirk that’s almost flirtatious.

Here we go.

“I don’t usually do this… But sure. But if you hit three, you pay, all right, gorgeous?”

I smile widely and bite my thumb. I nod. “All right. You’ve got a deal.”

He pulls four darts from a tub and hands them to me. “Do you live here in Holly Woods?”

“My whole life,” I answer, picking a dart up. “How do I hold this? It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

Alistair holds one finger up and then jumps over the counter separating us. He stands at my side and takes my hand, unnecessarily helping me to hold the dart. “Pull it back to your shoulder, aim, and throw.”

I do as he said and pierce a goldfish bag. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I gasp, making sure to cover my mouth with both hands as I step back.

What? He got too close.

I’m all for flirting to get information, but no touchy-touchy, okay?

You know Joey from Friends? How he doesn’t share food? Yeah. Well. Drake is Joey and I’m food.

“Let me pay for it, please.” I rummage inside my purse for my wallet.

“Nah, it’s all right. Only a couple dollars, ain’t it?” He flags down a kid who works with the fair—at least, I sure as shit hope he does—and asks him to take the now-suffocating goldfish and rebag it.

Looks like Noelle the Klutz is something I should get on a T-shirt.

Right up there with Bek’s I ship Droelle.

Fucking Droelle.

“Are you sure?” I ask Alistair, pressing my hand to my chest. “Maybe I shouldn’t throw another one.”

“You’re all right. Just maybe hold the dart a couple inches higher.” He lifts my hand. “Like here.”

“Okay.” I smile again and take hold of the second shot. My next one lands on the board.

God, it’s so hard not to aim and hit where I want to. I’m just blindly throwing this in the kind of way Sil or Aria would.

“You here alone?” Alistair asks.

“Yes… I love it here.”

“It doesn’t seem safe for you to be out alone, on account of the murders and you bein’ a real pretty girl and all.”

I take offense at being referred to as a girl, but I’ll go with it.

I shrug and pick another dart up. “It’s hard, isn’t it? My brother is getting me and giving me a ride home soon. Besides, it’s safe here. There’s so many people around.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I aim the dart but don’t throw it. Instead, I lower it and hold it with both my hands. “What do you mean?”

Alistair presses his lips together and releases them with a smack. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, yeah?”

“Promise.”

“That girl that just died—Annabelle, was it? The one from Austin.”

I shrug like I don’t know.

“Yeah, her. Rumor has it she was kidnapped from the fair. Right in the middle of it. Guys walked right on up to her and left with her.”

“Do you know who it was? Who took her?”

Alistair shrugs and steps back. “Sorry. If I knew, I’d tell you. I’m just sharing what I heard.” He walks around the other side of the stall to tend to another customer.

I leave my darts on the counter and walk away. I see Jackson’s ice cream stall as I pass it, but I don’t want to stop. I need to process what Alistair just told me.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that every rumor has a sprinkling of truth to it. No story, true or false, can come to life without a breath of honesty bringing it to life.

I have no reason to believe he just lied to me. In fact, I honestly believe he’s right. I truly believe that Annabelle was taken from this fair, under the eyes of at least one hundred people. More to the point, that means she knew her killer. She was friendly enough with them to walk away with them, despite the fact that she had a boyfriend.

She had no reason to suspect her killer.

That is perhaps more important than any other piece of information we’ve gotten. More than the DNA, more than the prints, more than the shoe casts…

“Noelle?” Drake says softly. “What’s wrong?”

I turn away from the fair and take a few steps into the parking lot. “She knew them—Annabelle. She knew who killed her. Alistair just told me that the rumor is that she was taken from the fair. Not before it. Not after it. During it. That means she knew the people who raped her and killed her.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “She knew. She trusted them enough to go with them.”

He takes me in his arms, and I’m thankful for the constant warmth of his body and the way his heart pounds against my cheek.

“Anything on the other victims?”

I shake my head against him.

“Annabelle is the best we have, isn’t she?”

I nod.

“All right. I hate this, but do you want to come back tomorrow? Try again? Maybe when it’s quieter?”

“Yeah. Sure. For now…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Drake. How are we supposed to figure this out? How are we supposed to find this killer?”

“Look at me.” He meets my eyes. “We put out another call for anyone who may have seen Annabelle the night she died. We know roughly when she went missing. No one has come forward yet—maybe another plea will help. We will solve this. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod, but I don’t.

I don’t know it at all.

And I’m starting to think we won’t solve this.

The office is quiet without Bek. When I called her to check on her this morning, she was at her mom’s. She said that she’s feeling better and wanted to come to work, but I told her to take another day and come back tomorrow.

I’m hardly taking my own advice, but whatever.

I need to work to get rid of all the emotion of yesterday. It was a literal rollercoaster ride from start to finish, and now, I have the intense desire to be proactive and do what I can to find our murderer.

My first stop? Dina’s store.

Dina’s dark¸ closed, seemingly empty store.

I put my hands on my hips and stare at the door with a huff. It’s been a few days since anyone last saw her or heard from her. No one seems to have any idea where she is, yet she hasn’t been reported missing.

Is Dina connected to these murders? Is she running from something?

I sigh heavily. This doesn’t help if she is… Because she isn’t damn well here.

I step forward and knock on the door. There’s no noise from inside, so I knock again, although I know it’s futile. She isn’t here. No one is here.

Dammit. This is frustrating. I’m pretty sure Dina was still here when Annabelle went missing, so maybe she saw something. Or did Dina go missing when Annabelle did?

I don’t even know anymore. Everything is so confusing.

My eyes drop to the door handle. It’d be crazy to try it, wouldn’t it? Not to mention illegal. Then again…if she isn’t here, who’s gonna know?

I smack my lips together. All right. I’m gonna try it.

I wrap my fingers around the door handle and push it down. It goes, and with a tiny bit of pressure, the door clicks open. I let the handle go like it’s burning my skin and jump back.

That isn’t good.

Why would her door be unlocked if she isn’t here?

I reach into my purse as I step inside and pull my gun out. It’s dark in here, and the air is a little stale, almost as if no windows have been opened for days. Quietly, I pull the door shut behind me and step through the store.

Of course today is the day my foot is finally healed enough to wear high heels.

Of fucking course.

Have you ever walked on tiptoes in four-inch heels? Yeah. Don’t. It’s like being en pointe except it feels like I’m being thrown into the fiery pits of tightrope-walking hell.

I give up and just make my steps more careful. The whole building seems to be completely still. It doesn’t sound like anyone is here at all…but I’m not convinced. I have the bad kind of gut feeling that makes your stomach roll, and mine is most definitely rolling.

The door to the store room is ajar, and I slowly walk through, my gun still at the ready. I’m not taking any chances after last night.

Except, you know. Walking into this store.

The store room is empty too, but a faint light is emitting from a corner. I walk toward it and see a set of stairs I didn’t see last time I was here. If there’s a light on upstairs… I glance around downstairs one last time then take each step slowly.

My heels click against the exposed-wood stairs. I pause every three or four steps, but when I hear nothing, I continue up the final few without another thought.

The upstairs is clearly an apartment—Dina’s apartment. The light I saw downstairs is a standing lamp next to a beige, suede sofa decorated with various bohemian-type throw cushions. Her apartment is kind of…hippie. There’s an odd cauldron-type thing in the corner, and the kitchen windowsill is filled with various leafy, green plants.

Smells kinda funny up here.

Photos are lined up along a side cabinet, and one in particular catches my eye. With another final glance around to make sure I’m still alone, I walk toward them. I reach out to grab the frame but stop at the last minute.

Fingerprints.

Instead, I bend down so I can see it more clearly.

The photo is of Dina and a man I recognize to be Jackson Bullock. In fact, all of them are of Dina and Jackson Bullock, and the only difference is that Jackson looks much younger in some of them than he is in the one right in the center, the most recent one, judging by what I saw of him yesterday.

It wasn’t much, to be honest, and I could be wrong. I was shaken after my chat with Alistair and barely stopped to glance at him as I passed, but he has the same short, dark hair Eddie described to me, and I don’t know. Maybe I saw more of him than I thought, or maybe I’ve got it wrong. It’s just… It looks like him. That’s all.

Why would Dina have pictures of Jackson Bullock in her apartment? Why would she have this many? Are they related? I know that Dina and her mom have been here for years—at least since Dina was in her teens, from what I can remember. Maybe there was a falling-out in the family and they reconnected when the fair came to town. I can see Dina as a traveler, and her mom always was a wild spirit before she died…

I step back, letting that process. If anyone knows anything about that, it’d be Mom or Nonna. A good deal of gossip is about the only thing those two agree on. I’ll have to call when I’m done here.

I turn toward the bedroom and hesitate. I shouldn’t really go in there. I shouldn’t even be in here—let’s be honest. But… Oooh, damn my nosy streak.

I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do this.

Fuck it. I’m doing it.

I hold my gun in front of me once more and walk toward the bedroom. The door is ajar. It creaks when I push it open.

The sight of toes on the end of the bed sends a chill down my spine.

Oh, please, no.

Four more steps into the room confirm my worst suspicions.

A woman is lying on the bed. Her silver hair is tied into a messy knot on the top of her bed, random strands messily splaying out across the pillow. Her eyes are closed as if she’s sleeping, her lips parted. The covers that preserve her modesty are decorated with the shade of red that’s only ever associated with blood, and the blood splatters on the wall and nightstand match it perfectly.

I swallow back the bile snaking up my throat. Whatever happened to her happened brutally and cruelly. But there’s no doubt about it, no chance of any possible other outcome.

Dina White is very, very dead.

She’s been dead for twenty-four hours.

As soon as I got off the phone with Drake, I called Carlton and had him check her phone and credit card records. Turns out she bought a return plane ticket for a quick trip to California, which explains her absence. She arrived home yesterday morning, and the last time she would have been seen alive is, well, then.

It’s like Halloween has come early to Holly Woods. I’m just waiting for the grim reaper to come out in full dress and claim another dead woman.

The difference between Dina and the others is that she wasn’t killed ritualistically. Tim counted no less than ten stab wounds on her chest, but he’s pretty sure there are actually thirteen, that a couple just kind of joined together. The number doesn’t go ignored by me—partially because it’s a satanic number, but also because thirteen stab wounds means Dina knew her killer.

She wasn’t randomly targeted like the others.

Hers was a murder of passion.

That’s perhaps even scarier.

I’ve now been standing here for what feels like forever while the scene is processed. Eventually, her body is removed, and we’re left with forensics to see what information we can gather from the apartment.

The first stop is the photos. Really, there isn’t a reason for there to be photos of Jackson in this apartment. Not that I know of, at the very least. Apparently, though, I’m missing a huge chunk of knowledge, because here the heck they are.

I stop in front of the hutch, where the photos are sitting, and tap my gloved nails against the top of it. The four tiny taps as they connect with the wooden surface seem to echo through the deathly quiet apartment, and I tilt my head to the side the way a dog does when it can’t decide if you really did throw the ball or if you’re just pulling its tail.

“Who is that?” Drake asks, drawing level with me.

“Jackson,” Jason mutters, coming up on my other side. “I wondered…”

“Wondered what?” I turn to face him.

“I saw them several times—just talking. They seemed real close for a resident and a traveler.”

“They come here every year,” I point out. “Maybe they met and hit it off. Or they’re family friends?”

“Jackson is barely nineteen.” Jason picks up one of the more recent photos. “He lives with Eddie. I’ve never quite been able to work out what their relationship is, but here’s the thing—the travelers are close. It took me several weeks for them to be truly comfortable with me. Maybe Dina and Jason are family.”

I tilt my head again and look back to the pictures, pursing my lips. “Like cousins?”

Drake snorts. “Bit of an age difference between cousins.”

“Hey!” I prod his upper arm. “I have a cousin twenty years older than I am. Actually, I have a couple. But then I do have four aunts, seven uncles, and fifteen cousins, not to mention eight great-aunts and uncles so… Never mind.”

“Really? That many?”

“Yeah. They all live in Italy. Well, I think I have a couple cousins somewhere over here for college. Maybe one in the UK… Crap, Drake. I don’t know. I can barely keep tabs on myself, let alone my whole family.” I roll my eyes. “It’s why I don’t have a cat. I’d lose it.”

“Cats rarely get lost,” Jason says, presumably helpfully.

“Noelle could lose a ten-ton boulder,” Drake mutters.

“I’ll lose it on your balls if you keep being a shithead,” I threaten. “Can we get back to this now, please?”

“Yes. Let’s,” Jason inputs. “I’m saying that Dina and Jackson were family. We’ll have to interview him to find out exactly how they’re related.”

“Hmmm.” I shrug and move on. “Who would want to kill Dina? She was eccentric and all that, but she doesn’t seem like she’d hurt a fly.” I wipe my latex-covered finger across a windowsill, dislodging a light layer of dust. I wipe it against my thigh.

“Neither did Lena, Daniel, Natalie, Vince, Toni, Melissa, Annabelle, or Tracey,” Drake drawls.

He’s really starting to bug my ass.

I shoot him a hard look before resuming my wander of the front room.

“Ohh,” Brody groans, walking into the living room. “Y’all are fightin’ again?”

“We aren’t fighting. Yet,” I add, running my eyes over the books. “And, to continue, Detective Nash”—I throw over my shoulder—“when I first came here, she told me about their rules of Karma or something.I don’t remember it, but she was pretty solid on about always doing good.”

“Wiccan Rule of Three,” Jason answers.

When I turn, he’s nodding.

“They believe that whatever they put into the world comes back on them threefold.”

“So they kill one person, three people kill them?” Brody asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Not entirely accurate, but that’s the general idea.” Jason walks to the bookcase I’m standing in front of. “They’re all Wiccan books. History books, spell books… Dina White was hardcore Wiccan. She probably isn’t the only one. Noelle,” he says, looking at me.

I immediately straighten my features out. I didn’t mean to scrunch up my face. Honest.

“The baseline principle is that it’s religion,” he tells me.

“Noelle is crap with religion,” Brody helpfully says. In fact, he says it with way too much glee.

“Watch it, you,” I warn him. “I can always pray for impotency to befall you.”

He shuts up real quick.

That’s what I thought.

“It’s religion,” Jason repeats, looking between us.

I wonder if he’s starting to realize how crazy the people I love are.

“Whatever we make of that, she believed in it,” he continues. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone. I don’t believe she was involved in our murders.”

“You think this case is separate?” I can’t hide the shock from my voice. “Totally unrelated?”