Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

I all but fall into the station, my heart racing. I think I broke almost every road law ever written—and the ones that aren’t—on the way back from Austin. I sure as hell know I’ve never made the trip that quickly before.

Things also learned: driving at illegal speeds makes my car guzzle gas faster than a porn star guzzles a mouthful of cum.

The more you know and all that.

Charlotte is taken aback at my hasty entrance. I left Bek to walk the few blocks back to the office at her insistence.

“You lookin’ for Detective Nash and your brothers?” Charlotte asks.

“I’m lookin’ for whoever texted me twenty minutes ago and scared my fucking kidneys outta my body.”

Devin shoves his head through the door that leads to the stairwell with a grim look on his face. “Here.”

I tap the surface of the reception desk in acknowledgement to Charlotte then walk as fast as my four-inch Louboutins will allow across the floor. I draw more than one stare, but I ignore every single one.

“I swear, if it’s a woman,” I whisper to my brother.

He draws in a deep breath. His nostrils flare with its intensity. My heart sinks¸ and a lead weight settles into a pool of regret and dread in the pit of my stomach. Dev takes my hand with a regretful squeeze, but he doesn’t let go as he leads me up the flight of stairs to the main briefing room.

God, every step echoes like a pin dropping in the darkest depths of a cave.

Dev holds my hand as we step into the briefing room. Trent, Brody, and Drake are all seated already, and there are a few other officers in the back I recognize. Mayor McDougall and Jessica are on the other side of the room. Jessica is as far from Drake as possible, and I won’t deny that that makes me happier than it should.

The look on Sheriff Bates’s face is grim, and worry is coming off him in waves. You could bottle it—it’s that strong. A picture of a young, smiling woman is attached to the whiteboard behind him. My stomach drops as I sit on the chair next to Drake. He squeezes my hand briefly.

“Annabelle Porter,” Sheriff Bates says slowly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. He paces back and forth in front of the board. “Twenty-one, originally from Wisconsin. Studying psychology at the University of Texas, Austin. And, according to her roommate, she didn’t return from the fair last night, and she hasn’t been in classes all day.”

“Is there a boyfriend?” Trent asks, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “Could she be there?”

“Yes. Billy Cooper. Lives just off campus. He works in a bar downtown and was there from six until two in the morning. He hasn’t heard from her and they usually meet for lunch when he isn’t working.”

“Could she have met someone?” Detective Johnson asks, leaning against the wall.

Sheriff Bates sighs and rubs his face. “She’s been dating Billy for a year, and both he and her roommate, Demi Peters, laughed off the idea. She’s totally in love with him. Usually, we would tell them to come back in forty-eight hours if no one has seen or heard from her then, but Detective Messina passed it on for us to investigate given the recent…incidents.”

The thought that Annabelle, the pretty girl with the dark hair who’s laughing in the picture on the board, could be in the same state as Toni and Melissa is a sickening thought. My stomach is churning at the idea that a third person, a third young girl with so much life left to live, could be in a field somewhere, and it makes me want to throw up the coffee I just finished.

“We already have the fields surrounding the fair being searched,” he says, meeting my eyes as if he just heard my thoughts. “If we find a body, we could have a serial killer on our hands.”

Mayor McDougall coughs and stands up. He joins the sheriff at the front of the room, and his hard, amber eyes scour it. “I expect you all to move fast to resolve this matter. The chances of us keeping this quiet if people keep dying is very slim, and it goes without saying that this could ruin the town’s reputation.”

My eyebrows shoot up, and Drake pinches the side of my thigh. I snap my teeth together to keep my temper in check. I do glare at him though. Pinching me. Asshole. All he’s done is reinforce that this isn’t a damn dream like I was initially hoping.

One day, it will be.

I hope.

I tune back into the mayor’s droning. God, listening to him is like having that static radio frequency taunt you with your inability to find something worth hearing.

“…businesses will suffer and the annual fair will be canceled. It reflects badly on us all.”

One day, I’m going to take this pompous, pigheaded son of a douchemonkey to a murder scene and let him see what’s truly bad in this world. Or I could just put a mirror in front of him. Maybe then he’ll also see how stupid his haircut is and that we all know that bald patch really is a bald patch.

If he paid for a little less freaky sex, he could probably get a hair transplant. Maybe even a personality one if he paid enough.

“Earth to Ms. Bond,” the mayor drawls.

I look up. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

Amber eyes slice to Drake. “Perhaps you should remember you have a job to do instead of—”

“Finish the sentence,” I snap. “I dare you.”

His expression turns to thunder, lines forming across his forehead in deep, angry grooves. He looks a bit like a pissed-off pug. “Control your temper, Ms. Bond. Remember who employs you.”

I cross one leg over the other and fold my arms. Remember who employs you indeed, you smarmy little prick. “Seems to me, sir, that you need me more than I need your employment. Once again, I’m ignoring my job, my employees, and my business to do your bidding. If you’d rather not employ me, perhaps your assistant would relish stepping into my position. I’d imagine she could find lots of information out at the hair salon. Perhaps the shoe store?”

If looks could kill, Jessica would be getting arrested for murder right now.

“Noelle,” Trent hisses, glancing at Sheriff Bates.

I ignore him, focused fully on the mayor. Like Sheriff Bates is going to say anything. The man is “coughing” into his hand.

Mayor McDougall’s intense gaze is chilling, and his lips tighten. “You’re incredibly lucky you’re good at your job, Ms. Bond. Jessica.” He turns his back to the room, waving his hand for her to follow.

She gets up, tugs her blouse down, and shoots me a dirty look.

And people say I have a bad attitude.

The door slams behind her.

Drake groans and leans forward. “You can’t help yourself, can you, sweetheart?”

I huff. “It’s not my fault the man is a pompous fuckface. And she needs to go have sex with a cactus. She’s so prickly she wouldn’t feel a thing.”

Drake slowly turns his face toward me, his forehead in his hands. A smile is teasing the edges of his mouth, and there’s more than a little restrained laughter in his eyes.

“Never a dull moment with you around,” Sheriff Bates sums up, shaking his head. He’s smiling, too.

The only person who isn’t is Trent, so I offer him a stunning smile.

It works.

Sometimes, being the only girl out of four has its perks. Like when your big brother is pissed off and you want to win him over.

“You really do need to check your attitude,” he chides through his smirk.

“Oh, please. What’s he going to do? Fire me? I just all but got an admission that he needs me on this case more than I need to be on it. I don’t need a contract to find everything out. I’ll just bribe you, annoy Drake, and borrow files from the server.”

“Borrow files?” Sheriff Bates asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. I give them back when I’m done.”

Drake rubs his face harshly. “I have no idea why I’m so attracted to you.”

“It’s the tits,” Detective Johnson rumbles from the window.

Four heads turn and shoot him a murderous gaze. Drake and all three of my brothers. Even Sheriff Bates looks mildly put out.

“Hey! Y’all don’t need to be so scary. He knows, if he tries it, I’ll shoot him. Right, Johnson?” I look over my shoulder with an evil grin. “Besides, he’s totally right.”

He winks.

The door opens, and as if she were a model on a runway, all attention goes to Charlotte. She’s flanked by Tim, who has a large file pressed to his chest. The expression on his face is grim, and the dark shadows under his eyes only seem to exaggerate it. The light mood of the room instantly dissipates. A chill runs down my spine, one I shiver with. Drake reaches over and curls his hand around the back of my neck, stroking his thumb across my skin.

“Tim wants to see you, sir,” Charlotte says quietly, stepping to the side. She ducks out of the room, leaving the fifty-something coroner alone in the doorway.

“Autopsy?” Drake questions, glancing at the file.

“Yes, Detective,” Tim answers. “Both bodies. I just got word that Austin has placed a rush on the DNA tests and we’ll have them by the end of the week.”

Oh, look at that. We might actually have some DNA evidence for this murder investigation!

“Nice of ’em,” Brody mutters, slouching down in his chair.

“Sit up, Bond,” Sheriff Bates demands. “You’re not at home.”

My baby brother shoots up, wincing a little. I guess he still has stomach pain every now and then. As it always does when I see him in pain, the guilt hits. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Tim sets the file on the table in front of Sheriff Bates, distracting me from the ugly swirl of emotion.

Tim opens the file and shuffles some papers. “Both girls were poisoned and killed.” He pauses.

Oh, fuck me. If he’s pausing already, shit’s about to get real. I don’t want shit to get real. I’m not ready for it to get real. Walt Disney? Where are you?

“They were also raped. I believe the killings to be ritualistic in nature, per the runes carved into their bodies.”

“Satanic?” Drake asks, dropping his hand.

Tim confirms it with a nod. “The berries in their stomachs are berries from the belladonna plant. They’re the most lethal part of it, and as little as two berries can kill an adult human. I found remains of several, but given their various degrees of digestion, they were ingested over a period of time.”

“What is belladonna?” someone asks behind us.

I turn. It’s Peters, the young, gangly guy who drives the sheriff crazy.

“Belladonna is a plant that was once commonly used for beautification purposes. It goes by the name deadly nightshade and contains the drug atropine. It is naturalized in parts of North America, as most poisonous plants are.” Tim puts the sheets down and adjusts his glasses.

“Why would you use it for beautification purposes if it’s so deadly?” Johnson asks.

“A hundred or so years ago, women believed that the smaller your pupil, the most beautiful you were. They used it in eye drops.”

“Hence the name,” I say softly, swallowing hard. “Belladonna is Italian for beautiful woman.”

“Precisely,” Tim agrees. “The symptoms of it are most commonly delirium and hallucinations. It’s my belief that the victims ingested the berries then, while in a delirious state, were raped and whatever ritual was being performed happened then.”

“How many suspects are we looking at?” Drake asks.

“This is where it gets interesting. I can find little DNA on their bodies except for minute traces of semen. Toni had three different DNA profiles when I did her rape kit, but Melissa only two. The good news is that Melissa’s profiles match two of Toni’s.”

I narrow my eyes as he removes his glasses.

“The bad news is that we can’t get a hit on either, so whoever did this has never offended. Or, of course, they simply never got caught. The semi-good news is that the third profile from Toni Thompson’s body did get a hit.” He casts his eyes over all of us. “It matches the sample we have on file from one Brook Meyers.”

I sit bolt upright. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything in regards to their murders, but it does mean that, on the day Toni went missing, she saw Brook Meyers, and she had sex with him.

“But Melissa was dating Brook,” Drake reminds everyone. “Toni’s parents claimed she hadn’t seen him for a month outside of school.”

“She saw him the day she died, which I’ve estimated as Friday, when Melissa leaving for Dallas.”

“Was it consensual?”

“Yes. There are no markings or further DNA to prove otherwise.”

“Bond!” Sheriff Bates stands, and my brothers and I all focus on him. His eyes flick between us. “Damn Bonds,” he mutters, his eyes coming to rest on Devin. “Find Brook Meyers and arrest him. Charge him with statutory rape. I want that boy in an interview room within an hour.”

“Sir.” Dev gets up, taking Johnson and Peters with him.

Well. That escalated like an erection in a strip club.

“Anything else?” Sheriff Bates demands.

“Yes, sir,” Tim answers, replacing his glasses and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “If this is a ritualistic pair of murders, you need to find out as much about the manner in which they died as possible.”

“Which means…” Trent trails off.

“Y’all need to get acquainted with Satan.”

Nonna is gonna pray for my soul not to burn in Hell. Right after she has Father Luiz in to bless my car, my house, my office, and the police station. She’ll probably have him perform an exorcism or two, just to be safe.

As soon as she finds out that her beloved grandchildren are playing with the devil, she’s going to flip out Italian-style.

In related news, I’m going to find someone with a contagious disease to keep me away from family dinner tomorrow. Nothing serious. A stomach bug or maybe the flu.

God only knows where I’ll find a flu bug in small-town Texas in June. I’ll have to ask Him.

You know. Once I’m done getting to know Satan and those who worship him.

It occurs to me, as I substitute a decent dinner for a rich, chocolate cupcake with strawberry frosting, that DNA forensic evidence is wonderful… As long as you can match that DNA with someone. Also, if you’re able to find that someone.

Yeah. Turns out Brook Meyers’s body swallowed his balls and he’s disappeared. The general assumption is that he hasn’t been kidnapped like the girls—and possibly our third missing female—but rather, he ran away.

It does flit through my mind that, right now, Holly Woods is rather like a washing machine and we’re all socks. I just hope the missing ones don’t turn up in any more random places. And, indeed, that no one else gets swallowed into the abyss.

The thought that more people could die is already appropriately terrifying without it actually happening. Fear breeds fear, after all, but for some, fear breeds satisfaction.

That seems to be the only idea I have for this case. With Carlton working on locating any and all satanic groups nearby—which are apparently called “sects”—half of Holly Woods PD trying to find our missing people, and Tim getting a list of the symbols carved into their bodies so we can find out what they mean, so much is happening, but it feels like we’re doing nothing.

It’s been no time at all since we found the bodies. Not even twenty-four hours. If you blinked you’d miss that. I can barely remember what I’ve done since Jessica collapsed against Drake with the dramatic flair of a 1950’s Hollywood icon.

Call me suspicious, but an awful lot of this seems to revolve around the fair. Bek did mention that Dina White would be a good place to start since I’m looking for information. And there is the mysterious Alex…

Nodding, I pick the phone up, leave a message with Drake to tell him that I’m going to the fair so he knows where to find me once he’s done questioning Jessica, and grab my purse.

And the cupcake.

Always the cupcake.

“Dad, I don’t want to be rude, but this really isn’t a good time.” I’m sitting in my parked car in the fair’s parking lot field, my eyes focused on the field. It’s still marked off, and the tents are still covering the spaces where the bodies were found.

I wonder how many arrogant little teenage assholes will see how close they can get before they’re told where to go.

“I know, but your grandmother would like to remind you that you have to plan Amelia’s bachelorette party.”

Groaning, I drop my forehead onto my steering wheel. Ouch. That hurt. “When am I supposed to do that? Does the crazy, old bat not want me to sleep any time soon?”

I swear I can hear his shrug.

“Just passing on the message,” he says. “She said she wants to hear about your plans for it at dinner tomorrow night.”

“Yeah… There’s a strong reason to suggest I will become violently ill in the early hours of tomorrow morning and won’t be able to come. Apologize for me, will ya?”

“Noelle Bond,” Dad says firmly. Not angrily. Not annoyed. Just firmly. It’s his warning voice. I used to be very well acquainted with this tone. “You haven’t done a thing for the party, have you?”

I choose not to reply.

“You know murder won’t excuse you.”

I snort. “Yeah. When she finds out what kind of murders they are, she won’t want me near the house.”

Which is fine by me. Keeps me away from that damn creature that apparently has the hots for me.

“Noelle? Kind of murders? What do you mean?”

“Oh, my phone’s dying! Gotta go! Love you!” I scramble out quickly and hang up.

Oops.

I wasn’t supposed to say that.

Oh well. Sheriff Bates might be refusing to release the details to the media, but this is Holly Woods. I could fart right now and my mom would call within ten minutes asking if I have indigestion or something. Then she’d put a bottle of Tums in my mailbox just to be sure.

The point: We have twenty-four hours at most to find as much information as we can before the gossip brigade gets wind of the details.

And, by gossip brigade, I mean my grandmother. Since Nonna has been going to the bingo hall more and more often lately, she has the dirt to dish on just about everyone.

Mrs. Ruth who runs the inn on the outskirts of town? She’s sixty if she’s a day, but apparently, she’s passing some time with some young man from Austin in his thirties. I’m calling bullshit on the age. Actually, I’m calling bullshit on the rumor. I don’t want to think about elderly people having sex.

Not that they shouldn’t. I mean, you go, you old foxes. You pop that Viagra and bulk-buy your lube. You keep those machines well-oiled. Everyone needs a good, intense orgasm once in a while.

Just don’t make me think about it. Please. If I think about that, I have to consider that—

Nope. I’m not going there. Instead, I’m gonna grab my purse, lock my car, and see if I can find Dina White.

Maybe stop for a hot dog. Because, apparently, I’m really bad at timing my meals, and it’s not even five p.m. yet. Really, it’s no wonder my pants don’t button up without a little sucking in.

Sigh.

It’s hard to be a cupcake-loving, treadmill-hating woman these days.

It’s either that or I’ve been lied to my whole life and calories aren’t in food. They’re, in fact, tiny bastards who eat my clothes.

If I choose the latter, is that denial? Eh, probably. Can I afford denial? Moreover, can I afford to replace my extensive collection of pants?

Aha. I know that one. Yes. Yes, I can, thanks to my savings account. But do I want to? Well, shopping is good… But it also means that I have to go into stores to try them on for the exact size, and going into stores means I have to talk to people in my free time.

Yeah, no… That’s not gonna happen.

And, obviously, I just walked right by Dina’s stall.

Well, fuck. Now, I’m gonna look like a dick if I suddenly turn and approach her. Walking around the whole fair it is. Maybe I should get a… No, no. If I get a hot dog, the calories might eat my clothes again tonight.

Alex’s stall catches my eye, and I hesitate for a second before approaching it. The things laid out are exactly the same as they were when Drake introduced us two days ago. Boy, I kinda wish he were here now.

Oh, for the love of a fucking cupcake.

Am I seriously whimpering internally that I have to go talk to a big, scary man all by myself?

I am Noelle fucking Bond and I am not scared of Alex Whatever His Last Name Is.

Okay. Maybe a smidge. But not enough to stop me from going over there.

He’s finishing wrapping a purchase in tissue paper and inserting it into a small box when I stop in front of the stall. My eyes fall to the rosary beads again. Someone should tell Nonna about these. Then again, she’d probably buy every string of beads, wrap them up for us for Christmas, and guilt us into using them to pray for our sins.

Sometimes, I think she’s still only alive because we love her. That and, if we killed her, we’d have a damn big sin to beg for forgiveness over. It’s easier to ask Him to forgive the thoughts.

Not that I do. I’d never do anything but ask if I did that every time.

“Nice, huh?”

I snap my head up at his words, and my hand flies to my chest. Dammit, here I go, stuck in my own head again.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He clears his throat, his dark eyes penetrating.

I offer what I hope is a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I could be getting drunk with fairies for all of my concentration today.”

He laughs. It’s a rich sound, one that makes you take notice. “Yes, I’d imagine seeing a dead body would do that to a person.”

Shock freezes me. I stare at him for a moment before I pull my hand off the table and wet my lips. “What?”

“The missing girl? You saw her, right? With Detective Nash.”

“Oh. Yes. I have a tendency to stick my nose in places it shouldn’t be. I’m working on it.” I drop my eyes back to the beads. “You said these came from Italy?”

“Sicily,” he answers, stepping up opposite me and picking up one particularly pretty string.

The beads are varying shades of blue, each one separated by silver. The cross on the end is intricately designed in the traditional Catholic manner.

“I try to go every time I visit my family,” he says. “There’s something about handcrafted rosaries that people love.”

I nod in agreement. “My grandmother would have a kitten if she saw these. Actually, no. She’d have a whole litter.” With any luck, one could grow up and eat Gio the parrot.

“Your grandmother is Catholic?”

“She’s the female Pope.” I snort then pause. “I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I’m just not as…enthusiastic…as she is.”

Alex smiles. “I understand. In fact, I’m not religious at all. Strange, right?”

“I… Yeah. Why do you sell this stuff?” I wave my hand over the table.

“Why do you investigate cheating spouses?”

Because people will pay for it.

I open my mouth to respond with that, but what comes out is, “Touché. Detective Nash spilled more beans than I thought.”

Alex’s smile turns to a smirk, and call me suspicious, but I get the distinct feeling that he knows even more about me than he’s let on. And the information didn’t necessarily come from Drake.

That makes me uncomfortable.

I swallow hard and dart my eyes from the rosaries to him. “I’ll get Nonna to stop by. I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk rosaries and try to convert you to Catholicism.”

“Nonna?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “She’s Italian?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “I have a couple of things to do. It was good to see you.”

Once again, as I walk away, I feel his eyes on my back. I glance over my shoulder and almost immediately slam into someone who feels exactly like a brick wall. Hands grab my arms to steady me, and I squeal, stepping back. My heel almost sinks into the ground, but the man tightens his grasp on me.

“Whoa. Are you all right, sweetheart?” His soft, Canadian accent soothes me immediately.

I don’t know what it is about those Canadians. They’re just so damn nice, aren’t they?

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” I cover my mouth with my hand, lifting my foot to unsink my heel. Who thought heels on a field was a good idea? “I really should be payin’ more attention today.”

The man grins. His green-gray eyes sparkle as light-brown hair flops onto his face. Instantly, I age him at around thirty, and his strong arms and broad shoulders places him as a traveler. That and there are no Canadians in Holly Woods.

Trust me. If there were, they’d be my besties.

“Don’t worry,” Canadian Man says. “We all have them days.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. Again.” I step back, and his arms fall to his sides.

He looks at my feet. “You should be careful in those shoes. No wonder you almost fell over.”

Is it shallow to say I’m more worried about the damage the field could have done to my shoes than the fact I could have snapped my ankle? I mean, let’s be real. My ankle is in one piece, but my shoes are muddy.

And they’re Louboutins.

Louboutins. Muddy. Ugh.

“I came straight from work,” I explain. “Again with the attention thing.”

He chuckles.

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

I spin at the sound of Brody’s voice and see him come stalking toward me. He’s in his favorite, faded Cowboys T-shirt and the jeans I hate because they have a little rip on one knee. I mostly hate them because, for some reason, they drive women wild, and I don’t need to see my little bro get perved on when I’m right next to him.

Not that any of them hit on him when I’m there. I kind of damage his street cred a little.

“All right?” Brody asks, drawing level with me.

“Yes!” It comes out a little too high-pitched, and he gives me an odd look. “My head is in the clouds and I just walked into this gentleman, who stopped me landing on my butt. Brody, this is, err… I’m sorry,” I apologize yet again to Canadian Man. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Eddie,” he replies, holding his hand out to Brody. “Eddie Roy.”

“Detective Brody Bond.” My brother gives his hand a strong shake. “Thanks for stopping my sister from breaking her leg. I keep telling her about those shoes.”

I roll my eyes. Here comes the alpha-male complex all the men in my life seem to have. Telling me about my shoes, indeed. The only thing he’s ever said is that I could buy a small island if I saved the money I spent on them.

“Noelle,” I say, taking Eddie’s offered hand. “Again, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Try to look the way you’re walking next time.” With a wink, Eddie Roy walks around us.

I glare at his back. Hey, Mr. Canada? You can be nice all you like, but patronizing will get my heel in your scrotum. Just saying.

Brody sighs. “You just cause trouble everywhere you go, don’t you?”

“Actually, it follows me. What can I say? I’m attractive.” I shudder off the lingering warmth from Eddie’s hands on my upper arms and turn back to face Alex’s stall.

He’s laughing warmly with someone, but he still creeps me out. Even if he does have a nice laugh.

“Do you know him?” I ask.

“Alex? Sure. Seems like a nice guy.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

I shrug. “He makes me feel…odd.”

“Turned-on odd? Or just odd?”

I slap his arm. “No. Just odd. Only one person turns me on, thank you very much.”

Brody holds his hands up. “Whoa. Back up on the arousal part.”

“You brought it up.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, folding his arms. “What do you want me to do? Arrest him because he creeps you out?”

“Please. If you could do that, I’d have had you, Dev, and Trent arrested years ago and my teenage years would have been way more enjoyable.” With considerably less rubber spiders hidden in my bed.

He laughs loudly and hugs me quickly. I’m glad he finds it funny. My throat will be forever scarred from all the screaming I did until Mom stepped in and banned any kind of rubber creepy-crawly from our house.

They tried to replace it with a snake.

I bought a fake positive pregnancy test off eBay and sent Trent a picture pretending to be the girl he was seeing, which was, helpfully, Bek’s cousin, who was more than sympathetic of my fourteen-year-old self’s critter plight.

Thankfully, no more creatures have been found in my bed to date.

“What are you doing here, apart from running into people?”

“I want to talk to Dina White.” I turn around and point to the stall that has her name on. “She’s over there, but I walked right past because I wasn’t concentrating…”

“And you decided to walk around the whole place before going back,” Brody correctly surmises. “What are you going to talk to her about?”

Leaning in, I whisper, “Satan.”

He raises his eyebrows.

I sigh. “Bek said she might know stuff because she does the witchy thing.” I wave my hands. “I don’t know. Information is information, right? Unless you know anything about it.”

“Are you kidding me? Nonna would string me up by my balls. Let’s go.” He grabs my arm and hooks my hand through his elbow. “Just in case you decide you’d rather sit on the ground.”

I punch him.

Dickhead.

When we get to Dina’s stall, she’s ridiculously busy. I guess everyone who usually avoids her store in the middle of town comes to her during the fair because everyone else does too.

My heart sinks. There’s no way I’m going to get to talk to her to get anything she might know about Satanism.

God. Why do people have to kill so elaborately? Doesn’t anyone just shoot anyone anymore?

“Can I help you?” Dina says to us, her silver hair flowing in light waves over one shoulder.

Despite the color of her hair, Dina is young. Younger than I thought, actually. I don’t really know her, but it seems as though she’s run her store forever. Looking at her now, with her gorgeous, long hair, her smooth, porcelain skin, and her sapphire-blue eyes, I don’t think she can’t be older than thirty-five.

“Hi. Dina, isn’t it?” I ask.

“That’s me, doll. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had a few minutes to chat?”

She hesitantly looks over at her customers. “Not right now. Sorry. Can I help you with it real quick?”

“Technically…” I hesitate. “My friend Bek comes into your store an awful lot and she recommended you for information.”

Dina’s blue eyes focus on me. “What kind?”

“On”—I lick my lips—“Satanism.”

If she could pale, she would. “Yes. I sure can’t help you with that right here, huh?” She laughs nervously. “I’m takin’ a delivery tomorrow at the store around eight a.m. Why don’t you stop by and I’ll see if I can help you?”

Brody prods me. I don’t want to, but I don’t have another option, do I? The closest thing we have to a suspect is missing, and our DNA samples aren’t getting hits on the system. Not to mention we’re all waiting for Annabelle Porter to show up, be it dead or alive.

Now is not the time to be prejudiced toward people’s beliefs.

“Sure. That sounds great.”

“Fabulous.” Color fills her cheeks as she smiles warmly. “Bring coffee, will you? I live upstairs and the machine broke. Thanks, doll.” She winks, and before I can agree or disagree, she turns her back to me and explains the healing properties of something or another to someone.