Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
I stared at the blank screen on my laptop.
Who was Rory Bell and why did they identify Laurel as the Neighbor they came to visit?
Were they marking Laurel as their next victim?
It was a possibility. Both Belinda and Laurel were outsiders on the island.
Belinda, of course, had been far more social; she’d longed to find her place on Evermore, whereas Laurel was perfectly content to live alone in a rustic cabin and eschew all the Neighborhood had to offer.
Made me wonder how Laurel ended up here at all.
It beggared belief that modern technology had caught up with a druid who still preferred candlelight to lamps.
I ran a search for Rory Bell and pulled up a variety of listings and images.
I counted ten different people in photos, all named Rory Bell.
Rory was a Gaelic name. Bell was Middle English in origin.
If Rory Bell was the culprit, though, they probably used an alias, which meant the origin of the name was useless.
Still, it was best to check in light of my complete lack of information.
I attached the photos to an email and sent them to myself. The next time I was in the office, I’d pull security footage from Saturday’s ferry. If there was a match, that would narrow down ten potential Rory Bells to one. Worth a shot.
A series of cries interrupted my research. “Jinx, is that you?” I opened the front door to investigate. Jinx paced the porch, her tail swishing with agitation. Edith barreled up the walkway behind her, fists clenched.
Uh-oh.
“Everything okay, Edith?”
She pointed a shaking finger at the cat. “Hellbeast.”
Jinx stopped pacing and looked at me as if to say, Cranky bitch .
“What happened?” I asked.
“Six dead chickens, that’s what happened,” Edith replied, her voice as shaky as her accusatory finger.
I glanced at the cat. “And you’re blaming Jinx?”
“I know it was. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Just to be clear, you’re telling me you witnessed this cat attack and kill six chickens?”
Edith faltered. “Not exactly. I arrived just as the monster fled the barn. It’s my day to collect the eggs. Needless to say, I didn’t get that far.”
I eyed Jinx closely. “Did you attack those chickens?”
“Meow,” said Jinx. Neither a denial nor a confirmation.
“Why were you at the barn?” In all the years I’d been here, Jinx hadn’t shown interest in the chickens. Why start now?
“Meow,” the cat said, this time with more insistence.
“No feathers in the mouth,” I commented.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think Jinx killed those chickens. She has no blood on her. No evidence of feathers in her mouth. Besides, she prefers fish, so I find it hard to believe she’d go on a killing spree in the coop. It isn’t her style.”
Jinx darted down the step to the walkway.
“See?” Edith said. “The guilty party is fleeing, just like it did when I caught it at the barn.”
“Jinx is a she, not an it,” I corrected her.
“Hellbeasts have no gender,” Edith replied with an indignant sniff.
“Your vibes are very puritanical for a harpy.”
Jinx jumped into the passenger seat of Edith’s golf cart and cried again.
“Get out of there!” Edith shouted. “I’m allergic,” she added apologetically.
I had a feeling Edith’s allergy to cats was similar to Miguel’s “allergy” to tomatoes. Some people just couldn’t admit when they disliked something.
“I think Jinx wants to return to the scene of the crime and clear her good name,” I said. “Would you mind driving? My cart is in the shop.”
“You can’t possibly let that monster back in the barn. Probably wants to slaughter more chickens.”
“Quite the opposite. I think she wants to be exonerated.”
Edith crossed her arms. “I’m not going back there. It was a bloodbath.”
“Then would you mind if I borrowed your golf cart? The faster I get there, the faster I can assess the situation.”
“There’s nothing to assess except six dead chickens and one guilty cat.”
I held out my hand for the key. “Don’t make me invoke rule 42(a) of the Neighborhood Handbook. I can commandeer your vehicle without asking nicely. ”
Edith slapped the key into my hand. “If I see so much as a scratch, I’m submitting a claim with the HOA.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
I joined Jinx in the golf cart and drove us to the area known as the Farm.
It wasn’t technically a farm, but there were elements of one, including a barn.
Inside the barn was a chicken coop from which the Neighbors collected eggs for their own personal use.
Not all Neighbors were members of the Farm, though; it was more of a coop co-op.
I parked outside the fence and walked toward the barn. I saw the flies before I saw the dead chickens. Flies wouldn’t have been drawn to the chickens this quickly. They had to have been dead for longer than Edith believed.
Jinx streaked ahead of me into the barn, causing the living chickens to bolt. There was a fleeting moment of chaos, and when the feathers finally settled, I found Jinx crying at a bale of hay.
“What’s with the dramatic tone? Is there catnip underneath or something?”
I pushed the bale of hay askew, which had to weigh in the range of eight hundred pounds. I was glad Edith had opted to stay behind, or my unnatural strength would’ve raised questions.
Jinx cried again. I looked down to see a pair of brown boots poking out from beneath the hay.
Shit.
I stared at the familiar brown stain on the right boot. My chest felt like it was caving in.
“No,” I whispered.
I crouched in front of the boots, hopeful this was a prank.
Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my hands around the boots and tugged.
The weight of the hay kept the body in place.
I stood and threw my shoulder into the bale until it tipped on its side, revealing its secret.
I saw a pair of denim-clad legs first, quickly followed by a familiar shirt.
Judd wore the same seven shirts every week.
There was a blue checkered button-down he wore on Fridays that I called Happy.
There was a plaid one called Grumpy because he usually wore it on Mondays.
This shirt was known as Dopey, and I was willing to bet good money he’d worn it on Saturday night for the party.
It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to look at the face. It was bruised and bloody, but I’d recognize that thick unibrow anywhere.
The good news was Judd was no longer missing.
The bad news was—he was dead.
All the air seemed to leave my lungs. I’d feared this moment but had held out hope because this was Judd. My boss.
My only real friend.
I stared at my friend’s body, debating next steps. I was everybody else’s first call, but who was mine?
I opted for the logical choice—Zachariah. I agreed to wait at the scene until he arrived so that I didn’t have to transport Judd in Edith’s golf cart in full view of the Neighborhood. Zach would be more discreet.
“This is an unexpected development,” Zachariah said as he entered the barn.
“For you and me both.”
He looked down at the body. “Yes. Definitely dead.”
“Did you think I was mistaken?”
“No, but it’s sensible to confirm. There are three places you never want to wake up—on a surgery table, in a coffin, or on an autopsy slab.”
I didn’t disagree.
“There are crushed petals around the body,” he said .
I’d been too distracted by the gruesome discovery to notice. I squatted beside Judd and paid attention. There were rose petals, sage leaves, and unidentified sprinkles of dirt a darker color than the ground around it.
“Rose petals were undoubtedly used to mask the stench,” Zach said.
“It’s more than that.” I scooped up a handful and sifted through it. “This mixture was used to hide the body from locator spells.” Which explained why no werewolf scented him and why Meemaw’s spell failed.
Zach sniffed my hand. “What’s in it besides roses? Sage?”
“Yes, and I assume these brown bits are graveyard dirt.”
“Fascinating. If this concoction conceals bodies, then how did you find him?”
“I didn’t. A cat did.”
“You should sound more embarrassed that a cat is better at your job than you are.”
I ignored the jab. “Any initial thoughts on cause of death?”
Zach studied the body from a variety of angles, gently lifting the head as well as the hands. “None of this is official, of course, but I’d say blunt force trauma during a brawl.”
“Any defensive wounds?”
“At a cursory glance, yes. I’ll let you know definitively once I’ve done a thorough examination.”
“Thanks. I’d like to keep this quiet,” I told him.
“Two murders in a week is unprecedented.”
“Not the kind of precedent I’d like to set under my watch.”
“Technically it was under Judd’s watch.”
“I appreciate you saying that, but I’m as much to blame as he is.” And nobody would blame Judd for anything now. I’d be the scapegoat, and I couldn’t afford to lose my position here. I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere else I could go.
“His fate-thread was snipped, not removed like Belinda’s,” Zach said. “I suppose that means we’re looking for two different killers.”
“Not necessarily.” I needed more information before I could make that kind of determination. I replayed Gage’s offer in my mind and immediately shut down that line of thought. No outsiders.
“Take the body to your office,” I said. “I’ll call Justine with an update.”
“I’ll be expected to file a report. Is there anything you think should be omitted at this time?”
“I appreciate the offer, but no. Write it as you normally would.” And, as much as it pained me, so would I.