Chapter 6
“Human?” Bel asked.
“Yes,” Eamon answered.
“Fresh?”
“Yes.”
“Close by?”
“Yes.”
Bel cursed. “Is it possible that a crew member cut himself setting up the equipment?” she asked. Eamon didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. She read the answer in his hunger. An accident hadn’t spilled the blood he scented.
She cursed again. “Okay…” She avoided Eamon’s gaze as she stepped out of the truck. She didn’t want him to witness her falter.
They’d parked beside the other vehicles in the trail’s pull-off, which meant they needed to travel the rest of the way on foot. She’d been looking forward to today’s shoot. The scenes filmed in town depicted normal life, but the paranormal aspects of Aesop’s Files often occurred in the woods. She’d been eager to observe how the show created its monsters, but now, she wanted to climb back in the truck and drive home because if he smelled that much blood, a body would follow.
“Everyone looks fine,” Bel whispered as they approached the bustling location. The director was shouting orders. Deputies already stood watch to keep any rogue fans obsessed enough to brave this weather away, and cameramen were positioning their shots. No one was bleeding out in this endless expanse of white.
“It’s not here.” Eamon lifted his nose into the wind and inhaled. “It’s close, but not here.” He extended a hand, and when she took it, he pulled her through the deep snow into the trees.
“I hope a fan didn’t do something stupid and get themselves killed,” she said, dread creeping into her gut as they battled the fresh drifts. Everything within her pleaded with the powersthat bethat this was an accident.That thistragedy of spilled blood didn’t herald a new darknesscometo plague Bajka, but with every step, her anxiety mocked her. This deep in the woods after a heavy snowfall? This wasn’t an accident.
“Wait…” Eamon pulled her to a stop and inhaled. “This way.” He tugged her forward, and after two minutes, a pop of morbid color filled their vision.
“Oh my god.” Bel picked up her pace. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“It’s not all blood,” Eamon said.
“What on earth?” Her words died on her tongue as they closed the distance. “Can you hear a heartbeat?”
“No.”
“What in god’s name happened here?” Her head spun at the sight, at the red in the snow, at the bloody feminine hand peeking out from below a crimson cloak. “Women don’t just end up dead in the middle of the woods naked except for a red cloak by accident,” she whispered.
“No, they don’t,” Eamon agreed, and Bel cursed as she fished out her phone.
“Griffin,” she said when he answered, and by his stillness, her tone already warned him of what shewas going tosay. “There’s a body.”
“I’d hoped you’d found a prop that got blownoff setby the storm,” Griffin said as he and Bel hovered over the body bathed in crimson. He cursed, the harsh words echoing off the trees, and then he stared at Eamon’s hulking form flanking them. A wordless conversation passed between the men, and Bel knew the sheriff had arrived at the same realization she had. Eamon had located the corpse, and if he’d found it, it was no prop.
“We need to keep this quiet,” Griffin said. “We have hundreds of fans in town and a month-long filming schedule. If word gets out that we found a body in the woods…”
“It’s going to get out,” Bel said.
“I know, but if we control how the news is released, it’ll cause less panic… there’s no chance this was an accident, is there?”
“Naked except for this red cloak and left to bleed out from a chest or abdomen wound? No, someone killed her. See here?” Bel crouched beside the woman’s legs. “I’m no medical examiner, but I’ve seen enough bodies to recognize lividity. She died in this position and hasn’t been moved.”
“A naked girl running through a snowstorm gets killed in the middle of nowhere?” Griffin stared at their surroundings. “What on earth happened out here?”
“Not the middle of nowhere,” Eamon interrupted, speaking for the first time. “She died close to today’s filming location… on my property.”
“This is part of the Reale Estate?” Griffin asked. “Good god, Mr. Stone, is there ever a murder you aren’t potentially involved in?”
“In this town, apparently not,” Eamon said. “But as you can see, this wasn’t me. She bled out in the snow. If I’d done this, there’d be no blood.”
The sheriff grunted in protest. “I don’t want to know.”
“He has an alibi.” Bel stifled her laugh. “He was with me last night.”
“His girlfriend would be a terrible alibi if it weren’t you. If Eamon committed something this gruesome, you’d be the first person to have him pinned to the ground and handcuffed,” Griffin said as deputies, techs, and the medical examiner arrived. They drove silently, absent lights and sirens, and then they walked to the location to keep the scene from attracting spectators.
“Sounds fun,” Eamon said, and Bel couldn’t stop the laugh this time. She knew he was pushing her boss, and as horrible as this death was, she loved his presence during a case. The darkness didn’t weigh as heavily on her shoulders when the devil kept the demons at bay.
“Nope.” Griffin glared at them, but Eamon just shrugged.
“Oh my god,” Lina Thum whispered as she settled beside the body. She was Bajka’s respected medical examiner, and Bel pitied the poor woman. The Matchstick Girls autopsies had been a depressingly daunting undertaking, and now, barely a few weeks later, another dead girl lay frozen for her to witness. “What happened to this poor girl?”
“We’re hoping you can tell us,” Bel said. “I noticed lividity, so she hasn’t been moved. She’s also covered in a light dusting of snow, which suggests she died as the storm was ending.Notsure what time that was, though. I was sleeping.”
“I can call the weather channel and get an update,” Griffin said.
“You’re right about lividity,” Lina said. “The position doesn’t appear posed either. She fell face down like this.”
“Which means she was probably on foot when she tripped since there are no tire tracks.” Bel moved to the victim’s legs. “Her feet don’t look rough, though, so she didn’t run far. Unfortunately, our shoes have destroyed the scene, but there weren’t footprints when we arrived. I think placing the time of death at the end of the snowfall is correct. It was falling long enough to cover her tracks, but not long enough to bury her.”
“Plus, bodies are warm immediately after death. Some of the snow would’ve melted off her at first,” Lina said. “And it’s a short walk from the parking spots, so her feet wouldn’t have suffered much damage if she ran from down there…” She gazed back the way they’d come. “I didn’t see blood, though, yet there’s a ton below the body. So, she wasn’t bleeding while she was running.”
“This is probably where the killer caught up with her,” Bel said. “Maybe she was trying to escape a car.”
“But why risk the woods in a storm to kill this poor woman?” Griffin asked as a tech photographed the scene.
“She’s naked and wearing a red cloak. It’s a little theatrical,” Bel said. “I don’t watch Aesop’s Files, but a red cloak fits its narrative. I wonder if fans drove close to today’s shooting location to hook up, but things went too far. Maybe she felt uncomfortable and tried to escape, and her date killed her for it.”
“Oh god,” Lina said. “I hope not, but I’ll check for signs of sexual assault during my autopsy.”
The officers fell silent, and for long moments, no one spoke as they worked. Bel stared at the girl in red, her stomach roiling until she felt Eamon step closer to her. Murder was heinous enough, but to be assaulted beforehand? She gagged at the possibility.
“If everyone has what they need, I’d like to turn her over and see who we have,” Lina said, finally breaking the mournful silence as she gripped the woman’s limbs. “She’s partially frozen, so it’ll be difficult to confirm the presence of Rigor Mortis, but the snow is a solid indicator that she died last night—Oh my god.” She yanked her hands away from the corpse, and the officers froze where they stood when the victim’s abdomen came into view. Her pale skin had been eviscerated, slashed apart in a brutal display of violence, the cold perfectly preserving the horror in vibrant color.
“What did this to her?” Griffin stepped backward. “That… that looks almost animal.”
“It does,” Lina agreed, and Bel whirled on Eamon, her eyes asking for her voice. They’d found a bloody body in the woods once before. Was it happening again?
Eamon leaned forward and inhaled before returning his gaze to her. He nodded, then pinched his fingers together until only an inch of air separated them. It wasn’t confirmation that someone like Ewan had murdered this woman, but it seemed it was possible.
“No ID,” Lina said. “But I didn’t expect to find any. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to learn more.”
“Wait…” Bel lunged closer to the victim’s face. She’d been too preoccupied with her flayed stomach to notice her features at first, but even frozen in death, she recognized this woman. “I’ve seen her on set a few times. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her. She’s Aesop’s Files head writer.”
Griffin cursed.
Lina cursed.
And then Bel cursed.
“You sure that’s her?” Griffin asked.
“Yes,” Bel said.
Griffin cursed again. “This isn’t good.”
“I don’t think my hookup theory explains this.”
“How do you mean?”
“A hookup turned violent between fans obsessed enough to brave the weather is plausible, but the writer? The episodes are her creations. Why would she risk something so dangerous when her jobalreadyrequires her to be on location? I guess it’s possible, but…” she trailed off.
“But what, Emerson?” Griffin asked, and every eye zeroed in on her.
“Naked save for a red hooded cloak and slashed apart as if attacked by an animal… or a creature. This feels an awful lot like the killings on the show.”
“You think someone killed the writer in the same way she’d write an episode?” Lina asked.
“I don’t know what I think,” Bel said. “This just feels like an episode of Aesop’s Files. Less than a mile away, they’re shooting a murder scene, and what do we find? A real death in the woods. And to make it worse, we won’t recover much evidence. The blood and the melting snow would’ve contaminated anything of importance.”
“Good god, this is bad.” Griffin lookedas ifhe might sit down on the drifts and give up. “All right, everyone, I realize our odds aren’t great, but let’s find something. This just became a very high-profile case.”
“Something like that?” Eamon asked, pointing to the snow beside the body. Bel followed his directions, squinting at the ground for long seconds before she noticed it. It blended in with its surroundings flawlessly, and if Eamon hadn’t spotted it, they might have missed it entirely.
“It’s a gift box.” Bel directed the techs to photograph the tiny white square wrapped with a crimson bow, and when they were done, her gloved hands plucked it free of the scene. “It was on its side. I wonder if the killer placed it on the body, but the wind blew it off.”
“The red’s the same as the victim’s hood.” Griffin settled next to her to examine the object. “They’re probably related, but that seems too small for a gift box. What’s it hiding?”
Bel grabbed the ribbon and started topull, but Eamon snatched it from her, his hands protected by stolen gloves she hadn’t seen him slip on.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
“Mr. Stone, you’re not a police officer,” Griffin said. “You’re here only as a witness.”
“I’m here to ensure no one kills the woman I love… again.” He glared at the sheriff, a battle of wills rearing its masculine head. “This is probably nothing, butin the eventit’s a trap, I’ll open it, not Isobel.”
“Let him,” Lina said, the authority in her voice warning shewas not tobe argued with. “I never want the real Bel on my morgue table.”
“Fine.” Griffin waved his hand, and Eamon untied the bow and lifted the top. He sniffed the contents, much to the curiosity of the watching techs, and then returned it to Bel.
“It’s safe,” he said. “It’s just paper.”
“Paper?” Bel withdrew a folded note and flattened the sheet. “I don’t get it. It’s a jumble of letters.” She tilted it so her boss could see. “Why leave a gift box on a body with only nonsense typed on it?”
“Why kill this poor woman and leave her naked with only a red hood?” Lina asked.
“To mimic the show,” Griffin answered. “I hope we don’t have a crazed fan on our hands. The last thing we need is someone targeting the cast and crew while they’re in our town.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lina said. “We just closed a case with multiple victims. Let’s not start racking up imaginary ones.”
“Thum,are you good toget the body to the morgue?” Griffin asked.
“I am.”
“Great. Emerson, can you finish up here? I don’t want to pull Gold in yet. One homicide detective missing from patrol isn’t suspicious, but two? I want to meet with the producers before word gets out and we have chaoson our hands.”
“I’ll be fine,” Bel said.
“Meet me at the station when you’re done. Hopefully, the producers will have answers for us…” He glanced at Eamon with an expression that told everyone he didn’t believe that for a second. “Too bad you aren’t a cop.”
“You scented something,” Bel said when Griffin was finally out of earshot. “Are we dealing with a killer like Ewan?”
“I don’t know,” Eamon said. “The falling snow covered their tracks so scents are muddled. They killed outdoors where the elements degrade evidence. Hundreds of strangers have flooded Bajka, many of whom are supernatural to some extent, so I can’t confirm if the killer is a shifter of sorts or if the victim merely came in contact with power before she died. Shifters in their human form are harder for me to?—”
“Hold on, rewind a bit.” Bel pressed a gloved palm against his chest. “Many are supernatural to some extent? What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry.” Eamon rubbed her hand, cementing it against his body despite their dwindling audience. “Conventions and fandoms always attract the less powerful. It’s a way for them to expresswho they arewithout hiding.”
“Because everyone assumes it’s just a costume or sleight of hand.”
“Exactly. Alpha predators avoid attention. We stick to the shadows, but lesser witches and shifters flock toevents like this. Our town is teeming with them. It’s another reason I’m not a fan of these conventions. If I can sense them, they candefinitelysense me. Should help keep them in order, though.”
“So this murder might be human, even if her wounds look claw-inflicted,” Bel said. “A supernatural would be foolish to risk your wrath.”
“No lesser power would kill in a town ruled by someone like me without acquiring my approval first,” Eamon agreed. “It would be their death sentence.”
“Ewan did.”
“That was a desperate act of self-defense. He had no choice if he wanted to survive.”
“So, the writer wasn’t killed with claws?”
“She might have been. There are those like Ewan who act out of desperation and others who are crazed enough to disregard theirownsurvival. But given the situation, I’m inclined to suspect another murder weapon.”
“Why’s that?”
“It was suggested that a fan is killing crew members in ways that mimic Aesop’s Files,” he said. “A show with props, special effects, custom weapons, and entire sets that recreate the violence of werewolves, vampires, and witches.”
“And if you’re going to kill to mimic a show…” Bel gripped the tips of Eamon’s fingers with her gloved ones. “…you might as well mimic it in all its ways.”
“Can you think of any reason Gwen Rossa would’ve been in the woods last night?” Griffin had requested the show’s producers—Alistair Rot and Evelyn Pierce—come down to the station and answer questions. The director Warren Rouge, who’d grown borderline aggressive when asked to halt shooting, had brought that same hostility into the conference room, which was why the producers were the only two participating in the conversation.
“Miss Rossa was a talented and dedicated writer,” Evelyn Pierce said. She was a no-nonsense businesswoman whose reaction to this interview told Bel she was a ‘time is money’ type, but of the three present, she at least appeared sympathetic to Gwen Rossa’s fate. Her fellow producer and the director were disappointingly far less accommodating with their responses, though. Bel realized these three probably weren’t friends with the victim, but head writers had close working relationships with their directors. It was odd that Warren Rouge was more concerned about losing the afternoon light than the episode’s author. She’d also expected the producers to display outrage as they blamed Bajka for the death of their own, but thetrio sitting on the opposite end of the conference table seemed solely interested in solving this issue with as little inconvenience to their lives as possible.
“She produced quality work,” Pierce continued. “She was one reason Aesop’s Files has such high ratings, but our knowledge of Miss Rossa ended at her writing. Her personal life was none of our business. We cannot say why she ventured into the woods last night, nor can we guesswho she was with.”
A conveniently diplomatic answer. They weren’t getting anywhere with this trio.
“Unfortunately, we believe Miss Rossa’s death wasn’t an accident,” Griffin said, switching gears. “We don’t know if this attack was personal or a crime of opportunity, but it would be wise to halt shooting and postpone all fan events until the killer is in custody.”
“I appreciate your concern, but we can’t do that,” Alistair Rot said. Unlike his fellow producer, Rot was almost callously uninterested in the murder. It bothered Bel that this man cared so little that a woman he worked with had been gutted like an animal, but maybe that’s what happened when fame demanded you keep the proverbial wheel churning. Shows often employed multiple directors and producers, but the three present were Aesop’s Files most prolific. Perhaps being at the top for so long destroyed one’s ability to love anything other than success.
“We’re on a tight schedule,” Alistair continued. “Aesop’s Files is expensive to film with an obsessive fan base that spans multiple countries. Tickets to our events have been sold out for months, and we cannot afford any delays.”
“A woman is dead.” Griffin leaned his elbow onto the table for effect, and Bel had to stifle a smile. He wasn’t going to let these three off the hook so easily. “She was chased naked and alone through the snow, and she died violently. I respect you have a job to do, but a woman lost her life. We don’t know if the killer was targeting Miss Rossa or the show, so until we find the responsible party, I strongly urge you to reconsider. The safety of your cast and crew and your fans should be our priority.”
“Sheriff, our writer was murdered in your town, not on our sets or even in our lodgings.” Alistair leaned forward to mimic Griffin’s pose, a silent battle for dominance waging between the men, and the unspoken standoff clearly illustrated why Griffin wished Eamon was an officer. One glare from him, and this obstinate trio would cave.
“In fact,her death occurred on private property, if I’m not mistaken,” Rot continued, and Bel flinched. Were they planning to pin this on Eamon? “Miss Rossa’s murder had nothing to do with Aesop’s Files, therefore we have no reason to shut down production. We’llcertainlydedicate these last episodes to her, but we aren’t responsible for what our crew does after hours when not on set. Her unfortunate demise in your woods is not a reason for us to ruin our entire season.”
Bel bristled, fighting the urge to reach across the table and slap the producer, and she could practically feel Griffin’s body temperature rise beside her. She forced her gaze to remain forward, though, because if she saw her anger reflected in her boss’ eyes, they’d both say something that would land them in trouble.
“Did Miss Rossa have any enemies? Someone who’d want to hurt her?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Enemies?” Evelyn repeated. “I can’t speak to her personal life, but we were unaware ofanyprofessional grievances.”
“What about obsessed fans?” Bel pushed.
“We all have those,” Warren said, finally breaking his sullen silence. “It’s part of the business. Most of the time, it’s flattering or funny, sometimes it’s annoying, and occasionallyit’sdangerous, but it comes with the territory.”
“Did Gwen have any that were dangerous?”
“I don’t think so,” the director said.
“So, no dangerously obsessed fans? Was she dating anyone? Did a fan find out and seek revenge because he couldn’t have her?” Bel asked. She was well acquainted with how possible that scenario was. She’d lived it.
“I don’t know if she was dating,” Warren said. “She was married to the show. We all are.”
“Is there someone I could talk to about fan communications?” she pressed. “Maybe there’s a letter or an email that’ll point us in the right direction?”
“Well…” Alistair Rot glanced at Warren, and Bel couldn’t tell if the wordless conversation between the producer and director was wariness or a conspiracy to lie. “One fan stands out. He’s extremely… passionate when the show doesn’t adhere to the storylines that he believes it should. He sends the writers essays on the issuesalong withscripts that rewrite his problematic episodes. It’s been a thorn in our side for months. I don’t know his name, but Gwen’s writing assistant has access to her email. We can get it from her.”
“Please do,” Bel said, thankful they were finally getting somewhere.
“Ifthere’snothing else, we need to get back to work.” Evelyn stood with an air of finality. “We have to meet with the writers to discuss how to move forward with the season in Miss Rossa’s absence, and we’ve now lost an entire afternoon of filming that’ll need to be rescheduled. Wealso need tocontact our lawyers to help us navigate her loss and contract.”
“Thank you for coming.” Griffin stood and shook their hands, Bel following suit even though neither gesture of appreciation was sincere.
“Thank you, Sheriff. Detective.” Evelyn Pierce nodded her goodbye and exited the conference room, Alistair Rot and Warren Rouge in tow, and when they vanished from sight, Griffin collapsed back into his seat.
“And just like that, I am no longer star-struck,” he said. “Gwen Rossa was ripped apart and left to freeze, and those three acted like they were seconds away from billing us for the inconvenience… as much grief as I give your Mr. Stone, I will say this about him. He’s god-awful rich, terrifying, aggressive, and stubborn, but he would never dismiss such a brutal attack as if it were no more important than a weather report.”
“Don’t let him hear you talk like that,” Bel smirked. “He’ll think you love him.”
“Oh shush.” He rolled his eyes in mock offense. “Now, for the worst part of our job. I have to deliver the death notice to the family. Keep an eye out for that email from Miss Rossa’s assistant, and if you don’t get it soon, let me know. After this meeting, I’m in the mood to nag those three.”
“Griffin?” Bel knocked on his office door an hour later. “Gwen Rossa’s assistant emailed me the obsessed fan’s name, and guess what?”
“He’s in town for the events?”
“Ding, ding, ding.” Bel strode to his deck and perched on the corner as she spoke. “She also sent over copies of his letters and rewrites, and saying he was upset about the show’s trajectory is putting it lightly. Tony Royce ispassionatelyangry about Willow Moon’s departure from the show.”
“Who?” Griffin asked.
“Beau Draven’s original costar,” Bel answered. “She played his detective’s partner and future love interest in the first few seasons, but she left and was replaced with Taron Monroe. Most fans prefer Monroe’s character. Reviews say she has more chemistry with Draven, but Mr. Royce isapparentlya huge Willow Moon fan. He blames Gwen Rossa for her departure from Aesop’s Files. He believes she purposely wrote her out of the show,thereforeruining it.”
“Did she write Miss Moon out of the show?”
“No,” Bel said. “Rossa’s assistant was generous enough to include an answer to that accusation in her email. The show’s gaining popularity put Willow Moon firmly in the spotlight, and she was pregnant while shooting her last season. She hadn’t announced the news, though, so fans ridiculed her for the sudden weight gain. Moon realized that her fame would lead to constant scrutiny and criticism for her and her family, and she didn’t want that for her child. Her departure from the show was amicable, and according to Rossa’s assistant, she became heavily involved in the independent film scene after marrying her child’s father.”
“So our victim had no control over Willow Moon’s retirement, yet this Tony guy blames her? Seems stable.”
“Exactly,” Bel said. “He bought a ticket to this past weekend’s meet-and-greet but had to be escorted out after he harassed Gwen Rossa about the scripts’ direction.”
“He harassed her this weekend, and she ended up dead Monday morning?” Griffin repeated.
“Certainly doesn’t look good. I just called the local hotels and inns. He’s staying in a budget motel right off the highway. According to the front desk, he hasn’t checked out.”
“That they know of.”
“I’ll head over and see for myself,” Bel said. “Even if he fled, the motel believes he’s still in his room. Hopefully, housekeeping hasn’t cleaned yet, because a crime this bloody would leave evidence behind.”
“Sounds good, but take Gold with you,” Griffin said. “If Tony Royce killed Gwen Rossa, he’s capable of unthinkable violence, and I don’t want you alone with him.”
“Therefore, ruining the romantic character arc by giving the audience a flat and unauthentic resolution to the questions posed in season one,” Tony said, and Bel gasped for breath. The man’s long-winded and run-on sentence analysis of the show’s multi-season plot and literary failings convinced her that if she didn’t breathe for him, all three of them would choke to death.
She and Olivia had driven out to the motel to confirm that Tony Royce was still checked in, but unlike their normal outings, her partner had opted to drive herself, refusing Bel the chance to discuss their situation. Arriving at the lackluster lodgings, they’d knocked on Tony’s room, not expecting to find him, so it surprised them both when a five-foot-seven man opened the door with a bag of chips in his hands. He had no muscles to speak of, save maybe in his jaw from talking so rapidly, and Bel knew the minute he’d answered their knock that he wasn’t the killer. People were often surprisingly capable of the unexpected… except for Tony Royce. She felt guilty for judging him by his cover, but it was as plain as the empty soda bottles strewn about the dressers and floor to keep the discarded episode drafts company that he hadn’t chased a woman through the snow and slaughtered her. Bel could probably bench press him in her sleep, but in favor of doing their due diligence, they asked him the questions they would ask any other suspect… which had resulted in an exhausting analysis of Aesop’s Files post-Willow Moon.
“So, you see, I had to talk to her this weekend,” Tony said, completely unaware that both of Bajka’s homicide detectives weren’t here to listen to his writing lecture. “Miss Rossa is sending the show down a path she can’t recoverfrom, and I needed her to read my episodes.If I canjustreason with her, she’ll see I’ve fixed the rest of the seasons.That’s what I was doing here.” He gestured to the crumpled papers littering the room. “She turned me away at the meet-and-greet. My drafts weren’t good enough, so I’ve been reworking them for hours.” He snatched a full bottle of soda off the table, and Bel had to fight the urge to steal it from him. If he didn’t stop drinking, he might give himself a heart attack. “I haven’t slept,” he continued. “I was up all night. My draft needs to be perfect so she realizes Willow must come back.”
“Youdo know thatWillow Moon left the show of her own free will?” Olivia said, finally finding a pause in his speech. “Gwen Rossa didn’t write her out of Aesop’s Files. Miss Moon had a baby.”
“What?” Tony asked as if he didn’t realize he had company.
“Did you leave the motel last night?” Bel changed the subject.
“No, but I left my room to find the vending machine. I needed caffeine to stay awake, but I never left the premises,” he said, shaking the soda for emphasis. “It was snowing hard, and I wanted to finish my script before the next event. This time Gwen Rossa has to acknowledge I’m right.”
“Mr. Royce.” Bel softened her tone to counter the man’s caffeine jitters. “Miss Rossa was killed last night.”
“What?” Tony took a breath forwhat seemed likethe first time since the detectives’ arrival.
“Gwen Rossa was murdered last night,” she repeated.
“What… Murdered?” The lanky man sank into the motel’s provided office chair. “How?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. You wereone ofthe last people to have an issue with her.”
“I had an issue with her writing, not her,” Tony said. “Besides, I was here all night. I told you that.”
“You did,” Bel agreed. “And we’ll confirm that with hotel security.”
“Good, because I’d never kill her. I’m a writer. Not a killer… although, maybe the show will finally hire someonewho canfix its problems.”
Bel and Olivia exchanged raised eyebrows, and for a fraction of a second, they were back to normal. Just two detectivesmarvelingat the oddities people verbalized when faced with murder.
“Did you notice anything odd at the meet-and-greet this weekend?” Bel asked. She doubted it since he was the one escorted from the property for harassment, but sometimes smoking guns came from the unlikeliest of shooters. “Did anyone strike you as dangerous?”
“No. All I saw were fans too brainwashed to realize that writing Willow Moon out of the show has destroyed it.”
“Gwen Rossa didn’t write Willow Moon out of Aesop’s Files,” Olivia repeated, her voice tinged with frustration. “The actress left of her own volition.”
“Well, except for thatoneguy,” Tony said, oblivious to Olivia’s comments.
“What guy?” Bel leaned forward at his words. Now they were getting somewhere.
“Thatreallytall man. Blond hair,scary. He must have been wearing contacts because he had black eyes. Not dark. Black… like the devil.”
Bel bit her lip to stifle a laugh, but a glare from Olivia stole the humor from the room. A woman dead on an ancient being’s property? In Olivia’s mind, Eamon was already guilty.
“If you ask me, that guy killed her,” Tony continued.
“We’ll look into him,” Bel said, not caringtodiscussher love life with this man or her angry partner.“Thank you for your time.” She stepped for the exit, hoping the movement wouldput an end toMr. Royce’s critiques. “We have your information; we’llbe in touchif we have any more questions.”
“Let me guess. Don’t leave town?” he asked, as if eager to experience the famous cop phrase.
“Sure, but don’t harass any more writers. Next time, you won’t just be removed from the event. You’ll have to deal with me.” Bel shut the motel door behind them. “Well, he certainly didn’t kill anyone.Drivepeople crazy? Absolutely, but there’s no way he chased a woman through a storm or cut her apart.”
“I agree,” Olivia said.
“Hopefully, the autopsy will point us in the right direction. I’m going to talk to Rossa’s assistant and retrace her steps the night before she died. If we can identify her movements, we might find out if she met anyone. Want to come?”
“Sounds like you got it under control.” Olivia unlocked her car. “No need for both of us to go. I’ll get started on the paperwork.”
Volunteering to do paperwork? Her partner really must hate her.
“Yeah, okay…” Bel didn’t know what else to say. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”
But she found nothing. Gwen Rossa and her assistant had gone their separate ways after the fan event, and she believed her boss was asleep in her hotel room until the producers told her someone had gutted her in the woods.
“Wow, it’s cold out there,” Eamon said as he and Cerberus dragged snow through Bel’s front door. He’d volunteered to shovel her parking spot and walkways if she wanted to spend the night at her cabin, so she’d come home after her frustrating day. It was late and dark and frigid, but that she didn’t have to clear her driveway was a small light at the end of the tunnel. She got to sit inside with fuzzy socks and steaming soup while Eamon and her dog did all the work.
“It must be brutal if you’re cold,” she said. “There’s soup in the pot. It’s canned, but it’s hot.”
“Thanks.” Eamon tugged Cerberus’ sweater off his stocky body and lifted him onto the couch beside his mom, wrapping him in a blanket to warm him up after his snowy playtime. “What are you working on?” He kissed her cheek before moving to the stove, and his normally cool lips felt like solid ice against her skin.
“That paper you found at the scene,” she answered. “I printed out a photo of it, but I can’t make sense of it. A girl sliced apart and left naked in the woods save for a red cloak accompanied by a white gift box hiding a jumble of letters. Makes tons of sense.”
“Can I see it?” He asked as he settled at the kitchen table to eat.
“Legally? Not really.” Bel joined him, resisting his request because, at this point, insisting he couldn’t do something was more flirting than denial.
“Well, I already saw it when I opened the box, so if anyone asks, I memorized it.” He winked before planting a kiss on her lips. “Hand it over.”
She slid the paper across the table and watched as his death-black eyes roamed the page.
Cngz hom keky eua ngbk
“It’sdefinitelywords,” he said. “And small ones at that. My guess is it’s a code.”
“I figured as much, but that’s as far as I got,” Bel said.
“I think it’s a Caesar Cipher.”
“A what?”
“Julius Caesar used this for his private correspondence, hence its name,” he explained. “It’s where you take the letters of the alphabet and shift them forward by a predetermined number. Tomake it simple, if you use the number four, the letter A becomes the Letter E. You shift all your letters before sending the message, and then your recipient counts backward.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?” Bel bumped him with her shoulder. “Check the Gate. Caesar Cipher. What else do you have up your sleeve?”
“When you’ve been alive as long as I have, purposes dampen the boredom,” he said. “The years all blur together, and you can lose yourself to time. I always reinvent myself every few decades.Keepsme under the radar, but it also makes life interesting. Ichangeeverything about myself, and suddenly I’m at the bottom of my new chosen career, forced to start over thus keeping my mind sharp. This lifetime has been the least boring, though… in fact, I would prefer a little less anxiety.” He reached below the table and squeezed her thigh. “I could use a break from stressing about what this human detective will do next.”
“So Eamon Stone isn’t even your real name. And this.” She gestured to his chest. “He’s a reinvention… just like the man who will come after me.”
“There is no after you,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “There will never be an after you. There was a before. There’s a during, but there is no after. You’re it for me, the reason I survived for so long. And as far as I’m concerned, Eamon Stone is the real me because it’s the name that belongs to you. He’s the only version that matters.”
“As unnerving as that is, I would love you no matter your name andno matterthe lifetime,” she whispered.
“I will love you in every lifetime.” He put his spoon down and captured her face in his hands, pulling her close to kiss her with such hunger that when they broke apart, Bel was lightheaded and flushed.
“Okay, back to the cipher.” Eamon winked at her.
“Right, um… numbers,” she blushed as she tried to reign in her very different train of thought. “How can we decode this without the number used to create it?”
“We’re lucky. This is a short phrase with short words. Three or four-letter words always have one or two vowels, and identifying those will make decoding easier.” Eamon pulled the paper closer and studied the coded message.
Cngz hom keky eua ngbk
“Okay, here.” He grabbed the pen from Bel’s grasp and pointed with its tip. “The letter G shows up a few times, as does the letter K. Those might be vowels based on where they are in the words, and if not, one of these letters is. Process of elimination. There are five vowels in the alphabet, so we’ll test each one.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Bel leaned over the jumbled words. “This would’ve taken me forever. How did you notice this so quickly?”
“I had my own Roman Empire… as in it was the Ancient Roman Empire… although, if you were to ask what it is now, I’d say you in my tee shirts.”
“A Roman Empire is something you think about all the time,” she corrected.
“I know. For you, it’s probably your dog, but for me, it’s you in my shirts. Ireallydo think about that all the time. The way your legs peak out.The way youlook so small inside the fabric, yet so sure of yourself. All. The. Time. Detective.”
“You’re right, my Roman Empire is my dog,” she teasedin a dismissive tone.
“I knew it.” Eamon rolled his eyes in mock defeat.
“So the Roman Empire? What was that like?”
“A lot of blood and a lot of death. How do you think it went?”
“You were a monster.”
“Yes. And one who ate well,” he said. “That’s where I picked this up. It’s easy for me to recognize the patterns even now. So, I believe K and G are vowels. The G is in the middle of two words, soit might be an A. The letter K appears at the end of one word and twice in another. That’s maybe an E. Let’s see. If G is A, and K is E, that’s six spots.So, now, wejustcount each letter backward by six.”
He fell silent as he deciphered the code, writing the new letters below the old, but when he was finally done, his eyebrows pinched at his handwriting.
“Well, subtracting six certainly creates real words, but that’s not saying much,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Here.” He shoved the decoded message across the table, and as she read the five-word sentence, she understood what he meant. The phrase was no longer a jumble of letters, yet itwas equally as confusing.
What Big Eyes You Have.