23. Twenty-Three #2
I ignored them both and grabbed the balcony door handle to test it.
I expected it to be locked, but it opened easily.
When I walked into the room, I found myself in a parlor that obviously had been decorated by a man.
All of the furniture was leather, which I never found comfortable, and paintings of naked women hung on every wall.
“Oh, gross,” I complained as I forgot about the loas and looked around. “This is just … unbelievable.”
Knox moved in at my left. It felt like a protective move, and yet we were in no danger.
We had two loas with us. Even if they decided to poof, given the fact that only a maid and two landscapers were on the property we would be fine making our escape.
Despite that, I appreciated him standing up for me with the sexist loas.
It felt as if we were in this together, even though I’d been the only one insulted.
“It’s a little dude coded,” Knox agreed.
“A little?” I sent him a sidelong look.
He shrugged. “It’s as if someone is trying too hard.” He moved forward to look at one of the paintings. The woman in it had huge breasts, but she was softer around the middle than what would be considered sexy today. “This is Nemesis. Or it’s supposed to be.”
I jerked my eyes to the painting and scanned it. “Nemesis?”
“A Greek goddess. My mother was always into mythology. She would tell Dalton and me stories about the Greek gods and goddesses, and then quiz us.”
“So it was a full curriculum of Star Trek and mythology in the Cullen house, huh?” I asked, going for levity.
Knox shrugged. “My mother didn’t care what we read or learned as long as we did both. And she thought my father’s fascination with Star Trek was funny.”
I was hit by a bolt of longing. “Your house sounds amazing. My parents didn’t even care if I graduated after Holly went missing. They seemed surprised when they got the packet from the school that graduation was right around the corner.”
Knox gave me a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” I moved closer to the painting so I wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. “Tell me about Nemesis.”
He cleared his throat, gathering himself. “She’s the goddess of retribution. She carries out judgment and inflicts punishment on the evil.”
“Interesting,” I mused as I moved to the next painting, which featured a different woman standing next to a stag. “Recognize this one?”
“I think that’s Artemis,” he replied. “The goddess of hunting.”
“Hunting and retribution,” I said. “Interesting choices for paintings.”
“It’s possible he asked for art of Greek goddesses to look somehow more intelligent than he is,” Knox pointed out.
I glanced around the parlor once more. “No sign of the statue.”
“Didn’t the kid say it had been moved to his private suite? Maybe this isn’t his private suite.”
I looked around again. The space was well-loved, and someone obviously used it regularly.
There was a flat-screen television on the wall, an expensive ashtray next to the couch, and a marble coffee table.
There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch that suggested someone spent a lot of time on it.
“This is his personal parlor,” I said. “It’s obviously used a lot, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only room in whatever is considered his suite.”
“What about the son?” Knox challenged. “Maybe this is his parlor?”
I snorted, then caught myself. “No way. If the kid has art, it’s nudie photos from Playboy. He doesn’t have an ounce of culture.”
Knox arched an eyebrow. “You consider this culture?”
“It’s a far cry from the standard nudes of the day. Plus, there seems to be a theme.”
Knox remained dubious. “What theme?”
“Powerful women,” I replied, moving past him toward the door.
Knox remained behind, then followed me. “That’s a very good point,” he acknowledged as he caught up. “I didn’t look at it that way, but you’re right. It’s not just about the nudity. If he was all about the naked women, he could have gone a different way.”
“I don’t think it hurts that they’re naked,” I countered. “It’s just not the only thing that he’s interested in.” I pushed open the door and was immediately assailed with the scent of death. My fangs dropped, and I took a step back, prepared to protect myself.
Knox choked and turned away.
Baron and Papa didn’t appear bothered by the body in the middle of the floor.
“Interesting,” Baron said as he dropped to one knee to look at the body. He reminded me of a kid about to conduct an experiment. “This is not a fresh death.”
“And there are no obvious wounds,” Papa added. “His face doesn’t look peaceful in death, yet I don’t see any trauma.”
“You guys are doing great with that empathy thing,” I complained as I focused on the body.
Three things became apparent at once.
The first was that Baron was right, the body had been there for days. It most certainly wasn’t fresh.
The second was that Papa was right. There were no outward signs of trauma.
The third was that I knew the dead guy. “That’s Archie Hayes,” I said when I could find my voice.
“I thought he was supposed to be in Baton Rouge,” Knox said.
“That’s what the kid said,” I confirmed.
“The kid who wouldn’t let you see the statue.”
I looked around the bedroom for the statue. It wasn’t there. “What do we do?” I asked. “Can we call this in even though we broke the law getting in here?”
“Of course we can,” Papa said. “You just have to call in the right person.” He pulled out his phone.
It was so odd to see a loa with a phone. Where did he even get the money to buy it or pay the bills? “Who are you calling?” I demanded.
“The authorities,” he replied. “They’ll want to know about this.”
I was worried — who wouldn’t be under these circumstances? — and it spurred me to movement. I pulled out my phone. I texted Charlie. If anyone could protect us, Jack could.
“This is going to turn into a thing,” Knox said in a low voice as he moved in behind me. His breath on my neck gave me goosebumps.
“A really big thing,” I agreed. “I just wish I knew what it all meant.”