Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 4

  “Jeezus, white man… Ain’t that a bit morbid, especially today?”

  “You wanted the truth.” I gave him a resigned shrug before continuing, “I don’t think it will happen. Everything is a stalemate at this point, and if that status quo is maintained, everything should be fine. At least that’s my hope. But, let’s face it, Ben—this is a Pandora’s box scenario. Annalise more or less let Miranda loose on the world, and we know how that turned out. Then I screwed up and fostered a connection to my wife without even realizing it.”

  “But you fixed that, didn’t ya’?”

  “Yes, but by that point the damage was done. The Lwa has fixated on Felicity, and she’s obviously looking for new meat, which is why I think the spellwork connects her to my wife. Think about it. Miranda used Felicity’s body to try killing me twice before. I’m an even bigger obstacle now than I was then. With me out of the way, she could assume control. And if she does that, the cycle will just start over again. Different physical body, but for all intents and purposes, the same killer.”

  “But if you got a stalemate, like you said, everything is fine. Right?”

  “Unless she tries an end run and uses someone else as a horse.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Fuck me… Ya’know, this shit just gives me a headache.”

  “Yeah, I know. Me too. Literally,” I agreed. “Fortunately, I think that last option is less than likely. She would need a connection to the person, so unless someone else is using Miranda as a personal Lwa, then we should be relatively safe.”

  “Relatively?”

  “Annalise is still alive and connected.”

  “Yeah, and locked up.”

  “As long as she stays that way, then we should be fine. Either way, that’s where I have to trust you.”

  “Not me. More like the Feebs and the penal system.”

  “Okay. But in any event it’s not something I have control over, so I’m left trusting someone else to keep that factor from changing.”

  “Uh-huh… Okay… Tell ya’ what, I’ll make a coupl’a calls. Lemme see what I can find out, but I’m not makin’ any promises. What you’re askin’ is pretty much impossible.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Yeah. I’ll add it to your friggin’ tab,” he said as he turned to go. He hesitated then turned back and asked, “So what makes ya’ think Devereaux would tell ya’ what you wanna know anyway?”

  “Revenge. I think Miranda forced her to do that spellwork. I don’t believe for a minute she would have done it of her own free will.”

  “Why not?”

  “Easy. She’s addicted. She’ll do anything to keep from giving up Miranda to another horse, so why would she work magick to create a connection to one? That’s why Constance is in the hospital right now. Annalise wanted Felicity dead, so Miranda would be hers and hers alone.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “Well do us all a favor and go do some more hocus-pocus or whatever and stop havin’ bad feelin’s. I got enough on my plate right now.”

  “I’m right there with you.”

  “Okay, last question—what if you can’t get the low down on this… What then?”

  “We hope like hell I’m right about the status quo keeping everything in check.”

  “But if you’re wrong and Miranda gets back into Firehair, she goes off the deep end and this shit could start all over again?”

  “Yeah… Pretty much.”

  “That’s fucked up, Row.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me there.”

  * * * * *

  When I finally arrived back at the truck, I had already blown well past the outer marker of “don’t be long.” However, I knew that if Felicity had been in a real hurry, she would have simply taken the wheel and driven around into sight as a cue for me to get moving. She hadn’t, so I wasn’t too concerned. I approached from the front, and I could see my wife through the windshield, seated on the passenger side, but her attentions were obviously focused elsewhere.

  I stepped off the roadway onto the dormant grass then carefully slid between the idling vehicle and a small hedge so that I could open the door and climb in. The interior was already considerably warmer than the outside temperature; of course, I’m sure some of that had to do with the fact that my tardiness gave it even more time to heat up. At any rate, it was too warm for me, so as I settled in I reached over to the dash and adjusted the driver’s side climate controls.

  “Sorry,” Felicity said absently, giving me a quick glance. “I meant to do that earlier.”

  She hadn’t acted startled when I opened the door, so apparently she had seen me coming after all. She quickly returned her gaze to the mirror on the back of the sun visor and continued half-heartedly fussing with her makeup. A bottle of eye drops and a handful of cosmetics were lined up across the dash in front of her, but it didn’t appear that she had attempted any major resurfacing where the latter was concerned. It wasn’t as if she really wore that much makeup anyway, and as I’d told her, she really did look just fine.

  “No problem,” I replied. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “I was beginning to wonder what happened to you then.”

  “Just lost track for a few minutes.”

  The radio was tuned to the local classical music station and set to low volume. In the background, just above the hiss of the air vents, an unnamed orchestra was ringing its way through Carol of the Bells.

  “What were you two talking about?” Felicity asked after a moment.

  “Nothing important.”

  “Thug tú d'éitheach,” she returned, calling me a liar. Even though her tone held no anger, I knew she was somewhat serious because she had resorted to Gaelic.

  “Okay, how about nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Aye, do you really want me to say it again?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then tell the truth.”

  I fell quiet for a moment then attempted to redirect the conversation. “Are you about ready to go?”

  “Just a minute, I’m almost finished,” she told me then paused for a moment herself. I really should have known better than to think I could get away with diverting the topic, and she proved that when she asked, “You were talking about her, weren’t you? Miranda.”

  “She came up,” I replied.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And what about her?”

  “We decided not to invite her to the Christmas party,” I said, unsuccessfully trying to lighten the tense mood.

  “Be serious.”

  I shrugged in surrender. “Honestly, I’m not sure what you want me to say, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not sure either,” she sighed, then her voice took on a hint of fear as she added, “She’s still out there.”

  “I know,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “And, yes, that’s what we talked about.”

  “So what do we do about it?”

  “I’m working on it. We have the necklace put away.”

  “Aye. Do you plan to explain that at some point?”

  “Eventually, once I’m sure about some things. But, for right now though, as long as it stays in that jar of salt and you don’t come into contact with it, we should be fine.”

  “And what if it isn’t?”

  “That isn’t an option.”

  “But…”

  “No… No but’s…” I calmly interrupted her. “Listen to me, honey, it’s only been a few days. Everything is way too fresh right now. Just give yourself a little time to deal with all this, okay?”

  She didn’t respond. Instead she glanced down and began carefully tucking the tubes and compact into her purse. “I just need to touch up my lipstick,” she finally said, her tone flat and words terse. “But I’ll do that when we get there. I suppose we should get moving.”

  “So, are you mad at me now?” I asked.

  “No.” She shook her head as she looked over at me. “No… I’m s
orry… I’m just…” She let out a frustrated breath and shook her head again. “I’m just trying to cope with… with…”

  “The guilt?” I offered.

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think… I mean, it is, but it’s something else too… It isn’t just… It’s… It’s just something you wouldn’t… It’s…”

  “I know, honey,” I cut her off. It was obvious that the time had come for confession whether I wanted it to or not. At least it had for Felicity and me. I held up my hand to stop her from stammering on further then said, “Believe me, I know exactly what you are feeling…”

  “You can’t possibly…” she began.

  I rushed to interrupt her again. “You feel guilty because as sad as you are that Carl died, you’re glad it was him we put in the ground today instead of Constance.”

  She gave me a startled look then slowly nodded as she placed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. After a moment she let out a long, low sigh and with a slight tremble in her voice, asked, “What did Miranda do to me, Row? What did that saigh change inside of me that I can even think such a horrid thing?”

  “Nothing,” I said, reaching over and brushing the hair away from her face. “Nothing at all… Because, Gods help me, I’ve been thinking the exact same thing.”

  Sunday, March 12

  8:22 A.M.

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 4:

  “You look like hell,” I said, voicing my matter-of-fact observation in as jovial a tone as I could muster.

  “Yeah, fuck you too,” Detective Benjamin Storm grunted as he fixed me with a bleary-eyed gaze then shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

  He was sitting across the table from me, where I had just joined him in a booth at Charlie’s Eats, a small diner that occupied a piece of corner real estate at Seventh and Chouteau, not terribly far from city police headquarters downtown. It was a favorite hangout of cops for meal breaks since they could get something more than just a sandwich. On top of that, the service was fast, the prices were reasonable, and its close proximity to the station didn’t hurt either.

  I was actually no stranger to Chuck’s, as the greasy spoon was affectionately called, though at times I felt like the only civilian in the place—with the exception of the staff of course. However, with life having been in such turmoil over the past several months, it had been quite some time since my last visit. Still, I wasn’t surprised in the least to see that little, if anything, had changed. Even the age-yellowed, multi-generational photocopy boasting that these premises were protected by Smith and Wesson still occupied its conspicuously prominent place on the back of the cash register for everyone to see. Of course, given that standard issue for city police officers was the Beretta nine-millimeter, someone had used a marker and added that fact underneath as well.

  “Rough night or something?” I asked my friend as I settled in and folded my jacket in the seat next to me.

  “Yeah, I guess ya’ could say that,” he grunted again. “Got called out on a body in a dumpster at around one this mornin’, haven’t stopped since.”

  “Never seems to end, does it?”

  “Nope. It sure as hell don’t.”

  I twisted slightly and rolled my left shoulder before reaching up and carefully massaging the side of my neck.

  “You okay?” my friend asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, wincing slightly. “I think I just slept in a weird position or something. I’ve had this pain in my neck off and on all morning. Nothing bad, really, just kind of annoying.”

  “Yeah, well at least you slept.”

  “So, if you’ve been up all night then why aren’t you at home in bed right now?”

  “It’s Sunday the twelfth, ain’t it? Accordin’ ta’ my calendar we’re s’posed to meet for breakfast, right? Must be, ‘cause you’re here.”

  “Yeah,” I said, giving him a shrug. “But we started arranging these things on weekends for a reason. Since you ended up working anyway, you could have called me and begged off. I would have understood.”

  “Yeah, well, believe me I thought about it,” he replied with a yawn and then added, “But, ya’ know, I still gotta eat.”

  “When aren’t you eating?” a female voice filled with good-natured sarcasm slid directly in behind his comment.

  We both looked up to find a young blonde woman clad in blue jeans, a faded “Eat at Chuck’s” sweatshirt, and a server’s apron now standing next to the table. She wielded a Pyrex carafe in one hand and a ceramic mug in the other. She slid the cup in front of me, then with a quick flourish, deftly filled it with hot coffee.

  “Hey, Wendy,” I greeted the waitress.

  “Rowan. Long time no see,” she replied with a grin. “You haven’t been cheating on us and going to another diner have you?”

  I chuckled. “Never. You know this is my one and only. I’ve just been a little busy.”

  “I know the feeling,” she said. “So, how’s Felicity?”

  “Doing well. Sassy as ever and twice as gorgeous.”

  “You wouldn’t have her any other way.”

  I nodded and smiled. “True.”

  Wendy turned her gaze toward Ben. “Have I told you that you look like crap today, Storm?”

  “Three times since I got here,” he replied as he pushed his mug toward her. “This time makes four.”

  “I’m just looking out for you.” She grinned as she topped off his java. “So… Are you ready or do you need a couple of minutes?”

  “I’ve been ready,” Ben told her. “I’ll have the usual, with a side of aspirin.”

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah.”

  She cocked her head to the side and acted as if she was inspecting him. “Yeah. Looks to me like it would hurt.”

  “Yeah… Funny.” Ben didn’t sound amused.

  “Want me to just bring you the bottle?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Rowan could prob’ly use ‘em too. He was just sayin’ he’s got a pain in ‘is neck.”

  “And I’m guessing that would be you?”

  “Uh-huh…” he muttered. “Still not funny.”

  “Okay, got it, a number twelve with chili, and the aspirin,” she said.

  “You forgot the extra onions,” my friend reminded her.

  “Actually I remembered but I was hoping you’d forget,” she quipped. “I’ll go ahead and bring you a roll of breath mints with that too.”

  “Jeez, you’re a friggin’ laugh a minute today, ain’t ya’?”

  “Aren’t I always?” she said with a smile. “How about you, Rowan?”

  “I don’t know… Do I want a number three?” I asked.

  I had learned long ago that Wendy wasn’t going to let me order for myself. She always asked what I wanted at the outset, but nine times out of ten she would endeavor to talk me into something else. I still had no idea why she insisted on ordering for me because she didn’t do it for everyone, only a select few. In any case, it hadn’t taken long for me to simply roll with it and let her have her way.

  “No… I don’t think so,” she returned, shaking her head. “You really look more like you want a number five today.”

  I didn’t bother to inquire what a number five was because I already knew all of the single digit selections on the menu were varying numbers of eggs with some combination of breakfast meats and toast. Besides, she’d never steered me wrong yet. Instead I just asked, “Do I want my eggs scrambled?”

  “I think you’re in the mood for over hard today,” she replied.

  “Okay, do I want a side of biscuits and sausage gravy with that?”

  “Definitely.”

  I grinned. “Great, I was hoping I did. Okay, sounds good to me.”

  Ben waved a finger at me and told her, “Oh yeah, in case he forgets to tell ya’, give him the check. It’s his turn ta’ buy.”

  Wendy winked at me as she turned to go put in our orders, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the cop discount.”
>
  I gave her a quick nod and smile. “Thanks.”

  When she was gone I turned my attention to the steaming cup of coffee she had slid in front of me. Leaning a bit to my left I snatched the saltshaker from the end of the table then tipped it up over the brew and gave it a couple of healthy jiggles. After a moment I set it aside and gave the contents of the mug a quick stir with a spoon.

  Ben had been watching me the entire time, and now he grunted, “So what’s your excuse, white man?”

  “For what?”

  “For bein’ brain dead this mornin’.”

  I took a sip of the coffee. “What are you talking about?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are ya’ tellin’ me that tastes okay to you?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  “Row, I just watched ya’ put salt in it instead of sugar.”

  “I don’t take sugar in my coffee. Except when it’s really bad coffee.”

  “So ya’ did it on purpose?”

  “Yes. Besides, if you thought I was screwing up, why didn’t you stop me?”

  “‘Cause I thought maybe when ya’ tasted it, the look on your face would be funny an’ I could use a laugh.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Jeezus,” he mumbled. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’d ya’ just salt your friggin’ coffee?”

  “It’s an experiment,” I replied. “I’m trying to stop the voices in my head.”

  “Voices in your… You mean like the Twilight Zone stuff?” he asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m retired, remember?” I offered the rhetorical question as my answer. “I’m just Rowan Gant, computer consultant now. No more consulting for the cops. I’m through talking to dead people and chasing down their killers. Finished. Done.”

  “Uh-huh… So then why do ya’ keep dunnin’ me about Devereaux every coupl’a days?”

  “That’s different. She’s unfinished business.”

  “Yeah, right.”