CHAPTER 16
After I scanned the street outside my office for any signs of danger, be they cars with assassins behind the wheel or a gaggle of uncooked geese, I escorted Isabella to a waiting taxi for a ride uptown. The ride took forty minutes in the afternoon traffic, dropping us off in front of Barry’s Costume Shop at a little after five. Much to my dismay, Barry’s shop was closed, the windows dark.
“What are we doing here?” Izzy asked, glaring at the brick and mortar storefront.
“Damn it,” I said. “The shop’s closed.”
She shot me a knowing smirk. “Ruined your weekend plans, huh?”
“What?”
“Since you haven’t told me why we’re here,” she brushed her finger along the side of her face, “I’m assuming it’s in order to pick up a costume for you for this weekend. Something slutty, I bet. Maybe a sexy nurse?”
“Funny.”
She shrugged. “I thought so.”
Ignoring her continued amusement, I rattled the doorknob attached to the sturdy locked door. The sensible thing to do was walk away, returning to investigate another day. Since no one had ever called me especially sensible, I took out my lock picks and went to work.
“What’re you doing?” Izzy screeched as I fiddled with the lock. Rather than answer her, I shifted the pick one last time, popping the lock open. Twenty-two seconds flat. A personal best. The doorknob now twisted under my hand with ease.
Pushing open the door, I waved a hand in front of my face to dispel the stale and disturbingly ripe stench, like bananas five days past the sell-by date. I knew that smell. It was one of those scents that once you smelled it, you never forgot it. “Stay here,” I ordered Izzy.
Of course she failed to listen, practically mowing me over in a bid to get inside. “It stinks in here,” she said, pinching her nose. “Barry needs better ventilation.”
I slowly shook my head. “Barry needs a lot more than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before I could answer she let out a loud shriek, pointing to the back corner. My eyes swung that way and I winced. Poor Barry’s feet swung back and forth in the slight breeze drifting through the open doorway of the shop. His eyes bulged from their sockets, giving him a clownish expression.
From the looks of it, Barry had, in a desperate act, taken his own life, looping a piece of long, clear thread around his neck and through the rafter above. A wooden stool lay toppled on the ground beneath his polished loafers. By the purplish hue of his skin, he’d been dead at least eight hours, maybe as much as ten or more. But not much more since rigor hadn’t set in quite yet.
I held up a hand urging Izzy to stay put as I searched the rest of the store for murderers or other assorted mayhem. Thankfully, it appeared untouched. Not a costume wrinkled. Not a hair on a mannequin’s head out of place.
Too bad I couldn’t say the same for Barry, for he looked worse up close. A small streak of blood dripped from his lips. A sprinkle of dandruff sat on the shoulder of his freshly pressed suit jacket. And the sweet scent of mint-flavored dental floss from the clear thread around his neck drifted off him.
I peered closer. Not dandruff. Dust. Of the fairy variety. “Shit,” I said, slowly backing away from Barry’s corpse.
“Blue?” Izzy said, her voice barely a whisper. “Is he . . . ?”
“Is he what?” Anger rose in my tone. “Taking a nice vertical nap before dinner?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
I took a deep breath, willing away the goose bumps prickling my skin. “Go to the door and wait for me there.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“Remember that little talk we had about you doing what I say without question?” I crossed my hands over my chest. “Now would be a good time to do just that.”
She stared me down for a full minute before shaking her head. “Fine,” she said, heading for the door with a huff. “I’ll be out front.”
“Too dangerous.” I pointed to the wall by the door. “I need you to stand where I can see you.”
Her cheeks grew pink enough to match the wings hidden beneath her clothes. “Should I do the Hokey Pokey while I’m at it?”
I ignored her and instead pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a robotic voice answered.
“I’d like to report . . .” I paused, my gaze locking on the next Tooth Fairy, who was glaring at me from the doorway, “a murder.”