ANOTHER DEAD FAIRY

MIRANDA JAMES

My friend Miranda James has always admired Claude Crane, fairy and stripper, first introduced in the story “Fairy Dust.” Miranda’s story takes place a couple of weeks after the events in “Fairy Dust.” On a rainy night in Monroe, Louisiana, Claude’s cousin Seamus O’Flaherty disappears not long before he’s due onstage at Hooligans. Claude and Claudine have to work fast to uncover the truth about his disappearance—and possible murder.

—

Only the killer heard the fairy scream in agony when he died.

Rain pounded the roof at Hooligans while the sparse crowd at the front of the house whooped it up. Thanks to the threat of widespread flooding, only six women had straggled in for Ladies’ Night. Claude Crane focused on finishing his routine. The lustful gazes of half a dozen rowdy women were better than no attention at all, though he was used to hearing the roar of a frenzied crowd.

Claude paused at the edge of the stage to allow groping hands to stuff money in his thong. He graced the woman who brandished a twenty with a slow smile that promised hours of wicked pleasures. When she tucked the bill into the thong, he wiggled his ass and she screamed ecstatically. He smiled and moved lithely backward, bowed, and slipped quickly from the stage.

Barry Barber was up next, and then Seamus O’Flaherty would join Claude for one final number. Barry’s music started, and he strutted onstage in his cop gear. The women were already chanting, “Take it off.”

Claude padded off to the men’s dressing room to change. He was glad to find the space empty. His cousin Seamus usually lingered there, admiring himself in the mirror and waiting to chat. He was considering having his ears surgically altered the way Claude had done, but he couldn’t seem to make a decision. Instead he kept pestering Claude at every opportunity with one question after another.

Relieved to be spared yet another inquisition, Claude put away his cowboy outfit and pulled out the pirate gear he wore in the finale. He dressed quickly and brushed his long, dark hair before wrapping a brightly colored scarf around his head. He stopped to admire his ears. No one looking at them would ever suspect he was a fairy and not human. He clipped a large gold hoop to his left ear and watched it dangle. He stared at his reflection in approval. He was far better-looking than the blond Seamus, even though Seamus was taller and slightly better built.

He passed by the office on his way back to the stage. Claudine sat behind the desk, staring at a computer screen as she prepared for a meeting. The club’s female strippers were there to discuss some grievance, and that was Claudine’s responsibility. When they took over the club from its previous owner, Rita Child, they’d decided Claudine would handle personnel matters, and Claude would oversee the artistic side of things. If necessary Claudine could use a little magic to settle any problems and keep the women happy and eager to continue working at Hooligans.

Thoughts of Rita irritated him. She hadn’t surrendered the club willingly, but that was part of the bargain they had made with her. The other part of the bargain—well, they still had plenty of time to track her down and settle unfinished business.

Claude paused just offstage and glanced around, trying to locate Seamus while Barry strutted one more time around the stage. He spotted Jeff Puckett, his former boyfriend and the club’s bouncer, near the front of the house. Jeff stood chatting with a big bear of a guy named Marlon Eccles, who was dating Velva Gillon, one of the female strippers. The trio of dancers occupied a table nearby, sipping at drinks while they watched Barry perform. Claude supposed they wanted to see the show before they tackled Claudine.

He felt another presence near him. He made a quarter turn to his right. Seamus stood there, his expression a sorrowful smile.

“Why aren’t you in costume?” Claude snapped. “Barry’s almost done, and we have to go on next.” Sometimes, he thought, Seamus didn’t take his job seriously. He seemed to think the twins, as his closest relatives, should overlook his lack of dedication.

“I will not dance tonight,” Seamus said. “I came to bid you farewell, mo chol ceathrair, for I am now dead. Slán.”

The image faded.

Stunned, Claude wondered when it had happened. He had seen Seamus about an hour before when he first arrived at Hooligans but not since. Fairies rarely died of natural causes, except extreme old age. Surely if Seamus had been ill he would have told them.

Claude realized with a start that Barry was coming offstage. The music for his number with Seamus would start in a few seconds.

Barry glanced around. “Where’s Seamus? Aren’t you two doing the finale together?”

“Not tonight.” Claude had to think fast. He had to do this number, or the audience would get restless, but he also needed to speak to Claudine as quickly as possible. “Go tell Claudine I have to talk to her the moment I finish onstage.”

Barry started to protest, but one look at Claude’s expression warned him to shut up and do as he was told. He scurried off.

The music started, and Claude began to dance. The women might wonder why he was alone onstage, but they would be satisfied with a solo once he used his magic to charm them into forgetting that there was supposed to be another man with him. Instead he convinced them he was the only man they wanted to see as he moved seductively through the routine. Their eyes never left him, and the noise rolled around him.

At the end he collected multiple bills from each of the six, including another twenty from the woman who had given him one earlier. He made his bows as the lights dimmed, and he slipped off the stage when the bartender switched the sound system to automated music.

Claudine was waiting for him in the hallway door. “What do you need me for so urgently?”

“Seamus is dead.” Claude clutched his costume to his chest. “He appeared to me while Barry was dancing.”

“I spoke to him about an hour ago.” Claudine frowned. “He was not ill that I could tell. He would have complained and wanted special attention like a child does. What could have happened to him?”

“Perhaps someone killed him.” Claude was thinking of their sister Claudette’s murder only a few weeks before. He motioned for his twin to accompany him. “Perhaps we should retrieve Sookie and have her read minds again to discover who is responsible.”

Claudine followed him into the dressing room. “I doubt we can. The water is rising all over Monroe, and everyone is going to be stuck here overnight as it is.”

“She was useful when we had to find out who murdered Claudette.” Claude quickly dressed in his regular clothes. “But we are every bit as intelligent as a human, even if we cannot read their minds. We can handle this ourselves.” He thought of all those television cop shows Jeff liked and that he had watched to please his boyfriend. Surely he could recall enough of the cops’ techniques to finger the perp in this case. He felt pleased that he recalled the jargon.

“I suppose.” Claudine regarded him pensively. “Where should we start?”

“With Jeff,” Claude said after a moment’s thought. “You get him, and I’ll wait in the office.”

A couple of minutes later Jeff entered the office, with Claudine on his heels. Jeff smiled tentatively at Claude but sat obediently when Claude pointed to a chair. Once again, Claude thought about restarting his relationship with the tall, muscular bouncer. His late sister had interfered when they dated before—she’d insisted that Claude should find a more worthy lover.

“What’s up?” Jeff glanced back and forth between the twins who now stood before him. His narrow hazel eyes focused on Claude, who easily read the yearning in them. Jeff had frequently told Claude how gorgeous he was. Maybe Claudette had been wrong. He would have to think about that later.

Claudine spoke first, her tone sharp. “Have you seen Seamus tonight?”

Jeff stared at her blankly for a moment. “Yeah, sure. He was out in the bar earlier, talking to Marlon and flirting with the ladies before the show started. You know how he is.”

The twins exchanged glances. Seamus couldn’t keep his pants zipped, as the humans would say, and he bedded any attractive female, customer or employee, that he could. Then he moved on to his next conquest. Claudine had warned him about messing around with women at Hooligans, but Seamus had laughed in derision.

“They’re not going to cause any trouble,” he had told her smugly. “If they start to, I’ll make them forget I ever fucked them. End of story.”

What if one of them hadn’t forgotten, and she was angry enough to kill when he brushed her off?

“How long ago was this?” Claude asked.

Jeff looked at his watch. “Maybe thirty, forty minutes ago.”

“And that was the last time you saw him?” Claudine picked up a pad and pen from the desk and jotted something down.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I went back to the door to see if anybody else was coming in, but it was raining so bad by then, I figured that was it for the night. I hung around, though, until about ten minutes ago when I came back into the bar and started talking to Marlon and the ladies.”

While Claudine made notes, Claude asked, “What did you think of Seamus?”

Jeff shrugged. “He’s okay, I guess. Doesn’t have much time for me.” He glanced away.

Claude knew that gesture meant Jeff wasn’t telling the complete truth. They had been together long enough that Claude could read his ex-lover’s body language. “Did he do anything to bother you? Say something nasty?” Seamus had a sharp tongue and used it indiscriminately.

“He ragged on me because he found out you and me used to be together.” Jeff’s expression betrayed his hurt, mixed with anger. “Kept going on about how I was too ugly to make a hot guy like you happy and that’s why you dumped me.”

Claude didn’t like seeing Jeff upset. He loved Jeff in his way. He approached his former lover and laid a hand on his shoulder. Jeff twitched slightly, as if the touch hurt him. “Jeff, look at me.” Claude waited until Jeff’s gaze fixed on his. Then he used a bit of magic to erase the hurt from Jeff’s memory. Jeff smiled vaguely, and Claude stepped back, ignoring Claudine’s glare.

“Why all these questions about Seamus?” Jeff said after a moment. “Are you going to fire him?”

“He’s dead,” Claudine told him, and Jeff’s head jerked back.

“Dead? What do you mean?” He stared at Claude, his eyes suddenly wild. “He didn’t look sick to me. And if somebody offed the jerk, it wasn’t me.”

Beside him, Claude heard his sister mumbling, which was her way of using her power to cloud human minds. Jeff’s expression smoothed out, and he stood. “Guess I’d better go keep an eye on the door.” He ambled out of the office.

“He didn’t do it.” Claude was convinced of that. Jeff hadn’t cared for Seamus, and Claude hadn’t much, either, when it came right down to it. But Jeff wasn’t a killer.

“No, he probably didn’t.” Claudine looked at her pad in her hands. “What should we do now?”

“Check the men’s dressing room,” Claude said after a brief reflection. “Perhaps we can find a clue of some kind to what really happened to Seamus.” He strode from the office, and Claudine followed.

The twins spent several minutes searching the small room. Claude found Seamus’s costumes on their hangers in the closet but not his street clothes. Seamus was never messy and had always hung up his garments when he changed. Claudine searched the small chest of drawers the men shared but found only spare thongs and underwear, along with a few toiletries.

Claude sorted through the contents of the wastebasket but found only discarded tissues and the small cotton balls they used when removing makeup. He set the wastebasket down and glanced around the room. Where else should he look?

He eyed the small sofa bed that occupied a corner. He took the cushions off and set them aside. Claudine grasped the nylon cord to pull out the mattress, and as the mattress unfolded, they saw a sparkly substance.

Claude stared at the scattering of fairy dust. “The killer probably didn’t know that Seamus would appear to us after death, nor that he would leave something behind.”

“And since he died on the bed, that probably means he was having sex when he died.” Claudine frowned.

“Having sex wouldn’t kill him, or else he’d have died long ago,” Claude said.

“Of course not,” Claudine snapped. “You know what it had to be.” There was only one thing that could kill a fairy that quickly—lemon juice, one of the few weaknesses a fairy had. “With the storm and the flooding, the killer couldn’t get far.”

“Nobody left the building after Seamus was last seen, so the killer must still be here, and it must be a woman because Seamus never had sex with men. Since none of the customers would have been able to come backstage without being seen, the killer is either Velva, Lula Ann, or Artemisia.” Claude nodded, pleased with his logic. “Let’s get them into the office and question them, and I’ll ask Jeff to search their dressing room while they’re with us.”

“What is he going to look for, besides lemon juice?” Claudine asked. “I wouldn’t count on him finding anything. But I suppose if he does find lemon juice, at least it won’t hurt him.”

Claude said, “Jeff really is smarter than you think. You underestimate him, just as Claudette did. I will tell him to look for lemon juice, of course, but also to look for anything odd.”

Claudine didn’t appear convinced but did not argue further as they moved to the office. “You wait here, and I’ll bring them back. I’ll send Jeff first.”

Claude pulled an extra chair behind the desk and sat. Jeff appeared a minute later.

“Claudine said you want me to do something?” He smiled happily, and Claude returned the smile briefly.

“I want you to search the women’s dressing room for us,” he said. “I can’t explain why now, but see if you can find anything with lemon juice on it, or anything that might have contained it recently. Also, anything you think might shed light on Seamus’s death.”

Jeff nodded. “Sure, I can do that. Kinda like they do in the cop shows. Should I get some plastic gloves from the kitchen?” He looked excited by his task.

Claude shook his head. “They won’t be necessary.” There was no need to worry about compromising evidence, since the local police would not be involved.

“Okay, then.” Jeff shrugged. “I’ll be thorough.”

Moments later, Claudine returned, herding the three female strippers ahead of her. Marlon Eccles trailed behind. There were only two empty chairs, and Velva Gillon and Lula Ann Sheffield, the blonde and the redhead, claimed them. Velva dropped her handbag by her chair. That left Velva’s boyfriend and Artemisia Jackson, the third stripper, on their feet. Marlon stood behind Velva, one large hand on her shoulder, and glared at Claudine. Claude wondered whether the man, large as he was, realized that Claudine was strong enough to disembowel him in five seconds flat.

Velva, always the mouthy one, spoke first. “What the hell is going on here? We wanted a friendly meeting to discuss a few things, and you hustled us in here like a bunch of kids going to the principal’s office.” She patted her heavily lacquered head.

Lula Ann giggled. “Chill out, Velva. I bet you got sent to the principal’s office a lot, all those years ago when you was in school.”

Velva glowered at Lula Ann’s little sally, but before she could reply, the third stripper spoke.

“Can we get on with this?” Artemisia’s sultry voice betrayed the black woman’s annoyance. “I have a paper to write.”

Velva flashed Artemisia a look of loathing. “You’re always throwing it up to me and Red about how you’re going to college.” She mimicked the other woman’s throaty tones. “I have a paper to write. Lord, you surely do piss me the hell off.”

“Shut up.” Claudine didn’t raise her voice, but the women and Marlon started. Velva’s expression grew sullen, and she leaned against Marlon.

Claude whispered, low enough that only his sister could hear, “I’ve got this.” He had thought of the tactic he wanted to use. He spoke in normal tones. “Seamus has disappeared.” He tried to gauge the reaction from the four humans, but he detected no unusual expression, only what he read as curiosity.

“Probably ran off with some skank from the audience.” Velva laughed. “He couldn’t keep it in his pants if his life depended on it.”

Lula Ann snorted. “You oughta know, hon.”

“I ain’t no skank, and I ain’t never done nothing with Seamus.” Velva grabbed a handful of Lula’s hair and yanked hard. The wig flew off. Velva might have thought Lula Ann would be upset, but the woman just smirked as she patted the short black hair now revealed. Marlon put both hands on Velva’s shoulders and held her back. Lula Ann plucked her wig away from Velva and put it in her lap.

“Au contraire, Velva.” Artemisia smiled. “That means ‘I beg to differ with you.’ The first night Seamus came to see us perform, I heard the two of you going at it in the guys’ dressing room after the second set.”

Marlon’s deep voice startled the humans. “Velva, what the hell were you doing fooling around with that asshole?” His hands tightened around his girlfriend’s neck, and Claude noted that Velva started to get red in the face. She reached up and grabbed Marlon’s hands and wrenched them from her neck.

“It was only one time,” she said after she caught her breath. She twisted in her chair to stare up at her boyfriend. “I swear to you. I don’t even know what came over me. He ain’t my type, you know that, Marlon. I like ’em big and burly and tattooed.”

Claude couldn’t tell by Marlon’s wooden expression whether he was satisfied with Velva’s claims, but the man folded his arms across his chest and stepped back to lean against the wall. Velva looked stricken and huddled in her chair.

“You appear to be unhappy with the news that Velva had sex with Seamus.” Claude watched the big man closely. “Did you know about this before now?”

Marlon eyed his interrogator with what Claude assumed was contempt. “If I had, you can bet Seamus would’ve disappeared before now. I’d have beat the crap out of him and left him in the Dumpster.” He laughed. “Guess he decided to run off before I got hold of him.”

Claude and Claudine exchanged a quick glance. She shrugged slightly, and Claude reckoned that Marlon was telling the truth. He probably would have tried to beat Seamus up, but he would have been surprised at the outcome of such an attempt.

Claude focused on the women as he continued. “Is the men’s dressing room one of Seamus’s accustomed trysting spots?”

“If you mean he liked to get it on in there, then yeah, it sure was, even though that dang sofa ain’t too comfortable,” Lula Ann said. “He got me in there once, and I have to tell you, he sure knew what he was doing.” She sighed. “Only problem was, he was a onetime kind of guy.”

“Did that distress you?” Claude asked. “Did you perhaps want more from Seamus?”

Lula Ann shrugged. “Wouldn’t have minded, but there’s plenty of guys out there that know how to hit the right spot.” She batted her eyelashes at Claude. “I bet you do, don’t you, hon?”

Claude regarded her. He had occasionally dallied with women, but he much preferred men. Lula Ann didn’t interest him as a potential sexual partner, so he decided to ignore her attempt at flirtation.

He focused on Artemisia. “How about you? Did Seamus succeed with you?”

She stared coolly back at him. “No.”

Claudine nudged her brother and tilted her head in the direction of the door. Claude spotted Jeff hovering there.

“Excuse me a moment.” He went out into the hallway and pulled Jeff a few steps away from the door. “What did you discover?”

“First thing is this.” Jeff pulled a small atomizer bottle from his jacket pocket and held it up for Claude to examine. “There’s lemon juice in it. Not much. Have a smell.”

Claude shuddered and took a step back. “No, thank you. I’m allergic.” He stared at the bottle—nondescript plastic with no markings on it. “Where did you find it?”

“Stuffed in one of the drawers of the makeup table.” Jeff shrugged. “All kinds of crap in there. Could belong to any one of them, I reckon.”

Claude continued to stare at the bottle. Had the killer brought the lemon juice for the sole purpose of killing Seamus, or did it have another use?

“Do women use lemon juice for anything?” he asked.

Jeff laughed. “My cousin Odette tried it when she was about thirteen. Said somebody told her you could get rid of freckles by putting it on them. Like bleach, maybe.”

“Did it work?”

“I guess it did, at least a bit. Her freckles kinda faded, long as she stayed out of the sun. Still uses it, I think, to make her skin look tighter and younger.”

Claude considered this information. Of the three women, which was most likely to use lemon juice as a beauty treatment?

He discounted Artemisia on the grounds of skin color, and that left him with Lula Ann and Velva. Neither of them had freckles that he could remember, but Velva was in her midforties, while Lula Ann was probably a decade younger. Either one of them could be using it on her skin.

“I need something to wrap the bottle in,” Claude said. “I don’t want to get any of the lemon juice on me.”

“I got you,” Jeff said as he pulled out a handkerchief. “Clean, so it should do the trick.” He wrapped the bottle and handed it to Claude, who held it gingerly.

“Did you find anything else?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “There’s one more thing. Well, two things, actually.” He waited for Claude’s nod before he continued. “First off, I heard what Artemisia said when you asked her about Seamus. She’s lying. I saw her and Seamus coming out of the dressing room together one night last week, and the way Seamus was smirking, I knew he’d just screwed her.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Claude did not like it that Artemisia had lied to him. He had always thought of her as honest. She was smart and a hard worker to boot. “What was the other thing?”

“This.” Jeff reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small photograph, and handed it to Claude.

Claude recognized the former owner of the club, Rita Child, immediately. It was one of those glamour shots, with Rita smirking at the camera.

“Look on the back,” Jeff said.

Claude turned it over. He recognized Rita’s handwriting as well. She had scrawled, Don’t I look hot, cuz?

“Where did you find this?”

“In the same drawer as the bottle,” Jeff said. “So I guess either Lula Ann or Velva is related to Rita. Never heard either of them mention it, though.”

Claude could have enlightened him as to why Rita’s cousin wouldn’t claim kinship publicly—or at least in Hooligans—but Jeff had no need of that information.

Claude considered the implications of the photograph and the relationship to the former owner it revealed. Of the three women, only Velva was new to the club. In fact, she had shown up looking for work not long after Rita signed over the club to him and Claudine and then disappeared.

“You’ve done well, Jeff.” Claude yielded to an impulse and kissed him. Jeff, though obviously surprised, returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

The two broke apart. “You go on back to the front of the house and keep an eye on things,” Claude said. “Claudine and I will wrap this up, and I’ll see you later.”

“Sure thing.” Jeff grinned as he strode down the hall.

Claude reentered the silent office and took his seat behind the desk, then passed the photograph to Claudine surreptitiously. She glanced down at it. Claude did not wait to see her reaction as he placed the handkerchief-encased bottle on the desk in front of him.

He had one piece of business he wanted resolved before he confronted Velva. He regarded Artemisia with an intent gaze. Artemisia frowned back at him.

“You lied to us,” Claude said. “You, too, had sex with Seamus.”

Artemisia grimaced. “I guess Jeff saw us after all. He told you, didn’t he?” When Claude didn’t respond, she continued, “Well, so what if I did? I can’t work and study all the time, can I?”

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” Velva glared at Artemisia. “You’re just like the rest of us.”

“Hardly. I didn’t cheat on a boyfriend when I screwed Seamus.”

Velva leaped out of her chair and started for Artemisia, but before she could take more than a step, Claudine was around the desk with one hand on the blonde’s shoulder. Velva winced with pain as Claudine forced her back down into her chair.

Marlon stepped forward, as if to intervene, but stopped uncertainly when Claude moved from behind the desk to stand between him and Velva. Claudine mumbled, and the tension in Marlon’s face eased.

“I gotta go.” He smiled. “See y’all later.” He walked out. Velva tried to get up to follow him and called for him to come back, but Claudine held her in her chair. Velva whimpered.

Claudine looked at Artemisia and Lula Ann and mumbled again. The faces of the two women went slack.

“Really enjoyed the discussion,” Artemisia said. “See y’all later.”

Lula Ann smiled and nodded as she followed Artemisia from the room. Claudine shut the door behind them and leaned against it. Claude resumed his place behind the desk.

Velva jerked her head back and forth between the twins. “What the hell is going on? Why did they all leave?”

Claude smiled. “We have no further need of them, you see. I have figured out who murdered Seamus.”

“M-m-murdered? What do you mean?”

“Why did you do it, Velva?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Velva’s expression hardened. “What reason would I have to kill Seamus? You’ve gone completely off your rocker.”

She started to stand but Claudine shoved her back into the chair. Velva yelped and squirmed. Claudine held firm until the woman stopped moving.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about your family?” Claude leaned forward. He watched as she tensed at the word family. “We really don’t know that much about you.”

Velva glared at him. “Why the hell do you want to know about my family? They’re none of your damn business.”

Claude nodded at his twin. Claudine stepped forward and held the photograph of Rita Child in front of the stripper.

Velva’s hand trembled as she accepted the photo. “Who’s this supposed to be?” The attempted bravado in her voice only convinced Claude further that he was right.

“That’s your cousin Rita. She used to own the bar before my sister and I took it over.”

Velva didn’t respond.

“Claudine and I—and our sister Claudette—got to know Rita pretty well, although I don’t remember her ever mentioning you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know who the hell she is.” Velva gave a strained laugh. “And she don’t know me from Adam, either.”

Claude glanced at the gaudy handbag on the floor by Velva’s chair. He nodded to his sister, and Claudine picked it up to hand to him.

“So if I open this, I won’t find anything to connect you to Cousin Rita?” Claude grasped the bag, ready to pull it open and dump its contents on the desk.

Velva jumped up and tried to jerk the bag out of his hands. Claudine grabbed her by the neck, and Velva sputtered as her airway constricted. Claudine shoved her down in the chair, but this time she kept her hand on Velva’s neck. The stripper breathed hard, her expression one of panic.

Claude opened the bag and emptied it. Loose tissues, tubes of lipstick, keys, coins, wrapped pieces of candy, a pack of gum, and other items clattered on the desk. Claude set the bag aside and surveyed the jumble.

“I bet this might tell us something.” He picked up Velva’s cell phone. The stripper moaned.

Claude played with the phone, a model similar to the one Jeff had. He noticed that Velva had a new text message. He clicked on the icon and read it.

He looked up at Velva. “Interesting. You say you don’t know Rita Child, but here she is, sending you text messages.” He smiled, and Velva shrank back in fear.

“Here’s what Rita has to say, Claudine. One down two to go.” He scrolled backward through the conversation. “Here’s a little tidbit from you to Rita. Lemon juice worked like you said. Then there is a smiley face. Wish it worked on my freckles like it did on the fairy.”

Velva squealed as Claudine’s grip on her neck tightened once again. She started babbling, “Please don’t kill me,” over and over.

“Did Rita ever tell you how she knew about us?” Claude asked when Velva’s breath gave out and she stopped talking.

The stripper nodded weakly, and Claudine loosened her grip. Velva rubbed her neck. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “She spied on you. Had the dressing rooms bugged. Heard all kinds of shit about you fucking fairies.”

Claudine shared a glance with her twin. They had wondered how Rita knew enough about them and their weaknesses in order to use lemon juice to kill Claudette. They hadn’t taken time to question her when she admitted to the murder, simply told her to run for her life. Thus far she had managed to elude them. Perhaps Velva’s phone would be useful in their hunt, and they could deliver justice to Rita as well.

“One more question, and then we will pass judgment.” Claude picked up Jeff’s handkerchief and unrolled the spray bottle, letting it drop on the desk. “You sprayed Seamus with juice from this bottle. Why did you do it on the sofa bed?”

Velva shuddered. “I said that Marlon wanted to watch him and me having sex. He liked that. Thought it was funny. I told him to open up the bed and get ready and Marlon would come along in a few minutes and catch us going at it.”

“Then what happened?”

“He, well, he laid back on the bed and looked up at me, and I squirted him right in that stupid smirking face of his.” Velva glanced fearfully back at Claudine, then at Claude.

“Did you enjoy the screams as he died?”

“No,” she whispered. She gazed at Claude, obviously terrified. “What are you going to do? Call the police?”

Claudine placed a hand on her shoulder, and Velva started.

“No,” Claudine said, smiling down at her, showing her teeth.

Claude came around the desk to join them. “No, Claudine and I will settle this ourselves.”

After Rita killed their sister, they’d given her a chance to live in return for her signing the bar over to them—if she could hide from them for a full year, they would not kill her. They would not make the same mistake with Velva. And when the flooding receded, they would hunt down Rita.

The storm raged outside, but only the fairies heard the killer scream in agony as she died.