Sloane lifted her face to the bright sun. The azure sky was cloudless, a nice change from the misty and rainy gray Vancouver Island it had been since she arrived. The nice weather brought shoppers darting in and out of the Old Main shops, their doors welcomely wide open.
She scanned the street and saw Lore’s floral-draped cart blocking the fish market’s door. Now was a good time to question James Reed. And she might as well get some salmon for Elvina. Through the plate-glass window, she saw the shop was empty. Moving Lore’s cart, she slipped inside.
A bell chimed, but no one responded. The smell of the sea came from the walls, ceiling, and floor of the decades-old wet market. A long, polished wood case ran from one side of the store to the other. It was full of crushed ice. She stopped beside a fresh floral arrangement and a sculpture of an eagle catching a fish.
James’s and Lore’s voices spilled out from behind a set of swinging doors. They were arguing, and Sloane craned to see through the circular holes in the middle of each door, listening.
“Mother is gone. You must ask for help.”
“I don’t need your help. My customers are loyal,” James said, raising his voice even more.
“People are only loyal to money, Dad. You need to get that through your thick skull.” Lore’s voice was shrewlike.
“Just go,” James shouted. “I’ve got fish to prepare, or I won’t make any money today.” He burst through one side of the doors, waving a fishmonger’s knife. He pulled a fish from a metal chest and slapped it on the cutting board.
Lore came through the door and stared at him with a pained expression, drawing her lips in a tight line. “Fine. Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”
Sloane stepped behind the sculpture and out of sight as Lore stomped to the door.
James slammed the knife on the fish’s head. “What the hell do you know about anything!” he yelled as she left. After the chimes died away, James steadied himself with both hands on the counter and took a deep breath.
Sloane moved around the statue and approached him. “Ahem.”
He looked up. “None of the catch is out. My whole day is botched up.” His attention went back to the fish. “Come back in an hour.”
Sloane nodded at the fish on the butcher-block surface. “Is that salmon?”
“First chinook of the season.”
“Could you sell me its head?”
He looked up again. “Are you making stock?”
“I was planning to—”
“Well, you can have the belly meat too, and I’ve got fish frames in the back.” James put the knife down and wiped his hands on his apron before Sloane could finish speaking.
“Sure, I’ll take them all,” she said.
Happiness flashed in his eyes, and the tension in the room relaxed.
“It was a pleasure meeting you yesterday,” Sloane said. “I’m sorry it was during such a sad time.”
James nodded. “Harold was a fine man. Gone too soon. But he died righting a wrong. I imagine that’s how he would have wanted it.” He picked up his knife and with one strike, the salmon’s tail came off.
“Do you mean finding me?”
He nodded, slit the fish’s belly with a surgeon’s precision, and gutted it.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
James kept his eyes on his work, piercing the salmon’s back and fileting down the spine. “About stock?”
“No, about Harold.”
He flipped the fish, and it smacked the counter. The knife slid effortlessly between the flesh and bone as he fileted the other side. “What do you want to know?”
“Can you think of anyone in Denwick who might have wanted Harold dead?”
James looked up, surprised. “Harold Huxham? No. No one here would want to hurt him.” He placed the two salmon fillets in the display case and pulled another out of the chest.
“What about him and his nephew, Charles? Did they get on?”
“I suppose. Harold was more of a father to Charlie, and they had moments like any father and son.” He placed the fish on the board and stared at her suspiciously. “Why?”
“It’s just, I heard they’d had some problems lately.”
Whack. James’s knife struck the fish’s head hard. “I don’t know anything about that. Harold and I didn’t really speak about our kids.”
“Oh. Since you two were close, Musketeers, I thought you might have an idea what the issues between them were.”
He looked at her, “We were. But like I said, we didn’t talk about Lore and Charlie. Our kids.” He set down his knife to wrap the head and belly meat in white butcher’s paper.
“I see. I was just wondering, if he and Charlie had trouble, maybe that influenced who he left his property to? Are you aware if it reverts to you and the other co-owners?”
Without looking up, he dropped Sloane’s package in a bag of crushed ice, closing it with a knot. “I have no idea.” He turned away and shoved open the swinging doors.
When he returned, he had another package on ice and handed both bags over the counter. “Your salmon pieces and fish frames.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
“Call me James.”
“Okay, James. Call me Sloane.”
The bells chimed. Sloane glanced at the new customer and back to him. “How much do I owe you?”
“I’ll run you a tab. You can pay weekly or monthly.”
“I won’t be here that long. How about I pay you before I fly home?”
“That’s too bad. I figured you’d stay awhile. Sure, pay me before you leave.”
Sloane turned to leave but stopped. “Oh, one more question. Were Charles and Lore ever an item?”
Whack. The fish’s head was off. “No,” James growled. “Harold made sure of that.”
* * *
Sloane walked back to Mallow Cottage, passing a park and several well-heeled yards. The scent of cut grass and flower blooms cut the briny ocean air.
A constant theme had emerged during her interviews—Charles and Lore’s relationship. Any question about Charles lead to Lore. Was Harold’s murder a revenge killing with a financial bonus? Were they in it together? But where did her attempted murder come into it?
These were the type of questions she had once bounced off her old NYPD partner, Tom Hanson, before he turned out to be a lying son-of-a-bitch. She twisted the ring on her finger. Then she had shared her ideas with Bear, except now Bear is Elvina. Screw it. She’d brainstorm by herself.
Something moved ahead of her in the ivy cover below a tree. The leaves rustled. She stopped and bent her head back, looking through the early spring canopy, and an owl swooped down over her head, skimming past and back into the air.
“Shit,” she whispered, covering her head and ducking. The owl glided away over the next block of rooftops and toward Old Main.
The cottage door was unlocked. She had locked it before she left. So either Dorathea or someone else was there. Sloane entered slowly, making her way to the kitchen. “Elvina, I’m back.” Nothing moved. No noise. “I brought you fresh fish.” No answer. She threw the fish into the refrigerator. “Elvina?”
Out here, dear. We’re having tea.
Sloane groaned. Dorathea and Elvina sat on the back porch, a teapot floating between them. They had placed a third setting for her. “I’m going to need some Xanax if owls attack me out of nowhere and cats-not-cats keep speaking in my head.”
Elvina flicked her tail. It’s doubtful to help, dear.
Dorathea narrowed her eyes. “What kind of owl?”
“How should I know.” Sloane looked at the trees. “It was huge and aggressive.”
Her cousin waved her hand, and a patio chair slid back. “Have a seat. We’re discussing your mum and grandparents’ murders.”
A few brave crows alit on the railing. “Jesus, the blackbirds here are as aggressive as our sky rats back home.”
Best be careful , Elvina said. Unlike pigeons, crows hold grudges.
“Get!” Sloane stomped her foot, and the birds flew off to the old Garry oak in the back of the yard. She sat at the table and put a madeleine and a dab of cherry jam on her plate. The teapot lifted from the table and poured Sloane a cup.
She stared at her cousin. “Thanks, but I don’t mind pouring my own drink.”
Dorathea gave a slight head shake. “I did nothing.”
Elvina stopped lapping tea from her cup and looked up. Don’t be unpleasant, dear.
“Are you kidding me? You can do spells?”
Obviously. How else would I train you?
Sloane set her cup on its saucer, hard. “You’ve harassed me for seven years. Even last night, you told me you couldn’t open a can of tuna. And all along, you could?”
I should have said I wouldn’t. My mistake. I could hardly feed myself without disclosing my identity, dear.
“What about Harold? Why didn’t you save him?” Sloane blurted out.
It doesn’t work that way. I’m bound to you, no one else. But, even so, I tried. I’ve known Harold for a lifetime, and his loss is painful for me, too .
“Yeah, well, if you had told me the truth years ago, none of this would’ve happened.”
“That is not a fair assessment, pet.”
Elvina sat back on her haunches. It’s okay, Dorathea. I understand her pain. She held Sloane’s gaze. I had no choice, dear.
“I’m sick of hearing that. You chose to do what Jane wanted.”
That’s not how our relationship worked. And not how ours works now.
Sloane shook her head. “Listen, I don’t want any more secrets or lies. You got it? Or you can go to Tagridore and stay with your mother. I mean it. You won’t come back to New York with me, either.”
Stop bullying me and relax. Do you really think you’re ever going back?
Sloane’s eyes opened wide. “Like hell, I’m not.”
“Enough,” Dorathea said. Her commanding voice made Elvina and Sloane snap to attention.
Sloane stared at her. “And you can’t lie to me either. Or I’ll leave, and I won’t come back.”
“I will always be truthful. However, there are unshared truths between us. These are not secrets, and I will not lie about them. I simply cannot disclose everything that you are unaware of at once. Will you give me that?”
Sloane turned to the garden, watching the crows. When Jess left her, she refused to continue any relationships built on lies. Bear and Gary Prence were all she had. But now it was just Gary. “All right. I’ll try.” She turned to Elvina. “But you and me, we’re broken.”
Elvina’s whiskers twitched, and she looked down.
“Even so. Elvina is correct. For now, you must remain in Denwick. Your life is in danger, and we will not risk losing you.” Dorathea stared into her tea, grief on her face.
Sloane realized for the first time that she and her cousin had much in common. The killer had taken Dorathea’s family and left her alone, too. “Okay,” Sloane said. “You have my word. I’ll stay until we solve our case.” Now it seemed improbable Jane and the Wests’ murders were two different cases.
“Our case,” Dorathea repeated. “Does that mean you agree we are looking for the same person?”
Sloane pushed back in the patio chair. “Or persons. Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”
Her cousin lifted her nose in the air. “I’m seldom wrong. And when I am, you will know it has happened.”
Sloane chuckled. “I don’t doubt you can substantiate your confidence.”
“Quite right. And for your protection, I suggest you learn a protection spell or two.”
Sloane gulped the rest of her tea, grabbed another madeleine, and stood. “But right now, I need to go. Are there any office stores around here?”
“What do you need?” Dorathea asked.
“A whiteboard and markers. To work our case.”
Oh, yes. A lucky baby , Elvina said.
“A what?” Sloane asked.
Your board at home. You call it lucky baby.
“No, I don’t.”
Of course, you do. When we work a case, you say, let’s get lucky baby. Ever since Jess and Tom—
Sloane held up her hand. “Don’t talk about them.”
Of course not. I apologize, dear.
Sloane’s frown disappeared. “I meant to get lucky. You know. Find a connection out of the blue.” Elvina tilted her head to the side. After a few seconds, Sloane laughed hysterically. “But we can call it lucky baby if you want.”
“Ahem. Will that suffice?” Dorathea nodded at a whiteboard on an easel next to the French patio doors.
Sloane walked over and knocked on its surface, picking up a pack of dry-erase markers. “Yeah. This is great. How’d you do that?”
Elvina licked cherry glaze from her paw and said, Maybe you should start your training and find out.
“I said I would. But not today.”
“Of course not. The morning is over. We will begin tomorrow at my home before the sun rises.”
“All right.” Sloane set up the easel in the living room and returned to the kitchen. “Thanks for the tea, Dorathea. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned to Elvina. “I got you some salmon. It’s in the fridge. I won’t be home for dinner.”
Elvina’s tail flicked. Yummy. But don’t be too late. We need to start on lucky baby right away. This is the most complicated case you’ve ever had—two murders in NYC. Two murders here. Possible Demon possession of a Magical. And a Main Street full of suspects.
“I could not have written a better plot, indeed,” Dorothea added.