Sloane poured a shot of whiskey and drained it. Then she poured another. She hauled the case board into the middle of the living room and stared at the pictures. Nathaniel, Mary, Jane, Harold, and now Charles. All murdered. And she was no closer to finding their killer or killers. “Fucking great,” she whispered and downed the second shot.
Elvina sauntered into the room, leaped onto the sofa, and lay on the top cushion. What happened?
“Charles Huxham is dead.”
Dead?
“Yeah. Stabbed in the back. Looked like through the heart.”
This is indeed a curious time. Elvina swung her tail to and fro.
Dorathea appeared on the sofa next to the familiar. “Good for you, pet. You didn’t even startle.”
Sloane scowled. “Yeah. I expect you to show up whenever you want.”
“I believe you mean when I am needed. Now, tell me what has happened to Charles Huxham?”
“Who told you?”
“Elvina. Just a moment ago.”
“He was murdered.” Sloane filled her glass with a double and turned to the board.
Is it all wrong, dear? Elvina asked.
“Yeah, it’s fucked up. I was wrong. Charles didn’t hire Liam Morris. I’m missing something. And it got him killed.” She gulped her whiskey, firmly set the glass on the coffee table, and yanked Charles’s photo from the center of the board, placing it next to the other four victims.
“Why have you come to that conclusion?” Dorathea asked.
“Charles secured a loan against the Huxham building a goddamn week before Harold came to find me. The money came through yesterday. That’s how he planned to pay back Gannon.”
Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean Charles didn’t decide to kill you both when the opportunity presented.
“I am loath to speak ill of the dead, but Elvina is correct. He still had motive and opportunity.” Dorathea snapped her fingers, and a steaming teapot and a plate full of madeleines appeared. She poured two cups and a saucer.
“All right. That’s a possibility. But he had stopped lying to Harold and had asked for his help. I found copies of the loan paperwork in a hidden drawer in Harold’s office. He had cosigned. There was also a contract between them. Charles had committed to rehab.” She looked at her cousin. “I think you were right all along. He loved his uncle.” She picked up her glass. “I used the detection spell on Charles. He was emotional, grieving. Someone appeared in front of his desk, and he became angry, chasing after them. That’s when I became overwhelmed with a darkness like nothingness. I had to let go of him.”
“That was the moment his life ended, pet.” Dorathea held out a cup of tea and madeleine to her. “Being right hardly feels important at the moment.”
Sloane waved off the offer and took a sip of her whiskey. She tapped a marker on Gannon’s photo. “He could have refused Charles’s cash payment. Demanded the Degas. Maybe he already had a buyer for it. He could have killed Harold as a warning to Charles. Give me the Degas or else.”
“So when Charles refused, Gannon killed him?” Dorathea asked.
“Yeah. Killed him and took the painting.”
Dorathea’s eyes narrowed. “The Degas is gone?”
“Yeah. But I told the Major Crime Unit about Gannon. If he stole it, they’ll recover it.”
“I can assure you Gannon Ferris did not take the Degas. Only a wiċċan could break the protection charm I placed on it. And a talented one, indeed.”
“But I didn’t feel another wiċċan’s presence. Does that mean the wiċċe is a Protector?”
Or the wiċċa , said Elvina.
“Highly unlikely. Protectors like us are rare.” Dorathea lifted her teacup. “The theft complicates our case, I am afraid. The artwork is another portal to Tagridore for your family line. It could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“Why?” Sloane asked.
A wiċċan could force the dancers to cooperate, dear , answered Elvina.
“Opening access to Tagridore for anyone, Nogicals or Demon,” Dorathea added.
Sloane looked at them in confusion. “The dancers?”
“The ballerinas, indeed.” Dorathea set down her cup. “Securing the Degas is too important to leave to the police.”
“All right. We’ll get it back.” Sloane turned and drew a new line between Gannon and Charles. “I’ve got questions about Charles’s murder. A wiċċan could be directing Gannon. But why would they ransack Harold’s and Charles’s offices? And why stab Charles in the back with the letter opener? That’s impromptu. Hired muscle bring their own murder weapons. And why a stabbing? That’s dirty hands. Intimate.” She tapped on Gannon’s photo.
“Violence is irrational,” Dorathea said.
“Yeah. I suppose so. But it seems to me if you’re killing for a painting, you go in quick, neat, and get out. No mess. And Gannon wanted me dead. Why not wait and ambush me as well?”
“Excellent points,” Dorathea said.
Do you have any more information on the other suspects? Elvina asked.
“Yeah. I did find out why the Spotted Owl is in financial trouble.” She drew a line between Fiona and Oscar. “Guess who’s been stealing from Peter to prop up Paul?”
“Really?” Dorathea sipped her tea.
“Yeah. Fiona has jeopardized the pub, and the money she’s stealing barely keeps Oscar afloat. He said his ten-year batch will see a healthy profit. But unless Fiona can continue embezzling for three more years. It’s doubtful he’ll see that day.”
“Perhaps they realized their embezzlement could not last three more years,” Dorathea said.
Just as Sloane opened her mouth to respond, her phone rang. “Hold that thought.” She answered. “West speaking.”
“Hey, Sloane. It’s Lieutenant Sharma. I’ve got an update for you. Gannon Ferris left the country last night on a business trip to Los Angeles. His receptionist showed me Charles Huxham’s account with the company. It was paid in full yesterday.”
“Company account, my ass.”
“I know. I know. But he settled his debt. Three-twenty K.” She paused. “There’s one more thing. Your art wasn’t in Harold Huxham’s safe. It’s been stolen.”
“Damn it.” Sloane feigned a shocked voice and hesitated. “Did you search Gannon’s office for it?”
“His receptionist opened every door in the place. We didn’t find it. I’m really sorry. But he’s got container space at the Port of Vancouver. We’re getting a warrant to check it out. I’ll keep you posted. I think Gannon still looks good for Charles’s murder, maybe even his uncle’s. He got his money, but he might have decided to double his payout. And he doesn’t need to be in the country to order a hit.”
“No, he doesn’t. Thanks for the update.” Sloane hung up. “Damnit. I was right. Charles paid his debt. Gannon left the country. And there’s no sign of the Degas.” She poured a measure of whiskey while Dorathea and Elvina watched. “What the hell am I missing?”
“Seems to me, nothing,” answered Dorathea. “You have a case board full of people of interest.” She flicked her wrist, and the tea and whiskey bottle disappeared. “It is time to use all of your senses and focus on a new suspect.”
Elvina rose on all fours. I’ll tell you what time it is. Dinnertime.
“Dinner?” Sloane checked her watch. “Oh, shit. Six o’clock. I stood up Rose Keane.” She collapsed into an armchair.
“I am sure dear Rose will understand, considering,” Dorathea said. “Call her and apologize. Then ask for a rain check. Now let us add some food to your liquid diet.” She and Elvina walked toward the kitchen without saying another word.
Sloane shouted, “Ha! Liquid diet. You’re hilarious. And no one says rain check anymore. It’s archaic.” She grabbed her phone and texted Rose an apology, rewriting it four times before pressing send.
* * *
A few hours after dinner, Dorathea and Elvina disappeared to the covenstead on a mission to create a location spell for the Degas.
Sloane dropped onto the sofa and studied the case board. She was angry at herself, at her myopic focus. She had too much experience for such a rookie mistake. Her head fell back against the cushion just as the doorbell rang. “Jesus Christ.” Her heart leaped, and she got to her feet. Why could she handle a woman appearing out of thin air, but a doorbell sent her over the edge? Although, to be fair, someone or something wanted her dead.
Sloane stood to one side of the door. “Who is it?” Her voice was rough.
“It’s me, Rose.”
Sloane exhaled and opened the door. “Sorry. I’m still a little on edge.”
“I understand. And I brought you food. In case you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, Keane. I ate with Dorothea. Sorry about dinner.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t expect you to make it after finding poor Charlie. I’m in shock myself. Another murder? Harold and Charles? What’s going on?”
Sloane stuck the food in the refrigerator. “I thought I had a good idea. But I was wrong.” She looked into Rose’s jade eyes, her frustration subsiding, and a new surge of energy swept over her. “Can you stay for a drink?”
“Sure, but just one. My shift was long, and I have to open the pub in the morning.” Rose leaned against the island. “Besides, I think you’ve had plenty.”
“You’re right. But don’t tell my cousin I admit it.” She poured Rose a drink. “I’m headed to bed after this one.” She winked and lifted her glass in the air. On the patio, Sloane pulled two loungers together, inches apart. They sat on the edges, facing each other.
Rose searched her eyes. “I can’t imagine what it was like to find Charlie dead. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just angry at myself. I knew his life was in danger. I should have been there to protect him.”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen or when.”
Sloane stared into the dark garden and stretched out her body.
“I can’t imagine who would want the Huxhams dead. An old client, maybe?”
“It’s a possibility.” Sloane turned her head, trying not to get lost in Rose’s eyes. “I followed your mom to your brother’s distillery. I overheard her on the phone after the MCC meeting. She told whomever she was talking to that she didn’t have it all. Then she said she was heading back to the pub. But she got in her Land Rover instead and drove toward the mountain. I tailed her. When I walked in on them, I was sure I saw your brother do something that made me suspicious. But I can’t remember what. It’s like the entire moment was erased from my head.”
Rose sat up. Her eyes narrowed. She laid her hand on Sloane’s arm. “What exactly happened?”
Her touch sent a shiver through Sloane. “I can’t remember. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. It’s not important. Oscar had a lot to say when I asked about the Spotted Owl. I think he’s not as happy with you getting the pub as you think.”
“I never said he was happy. I said it’s what he wanted.” Rose tightened her hold on Sloane’s arm and released her with a sigh. “When he realized how hard he had to work to build a new business, he fell out of love with it.” She stretched out on the lounger.
“It seems to be his thing again. He was eager to show the entire campus off.”
Rose laughed. “Thing? You call being in love a thing ?”
“Don’t tease me, Keane.” Sloane put her hand over her heart. “I’m fragile when it comes to that thing.”
“Fragile?” Rose laughed harder. “I wouldn’t consider you fragile. But you are drunk and chatty. You’re lucky I don’t take advantage of you and ask about your mystery ex.”
“That’s just mean.” Sloane grinned and traced her finger down Rose’s bare arm. “Besides, there’s not much to tell. I thought we would grow old together. And she didn’t.”
Rose frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” She took a drink. “Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
“Aren’t you still wearing it on your finger?”
Sloane balled up her right hand.
“I’m sorry. That was too nosy. But I’m a curious person. Especially about things I like.”
Sloane met Rose’s eyes, held them, then dropped her gaze to her full lips. She wanted to press them against hers. Feel the sensation in her core when they parted, and their tongues met. She looked back to Rose’s eyes, but she had turned away, staring into the garden.
“What do you think my mom and brother were up to?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Oh, I know what they’ve been doing. My contact sent me some information. Your mom pays monthly invoices to a food vendor called Sunshine Coast Food, but really it’s money going to Oscar. The payments to Sunshine are the exact amounts your brother deposits in his personal account two or three days later.”
Rose’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Are you kidding me? She’s draining the pub to prop him up? Of course, she is. If the Spotted Owl fails, she can force Dad back to Scotland.” She sat up and threw back her whiskey.
“Your mom doesn’t want the Spotted Owl to fail. She’s fighting as hard as any other MCC business owner to stop Isobel Gildey.”
“Damn them. They’re all so infuriating. Letting Dad fret over the pub not turning a profit like it used to. Oscar pretending his distillery is already profitable.”
“It’s a shitty thing to do,” Sloane said. “But now you know and can do something about it.”
Rose nodded and placed her empty glass on a side table.
“Did your mom show up at the pub on Friday?”
“No. We both know that was another lie.” Rose hesitated. “You don’t think—”
“No, no. I’m not saying she had anything to do with Charles. But we need to know where she was before Major Crime starts asking the questions.”
Rose sighed. “Good God, what a mess.”
“It’ll be okay. My investigation is at least a week ahead of theirs. I’ll be done with the case before they figure out who to question. Your mom’s okay.”
Rose gave a slight smile and lifted herself out of the lounger. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get going.”
“Why don’t you stay a bit longer. We won’t talk about the case.” Sloane stumbled to her feet, and Rose steadied her.
“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t take advantage of you. You’re hurting right now and have so much grief to work through. But I’m not going anywhere.” She walked Sloane inside and stopped before they reached the front door. “Thank you for telling me about my mother.” She hugged her, loosely at first then pressing her body closer. Moving her mouth a breath away from Sloane’s parted lips, she whispered, “We can all have more than one thing in a lifetime. Get some sleep, West.”