Sloane left the covenstead. The drizzle had stopped, but the sky had turned darker and colder. She walked to Mallow Cottage and grabbed another cardigan out of her suitcase. Over a week here, and she hadn’t unpacked. Oh, well, she thought, it’s not like she ever put her laundry away, either.
Only one car passed her on her walk to Old Main. It put her on edge. She missed the busy streets of NYC, the thrum that pulled her through the day.
Sloane waited outside the door at Reed’s Fish Market for it to clear before entering. The bells jingled. “Hello, James. Looks like a good afternoon rush, huh?”
He snapped back the head of a live lobster, pulling it away from its tail, and grumbled, “They came to see where the murder happened. Our businesses are afterthoughts. Terrible thing. I don’t know what to think about it. Harold. Now Charlie.”
“Listen, James. I’d like to talk to you privately for a moment.”
James wiped his hands on his apron. “Are you here to accuse me of killing Charlie, too?”
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” she replied. “I’m just doing my job.”
James removed his apron and washed his hands at a sink against the wall. “What do you want to ask me?”
“I noticed the market was closed yesterday afternoon. Where were you when Charles was murdered?”
“I knew it. You are accusing me.” He kept his back to her and dried his hands. “But you’re wrong. I was with Alice in the crypt.” He turned. “I close every second Friday of the month to visit her. We talked until about one o’clock. You can go see for yourself. I left her a bouquet of roses. Then I went home.”
“Did anyone see you there?”
“No one alive. But Lore gave me the flowers on my way to the cemetery.”
“What about at home? Did anyone see you there?”
“I was alone until Ken brought Lore to me after you found Charlie.”
“How did you know I found Charles?”
He put on a new apron and tried to recall. “I don’t know. Lore must have told me.”
“All right.” She stared at his knife. If she could just detect him, it would be so much easier. “I’ve seen your financials. I know how much debt the market carries. Has anyone ever suggested you do something illegal to make the market successful?” she asked.
James’s face turned red. “How do you know that? That’s private information. You can’t—You—You, get out of my store.”
“Fine. I’ll go. I’m going.” Sloane reached into her tote. “But just one more thing. Have you seen this photo before?” She tossed it across the counter.
James grabbed it. His brow furrowed, and his face softened. He studied the picture for several silent minutes.
“That’s Alice when she was about twenty-one, isn’t it?”
“Looks like it.” He looked up at Sloane. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in one of Harold Huxham’s drawers.”
James turned the photo over and read. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak.
Sloane braced herself. Her following line of questioning might result in another attempt on her life. “Did you know Harold and Alice had a relationship at university?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
He threw the picture back at her. “No. That’s not true.”
“Did you find out about their affair? Is that what came between you and Harold? Why you tried to keep Charles and Lore apart?”
“No. Those are lies.” His eyes welled, and his rough voice cracked. “Leave. Now.”
“Listen, James, if I can find evidence that you had any reason to kill Harold and Charles, Major Crime will. And they will be quick to arrest. If you’re innocent, I can help. Are you sure you didn’t know about their affair?”
“Get out!” He pointed at her, his thick finger shaking, and stormed into the back.
Sloane believed his anger, even his tears. But James’s emotions had little to do with his innocence. The fact was James’s alibi wasn’t solid, and if she found a motive, the RCMP would too.
The cloud cover threatened real rain, not the misty stuff they had had off and on all week. The shoppers on Old Main walked up and down the pedestrian street without umbrellas, unconcerned.
Sloane bought a coffee at The Grind and sat on a bench across the street, watching the crime site. There wasn’t much left to see. The detectives and forensics had gone. Only the caution tape and one uniform guarding the front door remained. There was probably another boot in the back.
It wasn’t a coincidence the two financially sound families of the original Musketeers were of those dead. Well, except for her. But why kill Charlie? How would the Keanes or Reeds know who Charles’s beneficiaries were? Unless he had told someone. Lore? Ken? She needed to know who benefited from his death, and there was only one way to find out.
Sloane tossed her coffee cup in a bin and walked to the back of the Patel’s Fresh Market. She stood behind a stack of wooden pallets and opened her third eye, looked through the veil, and as instructed, imagined her place clearly.
“Lecgan lāstas,” she whispered.
It was dark when she opened her eyes, but she recognized the smell of decades-old paper and felt her way past the storage boxes to Charles’s office. After listening at his office door for a few minutes, she crept inside. Someone had ransacked it again. Even more file drawers were emptied onto the floor, pages scattered about, chairs overturned.
How the hell did they get inside? There were detectives on the scene and guards around the clock. Someone was looking for something and willing to take a considerable risk to find it. A wiċċan could have teleported themselves and Gannon inside. But what would Gannon want? It didn’t make sense.
Sloane snapped on a pair of plastic gloves and got on her hands and knees. She flipped through every file folder on Charles’s floor but found nothing. Then she checked for hidden compartments in his furniture. Damnit, she thought. He was not as clever as his uncle.
The room had dimmed with the late afternoon sun setting behind the row of old brick buildings. Sloane sneaked into the foyer. She needed to recheck Harold’s office before the building was in darkness. The front plate-glass windows were uncovered, so she dropped to her knees and crawled across the lobby. The police had closed Harold’s blinds, but it was light enough to see that his office had been searched again. She crawled across the floor, checking the contents of each manila file. She neared the window where the officer was stationed when her phone rang.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” she whispered. Her hand fumbled inside her tote and pulled the phone out. “West speaking.”
“Hey, Sloane. It’s Lieutenant Sharma. I got some forensics back. Do you have time to exchange info?”
“Yeah, no problem. When?”
“I’m in Denwick. Can you meet up now?”
She glanced at the window, and her heart quickened. “Sure. Where are you?”
“I just pulled into the parking lot behind the Huxham building. Do you want to meet here?”
“No, that’s no good.” She sneaked to Harold’s door and peeked out the front windows, making sure no one could see inside. “I’m on my way to the Spotted Owl for dinner.” She hurried across the foyer into Charles’s office. “Why don’t you meet me there?”
“Sounds good. Dinner sounds even better. Give me a minute to check in with my officers. And I’ll be right over.”
In the storage room, Sloane listened at the door and heard a car engine cut and a vehicle door shut. She threw her phone in her bag. Dorathea and Elvina would just have to understand Sharma’s info was priority. She exhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Lecgan lāstas.”
The gallery’s back room was pitch black. Sloane patted her body, searched her tote for the Wests’ keys, hurried out the back door, and locked it. A pungent stench of dead fish from the dumpster behind Reed’s Fish Market filled the air.
She ran down the narrow lane between the two buildings and slowed down when she reached the front of the Spotted Owl. The staircase leading down to the pub was darker than usual, and the dining room was packed. Scottish folk music blared over the noisy chatter, and the smell of grilled meat filled the room.
Ken noticed Sloane right away and waved from behind the bar, gesturing for her to join him, but she pointed toward the dining room and gave him a thumbs-up.
Rose rushed through the kitchen door holding dinner plates. She dropped them off and hurried over to Sloane. “Hey. Is this a makeup visit for last night?”
“No, sorry. I’m meeting the detective in charge of Charles’s murder case.” Sloane glanced at the entry. “Can we have a table out of the way?”
Rose led her to a back corner below the old stage. “How’s this?”
“Can your parents hear us from here?”
“Not with the music and the crowd. Why?”
“I need to make sure what she tells me stays between us.” Sloane sat.
“Barkeeps hear a lot, but we don’t spread gossip.” She bent toward Sloane, and an auburn curl fell across her mouth.
Sloane brushed her fingers across Rose’s lips, tucking the curl back into her headband.
“Mmm. Thank you. I’ll be back with some waters and menus.”
“All right. Thanks.” Sloane sat back and regained her focus. Veena would be there any minute.
Ken approached the table and placed a whiskey neat in front of her. “I thought you could use this. On the house.”
“Thanks, Ken.” Sloane took a sip. “Ah, Oscar’s.”
“You know your whiskey,” he said. “How are ye?”
“I bet we’ve all had better days.”
“Aye. I don’t know what to think about this business. Harold. Now Charlie. You know that lieutenant with the RCMP came around yesterday. Asked us if we saw or heard anything across the street. Rose and I were in the pub, and Fiona was at home nursing a migraine. We didn’t hear a thing. I’m just sorry we couldn’t help.” He paused. “Can you tell me what happened to Charlie?”
“I can’t say. The investigation’s ongoing.”
“Aye.” Ken placed his hands on his hips. “She also asked about—”
“Hold that thought.” Sloane waved toward the door. Veena had just entered and waved back.
“Sorry, Ken. What were you saying?”
“It’s not important. I see your dinner date has arrived.”
“Oh, no. This is work only.”
Veena approached the table. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Keane. I’ve always wanted to have a drink in your famous pub, sir. I’m just sorry I waited until now.”
“Aye,” Ken replied. “What can I get you?”
“Pale ale?”
Ken nodded. “I better get back. Rose will bring yer drinks.”
“How are you?” Veena asked her when they were alone.
“I’m fine. Charles isn’t the first dead body I’ve found or my first murder investigation.”
“Really? Detectives get a lot of murder cases in New York?”
“Some of us. And I prefer PI. So tell me more about the forensics.”
Veena drummed her fingers on the table, then leaned in. “Listen, I have to answer to a real son-of-a-bitch inspector. You can’t let anything I share with you get back to him.”
“You can trust me.”
The lieutenant looked around the dining room. “Okay. We got prints back. None of the preliminary findings flagged Gannon Ferris or his known associates. We only got hits on a few of the Huxhams’ legal clients. The rest of the prints aren’t known. But we’re waiting for results from IAFIS.”
“All right. That could just mean the killer wore gloves.”
“True. But there’s another problem with Gannon and his mates. We pulled CCTV footage covering the parking lot, the lane on the side of the building, and the front door. We couldn’t find any security cameras covering the back door. Quite a few people entered the offices, including you. But everybody had left the building by eleven thirty a.m.”
“Yeah. The local business group had a meeting. What did CCTV catch at the time of the murder?”
“Between eleven forty a.m. and one p.m., only a handful of people parked in the lot or went near the building. The back door was unlocked but hadn’t been tampered with. And no one approached the Huxhams’ front door at any time.” She scooted her chair back and crossed her legs. “Except for you.”
Sloane eased back in her chair. So, Major Crime had suspicions about her involvement.
“I told you, Sharma, we had an appointment. I was there to pick up my painting.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not accusing you. We tracked your movements on Main Street.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t on Old Main when he was killed. When I got there, I figured he was out for lunch. But I couldn’t find him. I got nervous and tried the back door. It was unlocked.”
Suddenly, Veena uncrossed her legs and casually leaned on the table. Sloane immediately recognized the woodsy scent behind her.
“Hello, Lieutenant Sharma. Here’s your ale.” Rose smiled, placed the pint in front of her, and turned to Sloane. She set down a whiskey neat and winked. “If I’d known you were having dinner with us, Lieutenant, I would’ve gotten these drinks out sooner.”
“You remembered my name.” Veena’s face flushed and her mouth turned up in a self-conscious smile. “Call me Veena. And you’re Rose, right, like the flower?”
She laughed. “That’s right.”
Sloane grinned at Rose. “What’s the special?”
“Tonight, it’s herbed Salt Spring lamb chops served with mash and green beans.”
“Do you eat lamb?” Sloane asked Veena.
She nodded and stuttered, “Yeah…sounds delicious.”
Sloane pointed at the menus under Rose’s arm. “We don’t need those. We’ll take two specials.”
“I’ll have Chef throw in a piece of pie for the Island’s finest,” Rose said, and she flashed them a stunning smile.
When Rose was out of earshot, Sloane snorted in amusement. “Seriously? ‘Rose, like the flower.’ I’m sure she hasn’t heard that since sixth grade.”
Lieutenant Sharma lowered her head and shook it. “God, I know.” She looked up and watched Rose disappear through the kitchen door. “If I’d known Rose Keane worked here, I would have come in sooner.”
The muscles in Sloane’s jaw tightened. She disliked the way the lieutenant eyed Rose, the tone of her voice when she said her name. A few minutes passed before she spoke again. “What other forensics do you have?”
“No prints on the dagger—”
“It’s a letter opener from an import store in Chinatown.” Sloane’s words were harsher than she intended.
“How do you know that?”
“Charles told me the first time we met in his office. It was in an ornate sheath on his desk.” Sloane tapped her whiskey glass. “Fingerprints are all your lab has for forensics?”
“So far. The lab’s running DNA on possible multiple blood sources. And we recovered some fibers and hair on the victim’s clothing. Other than that. None of the locks in the building were compromised. The killer may have forced Charles to hand over his keys before killing him.”
“That could be.” Sloane searched the lieutenant’s face, deciding if her new acquaintance was telling her everything she knew. “Any leads on my painting?”
“No, sorry.” She shifted in her seat. “Did you insure it recently?”
“Yeah, I did, Lieutenant. But I expect you knew that already. It was in effect yesterday. Which is why I had an appointment with Charles to take it home. But don’t get any ideas. I don’t intend to file a claim. I need the Degas back. My cousin’s furious. I’m afraid she’ll turn me into a toad if it’s gone.”
Lieutenant Sharma laughed. “We think Charles likely told more people than Gannon Ferris that he had an original Degas in the office. A painting worth that much could drum up a lot of interest.” She swallowed the last of her ale.
Sloane considered this line of inquiry. “I don’t know. Charles liked to party in Victoria, specifically in Chinatown. But I got the sense from Gannon that Charles only hung out with him.”
Rose returned and set down their dinner plates. “Our special for the night. Enjoy Lieutenant Sharma. Sloane.”
The lieutenant looked up with an air of confidence not evident earlier. “Thank you. And call me Veena.”
“Okay. Veena. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She watched intently as Rose stopped to speak with other guests. And Sloane had an overwhelming desire to yank the lieutenant’s head back to center.
“You can call me Veena, too,” she said, finally returning her attention.
Sloane held her glass up. “Good to know.”
“Do you know Rose Keane well?” Veena asked.
“I wouldn’t say I know her well. We just met last week.” Sloane cut into her lamb. “Listen, back to the case. Did you contact Detective Jacobson?”
Veena nodded. “He said you don’t think Harold was an innocent bystander in a shooting meant for you.”
“Yeah. And that’s one line of inquiry. But Morris didn’t know Harold or me. He had a Nighthawk with a silencer and pictures of us on his person and nothing else. What does that say to you?”
“That he was a hired gun.” Veena paused. “Detective Jacobson didn’t mention any photos.”
Sloane sat silent. “He didn’t see them.”
“How’s that?”
“They got destroyed.”
“How?”
“They…disintegrated. And don’t ask me how. As for Morris, I’d never seen him before. And if I was his target, he would’ve shot me first.”
“Why?”
“I have a reputation.”
Veena stared at her, puzzled, and then she looked up and smiled widely.
Rose had returned. “How is everything?”
“It’s the best I’ve ever had,” Veena said.
Sloane smirked. “It’s good. Compliments to Chef.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him.” Rose brushed her hand across Sloane’s shoulder, her fingertips lingering before pulling away.
“Okay. I’ll keep an open mind about the employer angle. What information do you have for me?” Veena asked.
“Another motive. Someone hired Morris to kill Harold and me for money.” She wanted to say more. But what would Veena do with the information that Morris’s employer also conspired with an ancient Demon to end her family’s coven?
“And I suspected Charles of Harold’s murder because he owed a large debt to Gannon Ferris. I was wrong. But he wasn’t the only one with a financial motive.” Sloane filled her in about the land the family friends held in common.
Veena was intrigued. “Why only kill Charles? Why not take you out?”
“Too risky? One botched attempt on my life was too many?”
Veena nodded and pushed her empty plate forward. “Do you have any solid evidence that any of those four family businesses were in trouble?”
Sloane scoffed. “It’s not like I can walk into a bank here and ask for someone’s financials.”
“You’re right. But I can run them.” Veena scooted her chair from the table and opened her wallet. “You haven’t given me much to go on. But I’ll look into it.”
Sloane waved away her money. “Dinner’s on me. Just let me know what their wills say when you find them.”
“Sure. How about over dinner here again?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Veena went to the bar and shook Ken’s hand. Then she waited by an old wood pillar in the middle of the dining room. When Rose returned from the kitchen, she stopped her. They spoke, and Rose nodded politely, then shook her head. Veena pulled out a business card, handed it to her, and left the pub.
Sloane watched Rose pick up a tray of drinks from the bar. There was a gracefulness to her movements. She was mesmerizing. A few minutes later, Rose placed a whiskey on Sloane’s table and sat in Veena’s seat. “What was tonight all about?”
“Charles’s murder.”
“Okay.” Rose smiled. “She’s not as perceptive as you. That’s for sure. She asked me out.”
Sloane chuckled. “You can’t blame her for trying.”
Rose bit her lip. “I’m going to take a five-minute break. Meet me in the back of the Inn. I have some information for you.” Her voice was serious, and she stood and walked away abruptly. She held up a hand to Ken and disappeared into the back. Sloane put cash into the check holder, downed the whiskey, and walked up the stairs to the street above.
Rose stood underneath a metal staircase on the side of the building.
“Hey. What did you find out?” Sloane asked, leaning her back against a metal pole.
“It’s about my mother. I know she’s screwing me over. But she’s not a murderer. She was at home on Friday, after you saw her at Oscar’s. Dad and I knew. I was just pissed that we were so busy. But it wasn’t her fault. The weather changed.” She hesitated. “It gave her a migraine. She can’t bear the light of day when she gets one. And she doesn’t like people knowing her business.”
“Did she call you from home? Did you call her there?” Sloane studied Rose’s face. She seemed troubled.
“She didn’t have to. Trust me. I know she was home.”
“All right. I trust you.”
“Thank you.” Rose relaxed. “I better get back. Why don’t I hire you a ride home?”
“Aw, now you’re worried about me, huh? Like you said, if anything’s out there, it needs to be more afraid of me.”
“I was talking about myself, not you.”
“Trust me. The same applies to me.” Sloane pushed off the pole, and they stood face-to-face.
Rose’s eyes had a look of longing that sent a surge of heat through Sloane’s body, spreading from deep inside to her core. She encircled her arms around Rose’s lower back and drew her body closer, gently kissing Rose’s parted lips. Her legs trembled, her body ached with arousal. But she made the soft kiss linger, stroked Rose’s back, untucking her T-shirt.
The touch of Sloane’s hands against her bare flesh made Rose moan. And their kiss turned deep, hungry, a pent-up release of intense attraction. Sloane slid her hand up, fingering Rose’s bra strap, sliding her hand underneath, cupping Rose’s breast.
Rose groaned and slipped her mouth down the side of Sloane’s neck. She nipped and kissed her way down to her collarbone. Sloane groaned and stumbled backwards against the pole. “Careful, West,” Rose whispered, her voice husky. She lightly kissed her on the forehead. “I have to go back. This moment will stay with me for a long time.” She delicately pulled the back of Sloane’s hair, exposing her neck for one more nip. “I want you, to fully have you. Please be careful getting home.”