I propped a foot on the counter and noticed that the slit in the side of my skirt went way, way up my thigh so I strapped my weapon on the other ankle, just above the black patent stiletto heels, last seen castrating horny guys at a truck stop. But they were the most suitable thing I had to wear with this dress. Combat boots just didn't cut it, nor did black-and-orange high-top Nikes. Besides, I didn't want to embarrass Black.
Peering in the mirror, I fiddled with my hair for a minute then decided to just brush it straight back like Black wore his. Black's hair gel was sitting there so I ran some through my hair. I had a pair of tiny diamond studs that Aunt Helen had given me a couple of years ago so I put those on. I looked down in dread at the Lancôme makeup kit Bud bought me two years ago for my birthday. I'd never opened it. Should I? Like I said, this was a fancy affair and I didn't want to embarrass Black. On the other hand, I didn't want to embarrass myself either, and slathering on a bunch of cosmetics was a good way to do it.
I opened it and picked out a tube of mascara. I coated my lashes, who probably wondered “What the hell?” Then I added some blush to my cheeks and a subdued shade of cinnamony lipstick. Holy crap, I hadn't worn this much makeup since that one prom date I had. I felt dumb, but I know Black would've done the same for me.
When I heard him let himself in downstairs, I picked up the shawl and draped it around my shoulders. I took one last, disgruntled look in the mirror and wondered who the hell that woman was. Black must've wondered the same thing when I started down the steps because he froze where he stood and stared at me.
“Good God, Claire.” He had on a tux and looked damn good in it, too. Then he said, “You look beautiful.”
“Yeah, right.”
I came the rest of the way downstairs and he said, “I hardly recognize you without your weapon.”
“Think again.” I lifted my skirt and revealed my sweet little gun.
“I should've known.”
“How was New York?”
“Okay. Come over here. I'm turned on.”
“I don't want you messing up my lipstick.”
“I can't promise something like that.”
He messed it up all right but that's okay. I had missed him, too. “Okay, Black, that's gonna have to do it for now. We can't be late. Charlie might be there.”
“As long as we can finish this up later.”
“Oh, one more thing.” I twirled around and showed him the purloined part of my gown, not wanting him to have a heart attack at the ball.
“Sweet Mary. Are you really going to wear that out in public?” But he was smiling. “I can't promise to keep my hands off you, not with that much naked skin showing.”
“Thus, the cashmere shawl.”
Black took it and draped it around my shoulders. I felt like we were in some lame soap opera.
“I think I like you dressed like this. Even better than your prostitute costume.”
“Flatterer.”
“You smell great, too.”
“That's your Irish Spring. I found it in the shower. C'mon, let's go. I hope you left the heater on in your car. They must've made this dress for hot-natured Brazilians.”
I picked up my sheriff's parka and draped it over my fancy getup. I wasn't going to freeze my buns off, just to show off my skimpy new dress.
I stepped outside my door and stopped in my tracks. “Awesome, Black.”
“Thought you'd like it.”
It was a new Humvee, black and chrome, big and butch. Not the new little ones now sold on car lots, but the huge original one used in Iraq and other battlegrounds. Black didn't do little.
“When did you get it?”
“I ordered it last week. They had to drive it down from South Bend. It'll come in handy in these hills. So you like it?”
“You kidding me?”
“Want to drive?”
“What do you think?”
He opened the driver's door, and I got in. The motor was running. A little screen showed where we wereâa frickin' GPS device. It looked like the cockpit of a Boeing 727. I love it. I want one.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Black said, sliding in the opposite side, which was pretty far away from me. The vehicle was big, I tell you.
“Can I have it?”
“Yes.”
Unfortunately, I think he was kidding. It drove like a car, a big, wide, macho car, just the kind I liked. I felt invincible. Except for my dress.
Dark Angels
It took the hunter three weeks to rot. They left him in the tree but went back to check on him every day. There was a search party out after him; they'd heard about it on the radio but the police concentrated on the national forest land where he always hunted. Uriel didn't feel bad about him, not even when he saw his wife and three little kids crying on television. The hunter shouldn't ever have broken the law and come onto Uriel's grandma's property, or he'd still be alive.
The older Uriel grew, the better he liked the woods. He and Gabriel had lots of money now, too, and they ordered a couple of Egyptian fat-tailed scorpions to raise and the most wonderful poisonous spiders from Australia that hid in water bubbles on the bottom of swimming pools so when somebody stepped on them, they'd bite and the victims would be dead in ten minutes. It was fun. They'd gotten some pit vipers from Africa and a pair of king cobras from India to breed, and a baby python they put in a pit in the cave to see how big it'd grow. It was wonderful learning about all these exotic creatures and how they killed people.
Gabriel supplied the money. He was dealing drugs now, to other kids and to some adult junkies, too. They never peddled in their own county but drove north or south along the Interstate and sold on playgrounds and alleyways near teenage hangouts. It was easy money, and it just came rolling in. Sometimes Gabriel and Uriel took drugs, too, before they went looking for people they could send to heaven. But they had to be careful and not get caught. As soon as Uriel was of age, they would kill his grandma so he could live in the house alone. It would be better for both of them. What kind of life did she have anyway, always sleeping in her bed? He already stashed some of his spiders in his room there. Even now, when his grandma was awake, she was afraid of Uriel. She'd drink her tea and go to her bedroom and lock her door and not come out. And that's the way Uriel liked it.
One night when they were in the cave together, dissecting the remains of the hunter with newly sharpened scalpels, they heard noises outside in the old hunting lodge above the cave. Terrified the police had found them out, they took their new Remington shotguns and crept through the tunnel to the trapdoor. Outside, they could hear loud heavy-metal music. People were laughing and talking and yelling at each other.
“Ssh, Uriel. You can't make a sound,” Gabriel whispered, putting one forefinger to his lips. He climbed the short ladder and slid the inside bolt, then he lifted the trapdoor and peered stealthily into the boiler room. It was empty. The noises were coming from the other end of the lodge. They eased through the trapdoor and tiptoed outside. It was well after midnight but they could see a light flickering inside one room. They inched around to where they could see about half a dozen kids drinking booze and smoking pot.
“We need to kill them, right, Gabriel?” Uriel whispered, his heart beginning to race with excitement.
Gabriel said, “Sure, if you want to.”
“Oh, I want to. Let's put 'em in the pit with some timber rattlers.”
Gabriel laughed. “You're sure gettin' to be a bloodthirsty little thing, Uriel. Let's go. They got no idea they're gonna die tonight. This's gonna be fun.”
A minute later they jumped out together and said, “Boo!” All the kids stopped what they were doing and stared at them. One girl had already passed out from booze or drugs, or maybe both. She lay on her back in the middle of the floor with her arms flung out.
“You're trespassing on my property,” Gabriel yelled. “Get your hands up!”
A tall, skinny boy in a camo jacket stood up. His voice was slurred. “Hey, man, we ain't hurtin' nothing. We just wanted a place to get high and party. We ain't from around here. We got a rock band, man, and we're hitchin' the rails out to L. A. to get discovered. We followed this river from the tracks lookin' for a place to swim and get high. We'll be outta here in the mornin'.”
“Don't worry,
man
, we're gettin' ready to have the coolest party you ever been to. Right, Uriel?”
“Right.”
“Who're you guys?” That was a girl. She stepped out into the firelight. She was pretty, little bitty with thick, curly dark hair and black eyes. She inhaled deeply on a joint and blew out smoke and said, “We don't want no trouble. C'mon, relax, man, be cool, smoke a little weed. We got plenty.”
Gabriel said, “Smoking pot's illegal. You're breakin' the law when you come out here and do this kinda stuff. God's not gonna like it. He's gonna punish you for this.”
The boy dressed in camo stepped back. “Hey, man, chill, have some fun.”
Gabriel laughed. “You want us to have some fun? Okay, watch this.”
He pulled the trigger, and the double barrels blasted the skinny kid in his chest and sent him crashing backward. He slid slowly down the wall to the floor in a lifeless heap, trailing blood smears all the way down. The other kids jumped up and tried to run, screaming and yelling, and Gabriel and Uriel opened fire, shouting scripture and shooting like angels bringing down hell and brimstone, killing in a wild, heady, reckless murder rampage that lasted at least five minutes if you counted the reloading. They were panting afterward, splattered with blood and gore and breathing in the cordite smoke that hovered in clouds around the small room.
Uriel turned to Gabriel. His voice was hoarse. “I thought we were gonna use the rattlers on some of them.”
Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. The excited, happy sound rang into the still night and reverberated high in the surrounding trees. “Hell, Uriel, there's plenty more where they came from. All we gotta do is go find them.”
Uriel laughed, too, because it was just so true. So very simple. The world was just full of people they could send to heaven. And he and Gabriel were angels, true angels doing God's work. God wouldn't ever let them get caught. He remembered a prayer his mom used to say. “God is great, God is good.”
“If any of 'em's still alive, we'll try out some poisons or put 'em in with the snakes, if that's what you want. The dead ones can go in those black trash bags I brought yesterday. We'll hoist them way up in the trees and use 'em for target practice. Nobody's gonna ever think of looking way out here. They're runaways, anyway. Who's gonna give a damn about them?”
“When can we go get some more runaways, Gabriel?”
Gabriel looked at Uriel. “Man alive, kid, you're gettin' to be worse than me, and that's sayin' something. I do believe I've created a monster.”
They laughed together as they dragged the bodies outside and stuffed them in trash bags. There was one girl who wasn't quite dead yet. She was shot in the stomach and legs and bleeding all over the place so Uriel pulled her by her feet to the boiler room so he wouldn't get blood on his new Levi's. Excited, he jerked up the trapdoor and shoved her over the edge. She fell to the ground below and thudded like a hundred-pound sack of potatoes.
He and Gabriel jumped down beside her, and the girl groaned when Gabriel grabbed her hair and dragged her down the shaft toward the main cavern. She was half conscious now, and they hauled her to the far side of the spring where they'd dug the rattlesnake pit. The bottom was writhing with dozens of them.
Gabriel said, “Hey! Hey, girl, wake up! We got another big surprise for you. Throw some water on her, Uriel, so she can enjoy this as much as we do.” He laughed, his eyes alight with cruel anticipation.
Uriel dipped up a cup of water out of the spring and sloshed it into her face. She sputtered and opened pain-glazed eyes.
“You like snakes, little girl?” Gabriel asked her. “We got some real nice ones for you to play with.”
He lifted her head so she could see down into the pit then took his foot and kicked her bodily into the snake pit. Startled by the intrusion, several rattlers began striking at her, over and over, and the girl gave one real terrible scream and tried to crawl away, but then she lay still. The snakes stopped striking after a while, and Gabriel looked at Uriel.
“Oh, well, she didn't last long enough. Next time, though, we won't shoot her first. Then we can figure out how long it takes rattlers to kill a woman.”
Uriel looked down at the girl and the way the snakes were crawling all over her and couldn't help wondering who she was and where she was from.
TWENTY
The Dome of the Cave Academy for the Gifted's parking lot was jammed packed with cars, mostly Mercedes, BMWs, and Lexus models. We were the only full-size Humvee. Jesus had provided valet parking, in the person of one Willie Vines. He looked at me like I was an alien but he looked at the Humvee like it was a naked Jessica Simpson. He drove off, grinning big and sitting up straight, probably wishing the kids in the cafeteria could see him now.
Once I stepped inside, I was pretty glad to have on a new dress after I saw the getups some of the ladies had on. It was quite the social affair, it seemed, despite two grisly murders of the staff, or maybe nobody else gave as good a New Year's party as Jesus H. Johnstone. Or maybe they were serving filet mignon and that's why people showed up. I really, really hated the way the stilettos were killing my feet. At least on the stroll, I got to bust people. Black kept a firm grip on my elbow, probably afraid my shawl might slip off.
“Wow.” The gymnasium had been transformed into a magical playground for the rich, even better than most senior proms. Dozens of Christmas trees and tiny sparkling lights, with shiny gold and silver and red fabric draped everywhere. Tables with white damask cloths and red candles and white-coated waiters moving efficiently among the elaborately dressed crowd.
“Food smells good,” I commented when my stomach growled in an obvious play for attention.
“It is. We catered it.”
“No joke. Five Cedars?”
“That's right. Johnstone's buttering me up for another big contribution.”
“No wonder. This is the gymnasium that Nicholas Black built, if I recall.”
Black handed off his invitation and was immediately identified by the doorkeepers as Mr. Big Donor, scraping and bowing required. It was fun to watch. They led us personally and with lots of smiles to a large round table directly in front of the podium. I looked around for Bud and his new gal pal and found him waving at me from a small table near the bathrooms, one probably reserved for police officers with the audacity to mingle with the elite. No sign of Charlie. I figured he wouldn't show up.
“There's Bud and his date. Okay if they sit with us?”
Black nodded and waved his hand at the nearest kow-tower. “I have some friends I'd like to have sit here at my table,” he said in his best I'm-the-glory-of-the-universe diction.
“Yes sir, Dr. Black. That will be no problem at all, sir.”
I motioned to Bud with an unladylike but detective-like arm jerk. He came rushing over, his new shopgirl in tow. Unfortunately, he also had my psychic nemesis in tow, too. Black stood politely for Miss Finland. Out of curiosity I watched to see if he was looking at her Pamela Anderson display of bare, jiggling cleavage above her dark-blue gown. I noticed Joe the Psychic kept undue attention on my bare back. Black noticed, too, and eyed McKay in unfriendly fashion.
“Maybe you should leave the shawl on,” Black whispered in my ear. “Men are starting to drool into their soup.”
“Right.”
Fin, a.k.a. Brianna, smiled winsomely at me. Oh my gosh, did I just say winsomely? It must be the dress and the mascara. She said, “You look lovely, Ms. Morgan. I knew you would. You made the right choice.”
“Yeah, but you should've told me it didn't have a back sewn on it.”
She laughed, a tinkling sound that I never could figure out how women made. If I laughed, and usually I didn't, mine just sounded like ha ha ha ha. Not exactly musical. Definitely not tinkling. I wondered if she practiced getting that kind of sound. Laughed scales, or something.
I leaned close and whispered, “Keep your eyes open tonight, Bud. If anyone we've interviewed acts suspicious, let me know. He might pull something here, for the effect.”
Beside me, Black said, “I don't believe we've met.” He was speaking to Psychic Joe.
When he stretched out his hand to shake, I said, “Watch it, Black, he's a psychic. He might have a vision and tell you you're going to die next Friday, or something.”
Black looked at me as if he thought I was being rude. Imagine.
“I'll take my chances. I'm Nick Black.”
“Joe McKay.” I watched the guy closely to see if he got a shocked or revolted expression on his face when they shook hands. Not that I really believed he could see into the future, but I still felt better when he didn't look horrified or anything. He only smiled and made some inane small talk with Black. At that point I realized he, too, had on a tuxedo, which was a real shockaroo. He was definitely not a Tuxedo Tom type. His long hair was pulled back low on his nape in a blond ponytail that really emphasized his high cheekbones and long-lashed eyes. He looked handsome. But so had Ted Bundy.
Black said, “I understand that Charlie asked you to help Claire with a case.”
“That's right. The detective here isn't too thrilled with the idea, though. So now my services are no longer required.”
He smiled straight at me, just so everybody knew which detective he meant. Black took my hand and held it. He might as well have stamped his name on my forehead and hung a sign around my neck that said
KEEP OFF, PSYCHICS
. I reclaimed my hand and independence.
I said, “Sorry. I've just never given much credence to ESP and that clairvoyance mumbo jumbo. I rely on good, thorough police work.”
Joe McKay kept smiling. “I agree with you.”
So now we were on the same side of the fence, best buddies, huh? “Know what, McKay? Funniest thing. I found a great big hideous tarantula crawling around in my house. Know what else? It showed up not long after you paid me that friendly, warn-off visit.”
Everybody at the table stared at me, then turned their eyes in tandem to Joe. He tried to look as surprised as they did. “You found a tarantula in your house?”
“Yep. Sure did. You put it there?”
“No, ma'am. Wouldn't have any reason to do that.”
“Not even if it made your visions about my future come true?”
“I don't have to make them come true. In your case, I hope to God they don't.”
Black frowned. “What visions?”
“I told her the other night that I saw her in danger. I saw her in the hospital. Pretty bad off, too. That's why I went out to her house. I wanted to tell her she better be very careful.”
“And I told him all his visions already happened, last summer.”
Bud said, “What kind of danger did you see her in?”
Luckily Jesus chose that moment to step to the podium and adjust the microphone. “Good evening. I want to welcome each and every one of you and wish you a happy New Year. It's wonderful to see such a fantastic turnout. Thank you so much for coming.”
His delight and pleasure suddenly metamorphosed into sad and sorrowful. “However, it's a sad occasion for those of us who work here at the academy. As I'm sure you know by now, we've lost two of our staff members recently. Both Simon Classon and Christie Foxworthy were wonderful, wonderful people, great friends to all of us. They will be sorely missed.” He paused, for effect, no doubt. “Now I'd like you to stand and join me for a moment of silence to honor their memories and their great contributions to this academy.”
Everybody stood and listened to the caterers in the kitchen yell around and clatter dishes. Somebody ought to clue them in on the seriousness of the moment. At least no Classon haters threw ripe tomatoes at his portrait where it was displayed on an easel at the middle of the stage. Christie Foxworthy's picture sat beside it. It looked like her high school senior picture. Huge sprays of white roses sat in front of them. I wondered what the people around me would say if they knew the details of how they'd died. I saw a couple of reporters, whispering together at the edge of the stage. Uh-oh. Questions were not far behind.
The director was back, enough already for the two tortured murder victims that everyone liked so much. “Thank you, and now, everyone, please be seated and enjoy your dinner. We'll have a short program after the dessert course, and then the orchestra will provide music for dancing and the bar is already open. Again, happy New Year!”
So much for Simon and Christie. When Jesus said a minute of silence, he meant exactly sixty seconds. Richard Johnstone sat down and I had to admit he looked better in a tuxedo than his snowy suit. I guess any man does. I had expected him to wear white tails and a matching top hat with his sandals. Across the table, McKay was staring a hole through me.
I said, “May I help you or are you just being your typical rude self?”
He smiled, annoying me more and looking me up and down like I was a Kmart Blue-Light Special. “I was just wondering if Dr. Black would allow me a dance before the night is over.”
I said, “I'm sure he'd love to dance with you.”
Bud and Fin laughed. So did Black and McKay. I guess I was pretty funny tonight. Black wasn't saying much. I had a feeling he'd lapsed into psychiatrist observation mode. It rather irked me when he said, “Tell me about your activities with police investigations, Mr. McKay. It sounds like fascinating work.”
“I don't usually discuss my work.”
Black said, “Why not?”
“Because the cops usually ask me not to. In addition to that, I figure it impugns the privacy of the victims and their families.”
Wow, the psychic uses big words, and everything.
“I suspect you don't mouth off about your cases, either, Detective,” he added, turning to me.
Before I could think up a smart-ass answer, Black changed the subject. “Bud, I compliment your taste on Claire's dress. It's perfect for her.”
“Can we please give talking about this dress a rest?” I said. I certainly was in a rude mood. Maybe because I was really, really uncomfortable all dressed up like Gwyneth Paltrow or somebody going to the Oscars. I decided to play nice for a while.
So we all lapsed into some nice, polite, chatty chitchat, and I did have to admit that the food was fantastic. Chateaubriand, no less, and wine and oysters Rockefeller. Just the normal college-dorm fare. The academy had to be paying out the nose for this kind of food, especially if it came from Black's hotel. Apparently, the community backed this place big-time. Nearly everybody in the joint stopped at our table to pass pleasantries with Black, or in other words, suck up. They all stared at me and wished I had on a low-cut gown so they could see the big, ugly meat cleaver scar that got so much publicity last summer. Good thing I didn't get many knives in the back or I'd have to wear a muumuu.
Bud and Fin were getting along great. Psychic Man sat quietly, probably wishing he had a date, too. When he remained pleasant and unobtrusive, pretty much ignoring me, I decided to see if I could probe into his past a bit.
“So, McKay, how long you been back at the lake?”
“About a month.”
“And where did you say you lived before that?”
“I didn't.”
“Mind if I come out and search your house?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Do I need one?”
Black interjected. “Let's dance, Claire.”
“I don't know how.”
“I'll teach you.”
He pulled me up and led me out onto the dance floor with one hand taking liberties down my naked back. “You might want to lay off the guy a little.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your hostility to him is palpable. Comes off you in hot waves, like equatorial sand.”
“I'm not hostile to him.”
He took me in his arms, and I tried to walk around with him in a fairly good pretense of dancing. “Yes, you are. Remember what I always told you when I was your suspect, and you were treating me like crap? You catch more flies, you know.”
“He's involved, Black. In fact, I think he probably did it. I just can't prove it yet. There're too many coincidences. He shows up all of a sudden for a home visit, and I find a big hairy tarantula at my house. I take offense to that, big time.”
“Then investigate him but don't get emotionally involved.”
I looked up at him. I'm tall but he's over six foot. “
You're
telling me that? You tried every trick in the book to hook up with me when you were a suspect.”
“Yeah, and thank you, but don't do it again.” He was watching the people at our table. “I think I'll get John Booker to dig a little deeper into McKay's past and see what he turns up.”
Booker was Black's private detective and old army buddy. Black had paid him to check up on me once upon a time. Because of that, I don't care much for the guy, but he's good at his job, I'd give him that much. And I would love to pry into Mr. Clairvoyance's background. Then I spied Psychic talking to Jesus. When they both threaded their way together toward the kitchen, I said. “Listen, Black, there goes McKay and Johnstone. I'm going to see what they're up to. Cover for me until I get back. Tell everyone that I've gone to the ladies' room.”
“Be careful.”
“Right.”
While Black returned to the table, I wound my way through dancing couples and found the cafeteria door hidden behind a gauzy panel and tiny white lights. I ducked through it and found about twenty people preparing fancy plates with luscious looking chocolate cake dribbled with cherry sauce. I hoped Black remembered to grab me a big piece. There was no sign of my prey. Where'd they disappear to so fast? More important, what were they up to? I took my time snooping around the building without much luck, then walked around the edge of the cooking commotion to the hallway that led to Willie Vines's office. There was something about the kid that made me nervous, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I found him sitting at his scarred desk reading a book, his valet duties suspended until midnight.