“Copy,” T. Laine said. “But we need to get a coven to sit a circle around Hugo Ames’ house pronto and put a shield around thedeath and decay. It’s already spread and it’s working faster than the others. I can’t promise that it can be contained. If it reaches bedrock or a water table, we’re screwed.”
“Noted,” FireWind said. “I’ll make some calls.”
***
The null room was boring, but there was a box of donuts and three sandwiches on the table inside and the chairs were more comfortable than my previous experience. We also had Wi-Fi and chargers for our electronics so we could write our reports, work, eat, and get nullified all at once. Nullify. A good word for the process.
While we were in the portable null room trailer, Rick sent us a group text. I had missed my boss, or at least missed his input to cases. He didn’t go around with a stick up his backside like some bosses. His text said,County records: Hugo’s landlady lives near his house. When you get nullified, go talk to her.
“No rest for the wicked,” T. Laine said. She stretched her shoulders as if she wanted her shoulder blades to touch. She looked more and more tired. Yet there was a softness there that I hadn’t noticed while we were facing danger. And she was wearing a thin gold bracelet that was new. “Pretty bracelet,” I said.
T. Laine blushed and, attempting to sound offhand and casual, said, “Gonzales got it for me.” She held it out and I saw the five small green stones.
“Emeralds?” Emeralds were expensive.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice and expression going soft. “The card said, ‘Emeralds are called the Stones of Successful Love.’” She looked from the bracelet to me. “And flowers. Every week, he sends me flowers. I never had a man send me flowers before. He sent me a gift certificate for a massage. Can you believe it? A massage! What kind of guy thinks about that?”
A second text came through, this one from FireWind.LaFleur and Racer’s raid on Merry Promotions discovered that all boxes of T-shirts ordered for the tour were shipped before the tour. No one knows about a box delivered later, though one employee thinks there were overruns, none of which can befound. It is still feasible that Hugo applied magical energies to a box of shirts, delivered them after the start of the music tour, and set up the trigger when he positioned them in the swag room, then accidentally contaminated himself. However, all records indicate he never displayed the faintest hint of magic, and the figure delivering the shirts appears much smaller than Hugo’s records indicate.
All of which meant that Hugo, despite blackmailing one of Stella Mae’s lovers, was looking less likely to be Stella’s killer. We were back to square one.
***
An hour, a lot of paperwork, and a delicious sandwich later, we met briefly with FireWind and Racer, who had taken off her business jacket. Without the extra padding, she looked as if she had lost weight. She was razor-thin, a long, lean, muscular woman. I knew I didn’t need to join a gym to work out, but seeing her made me want to plow the garden or cut some wood. It was a quick meeting and we headed out to Hugo’s landlady’s house.
I strapped into my vehicle and reached for the start button. Occam, his long legs in tight black denim, got in beside me and placed the potted cabbage on his lap. “You okay, Nell, sugar?”
I tapped the car on and fiddled with the mirrors, thinking. “I know we’ve talked about this, but how did you adapt to becoming and being a wereleopard? Emotionally.”
Occam shrugged. “Children are adaptable. I was a rowdy boy one day and then I was a cat in a cage in a traveling carnival. I didn’t shift back, so I didn’t have a human brain or human grief patterns for twenty years or so. I know you’re still worried about Margot, but she smells fine. She’s adjusting to the effects the moon has on were-creature minds and bodies and spirits. And she isn’t alone.” He didn’t add, “Like I was.” He wouldn’t appreciate my pity, any more than Margot would.
“Have you three adapted to being a... a mini leap of leopards?”
Occam chuffed, much like his cat might. “We drew a little less blood last full moon. Our cats will work it out.” He glanced at me and said, “Don’t you worry your purdy li’l head about all that.”
“Worry my—humph. Put on your seat belt, cat-man,” I said, my voice a little too gruff. “I know you could survive a car crash by shifting into your leopard form, but there would still be blood all over my new upholstery.”
Giving me a scar-twisted grin, Occam strapped in. I started the car and pulled in behind T. Laine, following her to a house near Hugo’s place, a cute stone cottage that, from the outside, looked like four rooms, a front porch with stone arches, and a screened porch on one side.
A woman came out on the front porch and watched as we parked and walked to her. She was smoking, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. “I reckon you folks are here about the roadblock. What’s ol’ Hugo done now? Pissed off the sheriff? Run his mouth to the judge about paying alimony? Shouldn’ta been banging that li’l college girl, her and them dang horses.”
College girl? Horses?
The old woman laughed, her little belly bouncing. She looked to be in her mideighties, with skinny legs and ankles, a neck that was all tendons pulling up her chest and shoulders as she breathed. She was wearing a cotton dress in a tiny green plaid and a red wig that looked as if rats had nested in it. White curls stuck out at the back of the wig as if trying to escape. Her skin had a yellowed look, as did the whites of her eyes, and she had a belly shape that I thought might come from drinking. The reek of cigarettes and strong liquor wafted to us on the air. “Man can’t keep it in his pants, he deserves to pay alimony for a couple years. Right?”
We didn’t answer, just slowed our steps as we reached the porch.
“Honest to God,” she went on, “that man can be sweet as pie, but when he gets something in his teeth it’s either dangerous or stupid. And boinking that girl was stupid.”
T. Laine said, “I’m Special Agent T. Laine Kent, PsyLED. These are Special Agents Ingram and Occam. Are you Ethel Myer, landlady to Hugo Ames?”
“No foreplay? Yeah. I’m Ethel. And before you ask, no, you can’t come in unless you got a paper. So talk.”
“Fine,” T. Laine said. “What can you tell us about Hugo?”
“Only what the whole county knows. Everything he says is a lie. His wife kicked his ass out four months ago for diddlingaround. He rents month by month. He likes sports twenty-four/seven and Bud Lite by the case. Whole city knows he’ll screw anything that walks on two legs, but I wouldn’t limit it to that criteria. He owns that business that makes bowling trophies. He was born and raised in the county.” She smiled widely, showing surprisingly healthy teeth. “His mother is Tina Ames.”
The way she saidAmessuggested something different and derogatory. T. Laine’s body tightened, almost imperceptibly. “We’ve heard things about the family,” she said.
