I glanced around again, but the path of scuffed snow ended here. I still didn’t see anyone, so I set my Ice gun down on the ground and searched the dead man. He wasn’t carrying a wallet or a phone, and he didn’t have so much as a stick of gum tucked in the pockets of his jeans.
He did have a gun, though.
The weapon was nestled in the right pocket of his black overcoat, but it was just a simple revolver. There was nothing special or noteworthy about the gun, other than its cheesy pearl grip, which would have been right at home in that noir detective book I’d finished reading earlier. But the weapon, along with the lack of identification and any personal effects, practically screamedHello! Criminal here! I don’t want to be identified if I get captured or killed!
I used the sleeve of my robe to hold the gun out so I could take a picture of it with my phone, then slid it back into the guy’s coat pocket. I also propped him back up the way I’d found him and took several photos of his face. Maybe one of my friends would be able to tell me who this guy was and, more important, who had sent him here.
My money was on Clyde O’Neal, especially given our little run-in at Underwood’s earlier, but the dead guy could have worked for any number of underworld bosses. Or maybe he’d been an entrepreneur, a solitary burglar trolling through Northtown looking for a mansion to rob and not caring if he had to shoot the owner in the process. No way to tell for sure.
By this point, I’d been outside for the better part of an hour, and the late-winter chill had chapped my cheeks, snaked through my robe, and plunged down into my boots. I might be an elemental, but I’d had enough of the cold for one night, so I grabbed my Ice gun off the ground and got to my feet.
I thought about calling Xavier, Bria Coolidge’s partner on the police force, but it was late, and I didn’t want to interrupt his night, especially since nothing bad had actually happened, at least not to me. The dead guy certainly wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to leave him in the woods.
Still, as I trudged through the trees and headed back toward the mansion, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was out here.
Someone who was very much alive—and watching me.
ChapterFour
I returned to bed,although every faintcreakof the mansion settling and every softcrackof an icicle plunging off the roof made me get up and peek out the windows again, wondering if more guys with guns were creeping around my backyard. But nothing happened, and I finally managed to get a few hours of fitful sleep. By the time I got up, took a shower, and dressed, it was almost ten o’clock in the morning.
I should have grabbed a blueberry granola bar and gone straight to work, but I kept wondering if the dead guy might have dropped something or left some other clue behind that I’d missed in the dark. So I donned a royal-blue fleece jacket, along with matching gloves, and a toboggan topped with a poofy, jaunty ball, grabbed an Ice gun, and tromped back out into the woods. I rounded the fallen log, my gaze zooming over to where I’d found the body—
The dead guy was gone.
I frowned, wondering if I was in the right spot, but bloodstains dotted the snow in front of the fallen log, looking like scarlet berries encased in the ice. The mystery man had definitely been here last night, and he had most definitely been dead, which meant one troubling thing.
Someone had moved him.
But who? And why? And when?
I scanned the ground, and I finally noticed something new: drag marks. Deep grooves cut through the snow and underlying leaves, as though someone had grabbed the dead guy by his arms and hauled him away. Curious, and more than a little wary, I followed the marks, which led even deeper into the woods.
The grooves churned through the snow and leaves for several hundred feet before the trees gave way to a grassy shoulder and then a two-lane road. The drag marks stopped at the edge of the pavement, indicating that someone had put the dead guy into a vehicle and driven away with him.
My questions remained the same: who, why, and when?
But standing by the side of the road wasn’t doing me any good, so I decided to go someplace where I might get some answers.
I returned to the mansion, grabbed my purse and gear for the day, and left. Thirty minutes later, I parked my car on one of the downtown side streets and walked around the block to my destination. An enormous sign of a pig holding a platter of food hovered over a brick storefront, inviting folks to come on inside and get something to eat. Even out here on the sidewalk, a mouthwatering mix of cumin, black pepper, and other spices seasoned the air, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.
I pulled the door open, and a silver bell merrily chimed out my arrival. Heat blasted over my body, but I welcomed the cozy warmth, given the chilly air outside. Blue and pink vinyl booths lined the storefront windows, while matching blue and pink pig tracks snaked across the floor. Tables and chairs squatted in the middle of the open space, and a long counter lined with stools ran along the back wall. Everything looked the same as always, and the familiar furnishings comforted me, especially given the dead guy’s disappearing act earlier this morning.
The Pork Pit was one of the most popular restaurants in Ashland, due to its great food, its reasonable prices, and the notoriety of its owner, Gin Blanco. Since Gin was on vacation, the crowd was quite a bit smaller than usual, and I didn’t see any underworld bosses chowing down on a barbecue pork sandwich or sipping a sweet iced tea at one of the booths or tables. Good. I didn’t want an audience for this visit.
I strode over to the counter and sat down on a stool next to a fifty-something man with gray hair and eyes and bronze skin. He was wearing a tailored gray suit with a matching shirt and striped tie, and his black wing tips gleamed as though he’d just polished them this morning. A mug of hot chocolate wisped up steam by his right elbow, and the rich, dark scent made my stomach rumble again.
“Hey, Lorelei.” Silvio Sanchez nodded at me, then went right back to looking at his tablet.
Silvio was Gin’s personal assistant, and I’d never seen him without some sort of electronic device in his hand. The vampire buried his nose in his phone and his tablet the way I did in a new auction catalog or a really good book.
A hand slapped a white paper napkin down onto the counter, and I glanced up to find a dwarf staring at me. She was a little over five feet tall, with a thick, muscled body. She looked to be around my age, early thirties, although I knew she was more than a hundred years old. Neon-blue streaks shimmered in her short black hair. The same neon-blue shadow and liner rimmed her black eyes, while dark blue gloss made her lips pop in her pale face. She was wearing a blue work apron patterned with tiny black skulls over a black T-shirt and matching jeans and boots.
“Hey, Lorelei. What can I get you?” Sophia Deveraux rasped in her low, cracked voice.
Sophia was the head cook and ran the Pork Pit whenever Gin was out doing dangerous, Spider-related things. Or on vacation, like she supposedly was right now. I had my doubts about that, though. Gin Blanco wasn’t the kind of person who could go somewhere and justrelax. Not with everything she’d been through over the years. Then again, I had the same problem relaxing myself.
“I’ll take a blackberry lemonade for starters,” I replied. “And perhaps a side of information.”
