I shook my head. “Nick isn’t—wasn’t—exactly what you’d call an international man of mystery.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He was a regular guy, you know? He worked in the sales department of a small business that specializes in commercial carpeting, office buildings and whatnot. His life was basically work and sometimes the gym or a few beers with friends. Video games. Frisbee golf. He wasn’t a guy who garnered a lot of enemies. At least, not that I know of.”
I hoped my statement sounded bland but rational enough tomake Officer Dodds scratch me—and Robert, too, though I doubted he even believed that I knew him—off the list of potential suspects. The last thing I needed was for my life to be at the center of a police investigation, especially now that I had the VGO and their demands for my blood to contend with.
I watched the other officers by the fountain. They didn’t seem to be interacting with any civilians, other than occasionally telling them to back up. It appeared I was the only one being interviewed.
I said, “Don’t you haveanywitnesses?”
Officer Dodds peered at me suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s odd that Nick was murdered in such a public place, yet nobody saw a thing. Don’t you think?”
Odd if the killer was human. Not so odd if they were vampire.
The officer agreed. Itwasodd.
Eventually, he asked, “You mentioned earlier that your ex had something of yours. You were meeting him to get it back, correct?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“What did he have?”
I considered lying, but I needed to get those damn fangs back for Robert. How was I going to explain them, though?
After hesitating, I began, “This is embarrassing, and it’s going to sound weird . . .”
The officer shifted uncomfortably, like he was worried I was going to disclose something in the realm of Too Much Information—naked photos, perhaps, or a long-lost sex toy. “Go on.”
“Back when Nick and I were together, we took a road trip through Arizona and New Mexico along old Route 66. You know, to buy turquoise souvenirs and visit Native American villages? We were looking to absorb some culture.”
The part about the Route 66 tour was true. However, theonly “culture” Nick had been interested in involved the little green men he’d hoped to spot in the stars above New Mexico.
I continued, “We stopped at this tiny tourist trap where a shaman did an aura reading to find our spirit animals.”
“Come again?”
“Our spirit animals,” I said, thinking,Where are you coming up with this?“It’s the animal that represents you in an altered consciousness, like on an astral plane.”
That was right, wasn’t it? I had no idea, but it sounded good.
“Right,” Officer Dodds commented, though his tone said: Okay, fruitcake.
“Anyway, my spirit animal was a—” What had fangs? “—wolf.”
I provided him a faraway smile that contained a hint of melancholy.Ah, the bittersweet memories of a made-up stop at the made-up tourist trap to see a made-up shaman.
“So, your ex had . . . what did he have of yours? A wolf painting? A stuffed animal?” the officer asked impatiently. The look on his face told me that he was in no mood for a rambling story.
“Close,” I said. “They were actual wolf fangs.”
He frowned.
“Don’t worry, they were cruelty free. They’d come off a mamma wolf who’d died giving birth.” Soon, I’d need a shovel for all the bullshit I was throwing.
“Why are these wolf fangs so important to you? They must be since you made a special trip here to get them.”
