Obsidian Curse (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Five) Read online

  Blade said, “Well…”

  Yvonne looked at him as if the cheese had slid off his cracker. She parked a hand on her hip. “Well, what?”

  He shrugged. “They’re my fans. What could it hurt?”

  Yvonne slapped him upside the head. “It could hurt sales, you nitwit.” She coughed.

  “We won’t leak it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Shannon purred. She danced her fingers up Blade’s arm.

  “See. They won’t leak it,” Blade said to Yvonne.

  The agent pulled her author aside and said through gritted teeth, “Do you honestly want to show these people your WIP before your beta readers even see it? Hell, I haven’t even read it. What if it sucks?”

  Blade looked hurt. Shannon swooped in to massage his ego.

  “Oh, I doubt that very much. Blade’s a master at his craft,” she said.

  Blade tightened his collar. “She has faith in me.”

  Yvonne sneezed and threw up her hands. “I give up. I’m going to bed. Do what you want.”

  Blade watched as Yvonne ascended the stairs. When she was gone, he turned to the group with the enthusiasm of a kid who just popped his first wheelie. “Be right back.”

  We all watched Blade bound up the stairs and turn the corner.

  Birdie said, “Shannon, that was impressive.”

  Shannon clapped her hands and looked at me.

  “I would have thought of it eventually,” I said.

  Birdie jabbed my ribs with her elbow.

  “Just kidding. Good job with the author.”

  Shannon’s face lit up.

  “Bad job losing Monique,” I said.

  Her face deflated.

  Birdie gave me a hard look.

  “Hey, I’m just using your tough-love approach, Birdie.”

  The woman never let me slide on a mistake. Never.

  “That’s because I expect more out of you.” She smirked.

  “Stop doing that. Stop reading my mind.”

  It was nearly eleven o’clock when Blade came back down the stairs. I had a big day tomorrow, so I said good night to everyone, called to Thor, and left out the back door with my bag slung over my shoulder.

  The night sky was clouded and dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen of my cottage, only it wasn’t the one I had left on. I pulled my Taser out and motioned to Thor. He slinked around to the side of the door and waited for my signal.

  I tested the knob. The door was unlocked. Another thing I hadn’t done. Didn’t ever do.

  Slowly, I pushed the door, Taser in hand, Thor at the ready.

  The cottage was quiet.

  Then I heard movement. I kicked the door as hard as I could and hit something on the other side.

  “Ouch! Son of a…”

  “Chance?”

  I pocketed the Taser and peeked around the door. My man was holding his nose with both hands. A slow trickle of blood dripped down, splashing his tee shirt with red splotches.

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry!”

  I ran into the bathroom for a towel and dampened it. Ran back out and tried to gently dab Chance’s wound.

  He held up his hand. “It’s okay, Barbarella. I got it.”

  He sat down on the couch and tried to stop the bleeding.

  Thor walked over and put his head in Chance’s lap, explaining that he had nothing to do with it. He was just following orders.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Fixing your window.” He pulled the towel away. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll get some ice.”

  I put a handful of ice in another towel and handed it to him.

  He thanked me and put it to his nose.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t see your truck. I thought maybe someone broke in.”

  “I had a couple of beers with Caleb, so I walked. Dropped the window off earlier today. I wanted to surprise you.” He gave a wry smile. “Surprise.”

  “That was really sweet. Thank you.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. After a while, he pulled the towel away. “Look, Stacy, I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t even mention it. We both got carried away.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s really not okay. I’ve been stressed out and I’m not myself and I acted like a jackass.”

  “Hey, everyone does once in a while. What’s got you stressed? What did you do today?”

  He gave me a funny look. “I told you. Just work. That committee. Oh, and I gave a girl a ride who was stranded.”

  I wanted to ask, What projects? Where are you working? Who’s on the committee? But I thought that would be too much too fast. So I worked backwards.

  “Oh? What girl?”

  “I think she said her name was Daphne. Works at Tony’s auto shop.”

  Bingo. That tartlet just made the top of my list. Lesbian, my ass.

  “So the committee is going well?”

  “That’s done. Next time I see those guys will be at the reunion.”

  Guys? Did that mean men, or was he speaking figuratively?

  “So who all was on it?”

  “I think the only one you know is Monique. The rest were earlier classes.”

  I nodded. “So. What about the projects?”

  He shrugged. “Couple of remodels. Everybody wants everything done yesterday.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  He looked at me and his eyes darkened. “What’s with the third degree?”

  “Nothing.” I smiled. “Just making conversation.”

  He patted my knee and stood. “Well, I’m beat. I’ll see you later.”

  I stood too.

  Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

  “Why don’t you stay?”

  Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

  He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder. “I need to sleep in my own bed. Plus, you’ve got a lot going on with that author.”

  “I’ll always make time for you,” I said, stepping closer.

  “Maybe we should take a little time for ourselves.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Say no, say no, say no.

  “Yes. Just for a few days. I just really need some downtime.”

  “Okay,” I said, choking back a tear.

  He put his finger under my chin and lifted it up. I met his eyes.

  “Hey, I just need rest, that’s all. Don’t go all girly on me and read too much into it. Okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  He grabbed his coat. “Besides. It’ll give you more time to work on kicking down doors.”

  I gave a small laugh.

  “I’ll pick you up for the reunion.”

  He kissed my cheek and left.

  And for the second time that week, I was sure I was losing the only man I ever loved. The only man I ever needed.

  “Come back to me, Chance,” I whispered.

  Chapter 32

  Before I went to bed, I tried to contact Cinnamon’s father, but nothing, not even the locket, worked to call him forward. There was just too much on my mind to focus properly, so I shut the light off in the Seeker’s Den.

  As I did so, the scrying mirror chimed and I hurried to answer the call.

  It was my mother on the line. Again.

  She fizzled into view and I read the worry on her face immediately. “Honey, I heard about what’s happening. Are you all right?”

  It made me wonder if she had known. If that’s what had been bothering her these past few weeks.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s under control and Birdie called in the cavalry.”

  This seemed to relieve her a little bit.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Listen, sweetheart, I’l
l be out of town for a few days so I won’t be in contact.”

  I was glad to hear that. Not that I didn’t enjoy talking to her, but my plate was so full, it was about to crack.

  “All right. Anything important?”

  She flicked her eyes away as if she was looking at someone else in the room. “No. Just a getaway for two.”

  “Well, you and Pearce have fun.”

  Pearce was my mother’s boyfriend. He had protected her all those years she was locked away for her crime, and they had fallen hopelessly in love.

  We said our good-byes and disconnected the call. I locked up the den and the cottage and fell into bed utterly exhausted.

  The alarm sounded far too early for my liking the next morning, but I had a breakfast meeting with the archeologist and I didn’t want to be late.

  I borrowed Birdie’s car again and dropped Thor off at Cinnamon’s place and he did a perimeter check of her house. Then he stationed himself on her porch, his jaw tight as if he were the secret service. His surveillance equipment was charged and ready to go, and the backup solar chip in his collar would keep it that way. All he needed was a pair of shades.

  I passed Monique’s bar on the way to Muddy Waters and saw the owner of the building, Mr. Huckleberry, talking to the chief from the fire department and a man I recognized as a local plumber. Most of the buildings on Main Street weren’t actually owned by the proprietors. They simply rented the space. Still, I hoped Monique had a solid insurance policy for both her apartment and Down and Dirty. I also hoped Fiona had found her and that she wasn’t at the police station right now telling Leo my family had kidnapped her. At some point, I’d have to figure out a way to convince Monique that we were just trying to protect her and hopefully she would offer a reasonable explanation for her absence.

  More likely, we were all going to jail, but I pushed that problem to the end of the list.

  I ordered a coffee from Iris and grabbed a banana muffin, found a table near the window, and slung my bag over the back of the chair. I was a few minutes early so I pulled the phone out of my bag and opened the recording application. Then I scanned the notes that Gladys had provided.

  A blast of cold air blew by me and I looked toward the door, surprised to see both the archeologist, Roberta Rubinski, class of 1970, and the scientist, Donald Yearwood, class of 1969, enter the shop.

  They placed an order with Iris and when Roberta turned to give the place a once-over, I waved.

  She nodded and both of them joined me. As soon as they arrived at the table, I realized two things. They were older than I had originally thought and they were a couple.

  I shook Roberta’s hand and instantly a sharp pain pierced my head. Images of the dead, one after the other, stormed through my brain. Bloodied murder victims, rotting corpses, ancient soldiers spun through my mind like a kaleidoscope of the macabre. And skulls. Lots and lots of skulls flipped through my third eye, all different shapes and sizes. But the smell—the rancid odor of musty tombs, decaying flesh, and bile—nearly made me vomit.

  I dropped her hand, and leaned on the chair to steady myself.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. Probably because I haven’t eaten.”

  “Or it could be a brain tumor,” said Donald helpfully.

  Roberta rolled her eyes. “You think everyone has a brain tumor.”

  He shrugged. “It’s what I study. Brains.”

  “Why don’t we have a seat,” I said.

  I waited for the nausea to pass before I sipped my coffee. What was that?

  “Do you mind if I record our conversation?” I asked.

  Neither one protested.

  I looked at Roberta, my mind coming back into focus. Was the episode due to her profession? Or something more?

  “So, I didn’t realize that you were together. Are you married?” They didn’t share the same last name, so I wasn’t certain.

  Roberta scoffed. “Marriage was designed to beat women into submission, trade them like cattle, and keep them chained to a life of servitude.”

  “Roberta is a feminist,” Donald said. He took a sip of tea.

  Roberta gave her partner a scathing look. “I am no such thing.” To me she said, “I don’t believe in labels. I’m simply a woman of strength and independence. And I loathe that word.” She took a drink of her coffee. “It’s just a polite way to say bitch. Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh yes,” I said, because I didn’t want to get on Roberta’s bad side. “So tell me about your work. What got you interested in archeology?”

  Donald took his jacket off and I noticed the tee shirt he was wearing today had a portrait symbolizing the evolution of man.

  “My first year in college, I read a book that changed my life. The characters went on this great adventure and I knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life.”

  Now Donald scoffed. “Adventure, my foot.” He turned to me and said, “She dug up dead people for a few years then took a cushy position at a university.”

  Roberta tightened her ponytail. “That’s only because I had to support your endless years of schooling.”

  Donald pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “At least my work is important. At least it helps people. What does your work do? They can’t get any deader, dear.”

  This wasn’t going well. I tried to interrupt, but Roberta was on a warpath.

  She puffed up in her chair. “That may be so, sweetheart, but at least in my work, people learn something about our culture, human history, the sacrifices made, and the treasures left behind. We can’t move forward without first examining the past. Otherwise, we’re destined to repeat the mistakes of our ancestors.” She looked at me. “Am I right?”

  “Quit badgering the girl,” Donald said.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your work, Donald?”

  He launched into a ten-minute speech about his research in seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s disease, half of which I couldn’t understand.

  “That’s fascinating. So do you feel as if you’re close?” Maybe it would help Aunt Lolly, although I suspected her brand of dementia was a flavor all its own.

  Roberta tossed her head back and laughed. “Close? Hardly. All he has to show for the past thirty years is a box of dead mice.”

  Donald seethed at his life partner. “You based your entire career on a book you didn’t even understand the meaning of. That book wasn’t an adventure. It was a horror story.”

  I made a feeble attempt to put this train wreck back on track. “So how did you two get together?” Because honestly, I couldn’t see it. They acted as if they hated each other. How does that happen? And why stay together?

  Roberta said, “He was a mistake I made one drunken night at the University of Illinois and I still can’t shake him. He’s like a flea that can’t be killed.”

  “Sure I can, but I’d take you with me. Just like the book. A murder-suicide. What do you say? Shall we put us out of our misery?”

  “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said, Donald.”

  Was she serious? She hadn’t said it sarcastically, so I couldn’t be sure.

  Donald’s voice softened. “See, I listen to you.”

  “Did I miss something?” These two were certifiable.

  Roberta sighed. “He’s referring to our first date. He asked what I was reading.”

  “And she told me the whole plot.” Donald took Roberta’s hand.

  “And what was it called?” I asked.

  “The Book of Skulls,” they both said.

  Chapter 33

  I texted Blade and asked him to meet me back at the inn. He said he was having breakfast with his agent, and that he was stopping by the police department to find out what Leo had learned about the original suspects in the case. It was nine o’clo
ck in the morning and he said he could be there in an hour.

  There was a lot to discuss. I didn’t know where Blade’s father had gone to college, but I learned that the couple from crazytown went to the University of Illinois. I also wanted to find out who at the bar last night seemed interested in his new novel idea.

  Birdie was convinced that the 1978 novel by Silverberg had no link to the Leanan’s obsidian skull, but what if she was wrong? What if there was a connection? Blade’s father had seemed to believe so. Or was he just desperate for answers after the man from the Council had paid him a visit? It made me wonder too when he had first read it. Did he also discover the book in college? And if so, was it assigned for the classroom? Or just a recommendation from a friend?

  I sent Blade another text with Roberta’s name and date of birth and told him to pass it on to Leo as a possible suspect. Then I swung the car around and headed toward Tony’s auto shop.

  Monique’s car was still there, the flat tire fixed. I wondered if she was back at the inn now.

  I pulled the car over to the next street, keeping an eye out for insurgents, and parked.

  I crept through the weeded lot next door, saw my hunk of metal still crippled, and circled around to the back window. Peeking through the dirty glass, I saw Tony firmly lodged beneath a Toyota.

  Perfect. I duckwalked around the side of the building until I got to the corner. I craned my neck around and spotted Daphne bent over the hood of a Mustang.

  I was just about to pull out the binding spell from the back pocket of my jeans when my stupid phone rang.

  I whipped it out and shut the ringer off, then turned the phone off completely, but it was too late.

  She turned her head to the side and when she saw me, she stood up so fast she banged it on the hood of the car.

  “Oof,” she said, rubbing her head.

  The bartender stepped away from the car and said, “Oh, hi.”

  It was cold outside and her cheeks flushed. She shuffled from one foot to the other, nervously.

  Good. You should be scared, I thought.

  “Hi,” I said.

  I walked toward her slowly, wishing I had my sword, but it was still back at the office, still unconsecrated.