Pretty When She Kills (8 page)

“Nah. I’ll go set him straight,” Samuel responded. With a weary sigh, he shoved open the screen door.

Their boot heels thudded across the porch as the men headed toward the stairs. Samuel knew that Ray and Pete were right behind him. They were good guys and he was glad for the company. He was getting too old to do all the ass whooping. If he was lucky, the reporter would shove off without any trouble and he could get back to his plate of cooling food.

Strutting up the gravel drive toward the gate, he hooked his thumbs onto his belt and fastened his blue-gray eyes on the man snapping photos of his home. Damon quickly caught up with them, holding his shotgun casually in one hand.

“Should we call the police?” Damon asked.

“Nope. Gonna handle this ourselves,” Samuel answered.

The man on the other side of the fence noted their approach, but didn’t seem concerned. His cowboy hat was pulled low on his forehead and his eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. In his hands was a very fancy, very expensive camera. On the road behind him was a big black truck with a small travel trailer attached to it. Samuel didn’t like the man’s long duster that flowed in the warm summer breeze. It could hide all sorts of weaponry.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, just as Samuel started to open his mouth. “Lovely homestead you have here.” The accent was Southern, but not Texan.

“Thank you, sir, but I need to ask you what you’re doing taking pictures of my place,” Samuel answered, folding his arms over his chest.

It was difficult to tell what the man truly looked like. His face was hidden by the shadow thrown by his hat and his sunglasses. The one thing did that show clearly was his wide smile. “Oh, I’m an investigator. I’m just taking photos for my files.”

“You’re a policeman?” Ray asked skeptically.

“Private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into the so-called Satanic Murders.”

“Police closed that case when they found Professor Sumner’s body. He killed himself,” Samuel answered. He didn’t believe the official story he had been fed, but he didn’t like strangers hanging around his property.

“They never found your daughter’s body, did they?” The man tilted his head and Samuel caught a glimpse of the man’s dark eyes.

“She’s dead, sir. We had a funeral. Maybe one day we’ll find her body, but the police said they found the spot where she died. Lots of blood, too much lost to be alive,” Samuel answered gruffly.

The policeman had shown Samuel the pictures of the bloodstained wall. Amaliya had been killed behind the dorm. The foundation and bricks had been dark brown with her blood and the ground had been saturated with it. The police were convinced that the killer had temporarily buried her body and later retrieved it, storing it in her dorm room. The police weren’t sure why Professor Sumner had taken Amaliya’s body with him, but Samuel suspected the truth. His daughter had woken up buried in the ground and found her way back to her dorm room before trying to come home.

The stranger nodded his head. “That’s what the newspapers said. Don’t you think it’s odd that Professor Sumner took her body?”

“He was obsessed with her,” Ray said defensively. “All the papers said so. They even said he was trying to date her. He was a sick bastard and I’m glad he killed himself.”

Beside Samuel, Damon shifted uncomfortably, casting his eyes downward. Samuel hoped his younger son would keep it together. He knew for a fact Damon still slept with a shotgun next to the bed ever since the night he last saw his sister.

“That’s what they said, true,” the stranger said.

“Sir, what is your name? I’d like to see some identification,” Pete said briskly.

With a wry smile, the man reached into his pocket.

Samuel automatically stiffened while Damon slightly lowered his shotgun.

“Ethan Logan, Private Investigator.” The man flipped open his wallet then extracted a few cards from the well-worn leather. He handed one to each of the men standing on the other side of the fence.

“Who hired you, Mr. Logan?” Samuel asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“That is private, Mr. Vezorak. Let me just say that you were not the only family to suffer a loss that terrible weekend. Other families are grieving as well. The bodies of their loved ones were recovered, but yours was not.” Ethan snapped his wallet shut and shoved it back into a pocket inside of his long duster.

“She’s dead, Mr. Logan,” Samuel said, fear beginning to claw at his insides.

“What are you insinuating?” Pete asked defensively. “Amaliya died just like everyone else.”

“She was a suspect for a short period of time because her body wasn’t found,” Ethan said in a voice that was both accusatory, but nonchalant.

“Hey now, my sister had nothing to do with those murders!” Ray took a threatening step forward, his hands clenched into fists.

Samuel gripped his eldest by the shoulder, his fingers digging into the other man’s flesh as a warning. “We don’t need trouble, Mr. Logan.”

“I’m not trouble, Mr. Vezorak. I’m looking for the truth. There is one person in this whole mess unaccounted for. That’s your daughter. Now, the police think she might be dead, but what if she’s not? What if she escaped and she’s in hiding? What if Professor Sumner didn’t kill all those kids?”

“My sister did not kill anyone!” Ray shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel saw Damon’s hands shaking. Both of his sons were at the point of falling apart in one way or the other and Samuel didn’t like it. He did not need more trouble on his hands because of Amaliya.

“Amaliya is dead. She’s not hiding nowhere. She didn’t escape. She died. You had best be moving on before I call the police and report you for harassment,” Samuel said in a cold, terse voice.

Ethan slung the strap of his camera over one shoulder, letting the expensive piece rest against his back. “Let me ask you, Mr. Vezorak, did you see Amaliya that Easter weekend? Did she come back here looking for help?”

Samuel narrowed his eyes on the man before him. He could be very intimidating when he wanted to be, but the stranger was unaffected by the glower.

“Why would you say something like that?” Ray asked defensively.

“I talked to a few at the college. They said she drove around in your pickup. When she disappeared, so did the pickup.”

The blood drained out of Samuel’s face as he stared at the man. “Damon and I picked it up after she was reported missing.”

Ethan stared at Samuel thoughtfully, then finally said, “I’m sure you did.”

Next to Damon, Pete was staring at his feet, not saying anything. Samuel’s discomfort grew. He was afraid that maybe Pete had seen Amaliya that night. Damon would keep his mouth shut, but would Pete?

“So none of you saw her Easter weekend?” Ethan’s gaze swept over the four men, but his eyes rested on Pete much longer than on anyone else.

Or was Samuel just imagining it?

“You know, if she’s alive, in hiding, she could go to the authorities and tell them what she saw. Maybe Professor Sumner didn’t commit suicide in Louisiana. Maybe there is much more to this story, huh?” Ethan finally took off his sunglasses. His eyes are dark brown and somehow frightening. They were so intense that Samuel felt he was peering straight into his very mind, seeking out the truth.

“She’s dead,” Samuel said at last. “Dead and gone. And you best be gone now. Ray, call the police.”

Immediately, Ray obeyed his father, pulling out his cellphone.

The man named Ethan Logan slid his sunglasses back on. “If one of you remembers seeing her, call me. I’ll be in the area.” He slowly turned and sauntered away, his duster flaring out around him dramatically.

“Fuck,” Damon whispered.

“Keep it together, son,” Samuel said, gripping his shoulder and squeezing it hard enough to inflict pain.

Ray clicked off his phone without dialing, watching the departing stranger. “I don’t like it, Dad.”

“She’s dead and gone,” Samuel said firmly. “She ain’t coming back.”

Pete glanced sharply at Samuel, his blue eyes watery. The boy had it bad for Amaliya his whole life and now she was gone. Samuel hoped to God that Pete hadn’t seen her that night. If Amaliya was the reason for his strange stroke, it only confirmed what Samuel feared.

Amaliya was now something unnatural and evil.

Dust billowed up and drifted over into the yard when the big black truck pulled around and roared down the road. Samuel didn’t like people sniffing around in his business and he felt unnerved by the stranger’s visit.

“Let’s get back to eating,” he said at last and strode back toward the trailer.

Chapter 8

Jeff Summerfield, sometime vampire hunter and fulltime occult book store owner, stared at the spell with some confusion. Standing behind the checkout counter in his store, he studied the book in front of him, squinting slightly. Rubbing his hand over his brown hair, mussing it up, he reread the spell for the sixth time.

“Uh, I don’t get it.”

“It’s screwed up, right? There is no way an ice giant can deflect that spell!” Benchley’s voice was adamant, his fists curled up at his sides. His friend and sometime vampire hunter sidekick, Benchley, ran the shop next to the occult book store. It specialized in gaming and was packed with books, figurines, collectibles, and huge tables that took up the back area of the shop where gamers played massive battles with tiny armies all day and night. “The DM totally made a bad call! That’s the last time I play with that sixteen year old twerp.”

“I don’t play these games, you know that. I have no idea if an ice giant can deflect this spell, but if you say so, I’ll side with you.”

Benchley rubbed his dark blond goatee, shaking his head. He was wearing his usual long, baggy khaki shorts, a faded t-shirt advertising an obscure band, and worn sandals. “I got screwed. Now I have to make a new character and start over. My whole day is trashed.”

“I would like to say I feel your pain, but I’m an uber-geek of another variety,” Jeff answered, handing back the rulebook for the latest fantasy tabletop game.

“Yeah, yeah. PC gamers suck.”

“Says the former WoW addict,” Jeff quipped.

“I detoxed when they made it too easy to level to sixty,” Benchley retorted.

“I know, I know. You played it since the beta. You did the grind to level sixty when it actually meant something. Yada, yada, yada,” Jeff teased.

“Don’t mock me,” Benchley said defensively.

“I don’t mock. I observe. Sarcastically.”

The bell over the door chimed as it swung open, a blast of hot air and a blinding flash of sunlight announcing the arrival of a customer.

“Fuck it’s hot,” Benchley gasped, cringing.

The door clanged shut.

As Jeff’s eyes readjusted to the cool, refreshing gloom of the bookstore, he saw Samantha standing just inside the doorway. Wearing a white skirt, a cute pink tank top, a white flower tucked in her hair, and obscenely high pale blue wedge heels, she whipped off her sunglasses dramatically.

“Fuck my life,” she declared.

“Girlfriend trouble,” Benchley whispered, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jeff muttered back.

“Did you hear me?” Samantha’s high heels clicked against the wood floor as she approached.

“Uh, fuck your life is what I heard,” Jeff responded.

Samantha swung her enormous Betsey Johnson purse adorned with pink skulls and sequins onto the counter, then dramatically flopped forward onto it, burying her face in her folded arms. “Fuck. My. Life. In. The. Asshole. Without. Lube.”

“That sounds...painful,” Jeff said, lightly touching her blond head.

“Hi, Sam,” Benchley said, awkwardly waving at her though she couldn’t see him.

Samantha lifted one hand, gave a short wave, then let it drop back on the counter. “Hi, Shark-boy.”

Benchley blushed, trying not to stare at Samantha’s ass.

Jeff thought Benchley’s crush on the blond was rather sweet. He wasn’t worried about any competition. Though he and Samantha weren’t an official anything yet, he felt fairly certain that things were developing nicely. Leaning over Samantha, he pulled her bangs aside to try to see her face. She tilted her head just enough so that he could see one eye peering out at him.

“Bad day at the office?” he asked. “Did you work today?”

“I wish! And no.”

“Uh, Cian giving you hell?”

Samantha shook her head, lifting it. She rested her elbows on the counter and cradled her face in her hands.

“Amaliya being a bitch?”

“I hate her.”

“I know.”

“But it’s not her. Though it’s usually her.”

Benchley leaned against the counter, nearly toppling over the pens in the jar next to the cash register.

Jeff saved it just in time.

“So, uh, what is it? I can maybe...uh...help.” Benchley attempted to look nonchalant.

Samantha blew out a puff of air, her bangs flipping upward.

“Sam, maybe we can both help.” Jeff lightly touched her cheek. “C’mon, talk to us.”

“My life sucks, Jeff,” Samantha said, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, it doesn’t, Sam.”

“My ex-fiancé is fucking Vampira and I’ve gone all
Sixth Sense
! My life sucks!”

“Okay, I get the Vampira reference, but not the
Sixth Sense
,” Benchley said, clearly confused.

“Me, too. Sam, honey, can you be a little clearer?”

Samantha wiped at her eyes irritably. “I’m so not going all Patricia Arquette. I refuse to! Because the next thing you know I’ll be all John Edwards-y and people will be banging on my door wanting the deets of their dead granny’s peach cobbler recipe!”

“Still lost,” Jeff said, wincing.

Samantha grabbed his t-shirt and hauled him toward her. Staring at him in the eye, tears streaking her face, she said, “I see dead people!”

“Cian and Amaliya?” Jeff queried, arching an eyebrow.

“No!
Dead
dead people!”

“She’s not real good on the being clear thing is she?” Benchley observed.

“She speaks Samantha-speak. It’s a variation of English,” Jeff admitted.