Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

I f being a detective means death by throw pillows, I want out…

Wanda blew out a deep breath of relief when we finally sat our tired asses down in the murder basement to dissect the situation. “So, ladies, what the heck was that? Let’s talk about it before we let Brenda know we’re home.”

I shook my head. What was that ? I reached down and pulled Doug off my leg as he climbed up my calf, looking for attention. I draped him across my chest, stroking the top of his head.

“I have no frickin’ idea, but it smelled like witch magic to me, too. It smelled just like Robbie’s.”

Wanda bobbed her mussed head, smoothing her hair from her face. “You’re right. It smelled a lot like Robbie’s magic. So then, any thoughts on why Brenda has witch magic in her house? And why was it attached to a picture that blew up in our faces?”

“And who is this guy who looks a whole lot like Owen?”

Marty, looking ragged from our encounter but healing quickly, narrowed her eyes. “You know, when we first interviewed Brenda, she said he reminded her of someone, but she didn’t go into detail. Bet this is the guy Owen reminded her of. So it makes sense she’d be drawn to him. Tack on that they allegedly had so much in common, and voila—instant attraction.”

Doug curled into me, tucking himself close while I wondered out loud, “But how is that connected to Owen’s murder, and why were we attacked by furniture possessed by frickin’ Martha Stewart?”

Marty rubbed her head, the bruise under her eye still a little purple. “Before we go any further, what happened to me?”

I snorted a laugh. “You got clocked by some of that décor you love so much, that’s what. It was like a scene straight outta when good furniture goes bad. I carried your ass outta there. We made it back to the car by the skin of our teeth before the cops came.”

She blew me a kiss. “Thanks for that, pal. Now, we need to get Brenda down here pronto, and I need to update my whiteboard.”

I texted Arch and asked him to send Brenda down to the basement.

As she floated down the spiral staircase, Linus and Peppermint Patty in tow, I fought to keep my shit together. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know anything about the picture under her mantel, but I’d bet she knew who was in the photo.

My gut told me someone was screwin’ with her, but why, and would she have any idea—or was this going to be a big old nothing burger again?

When she approached us, her face filled with concern, she took one look at Marty and gasped. “Oh, Marty! Are you all right? Archibald and Tottington told me you texted them saying you had some trouble at my house.”

I pointed to the chair in the middle of our desks. “Trouble is an interesting word, Brenda. Have a seat and we’ll discuss the trouble .”

Peppermint Patty hopped into her lap, but Linus opted for Wanda and the big fluffy blanket she had draped over her legs.

Clinging to her dog, she had that worried look that had graced her mug since we’d met her. “Tell me what happened. What did you find?”

We gave her the rundown on what happened at her place, leaving out the part about Owen 2.0.

“Any idea why we smelled witch magic in your house?” I asked, making sure she heard my tone was filled with suspicion.

Brenda’s stare was blank, her eyes wide. “I have no idea. I swear to you all. I don’t know any witches. I couldn’t even tell you what witch magic smells like, let alone why it’s in my house…”

I held up my phone to show her the picture of the guy who looked like Owen. “ Who is this?”

Brenda blinked as though she’d seen a ghost—and I know what that looks like, because I’ve literally seen a ghost. So have Marty and Wanda. They had that same damn expression on their faces when they saw one, too.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her gray-blue eyes wide. “Where in the name of Nosferatu did you get that?”

“It was taped under your mantel in the living room, Brenda.” Marty’s tone was gentle.

“ What? That’s crazy. I never had a picture of him… I don’t…I don’t understand what’s going on?”

Wanda’s gaze wasn’t as gentle as Marty’s tone. “Neither do we. So can you explain it? Let’s start by telling us who that is, and why he looks so much like Owen Barker?”

She looked at us all, her eyes bleak. “That’s…that’s Winston. Winston Blackheart.” The sob that followed was raw, the scent of her emotion fight-or-flight.

But the minute she opened her mouth, I started googling his name. “And? How do you know him?”

Pressing a fist to her mouth, her pale face revealing obvious sorrow, she said, “He…he was the love of my life…”

Huh. That’s not what Google said. “Google says the love of your life was Jeremiah Bronkowski. You were married to the dude for thirty-five years until he died of scarlet fever.”

But Brenda shook her head vehemently, her words fierce. “No! No, no, no. I never loved Jeremiah. Never! He was a terrible husband, especially after we discovered we’d never have children. He certainly wasn’t the love of my life. The love of my life was and always will be Winston. No matter how long my infernal life lasts.”

Marty lifted her chin, eyeing Brenda. “Surely it occurred to you that Owen looked a lot like Winston when you accepted his friend request and started messaging him?”

“Of course it did! I told you he reminded me of someone. But he’s so painful to talk about—even after all these years. I didn’t want to dig it all back up again. Comparing him to Owen, it’s obvious I have a type.” She shrugged with a sorrow that reached me in my bones from across my desk. “I never had a picture of Winston. I don’t know where that came from. I know I must have said ‘I don’t know’ a hundred times since we’ve met, but I truly don’t know how it got under my mantel. I promise you.”

My anger had long since cooled and my throat tightened, even though I’m pretty sure that can’t happen anymore. While Brenda reminisced about Winston, I typed his name into Google. “So what happened to this Winston? If he was the love of your life, why didn’t you marry him?”

She groaned, tugging at the collar of her red silk shirt, her sudden anger making her eyes flash hot. “Because my brother, Edmund, wouldn’t allow it. Winston didn’t have any money, and he was from a poor family. In those days, making a good match was the only thing anyone thought of, and a good match meant money--prestige. And, let’s not forget, I was older than most of a marriageable age. Much older, if you consider the fact that my father, as my brother called it, indulged me and didn’t force me to marry young. Edmund wanted to be rid of me after my father died. He saw me as a burden.”

I popped my lips. “He sounds like a real tool.”

Brenda nodded. “Tool is a good word. Anyway, seeing as my brother was the head of the family after my father’s death, he got to choose, and Jeremiah had everything he needed to add to his good name—he also didn’t mind that in those days, I was considered a spinster. Feelings didn’t come into play back then. Especially not a female’s.”

Marty flicked the top of her pen, her eyes watery after hearing about Winston. “So Winston…he wasn’t acceptable marriage material. What did he do for a living back then?”

Brenda’s laugh was bitter. “Money really is the root of all evil. That and societal status and he had neither. He was a stable boy—inconsequential to everyone but me. I loved him so much, it almost took my breath away. But we were young, and in those days, our stations in life… We were considered as far apart as the sun and the moon.”

The romantic in Marty reared its head. She clasped her hands together at her chest. “Oh, Brenda. I’m so sorry…”

Brenda let her eyes fall to her feet, her tone grim. “We were going to run away together but he never showed up. In fact, I never heard from him again, and then I was pawned off to Jeremiah, so my brother could be rid of me. End of the story. We were married for a torturous thirty-five years before he died of the fever, and my brother put me back on the auction block again at that ball I told Marty and Wanda about. Only this time, Edmund’s greed and stupidity got the best of him, and everyone ended up dead.”

We all sat silent for a moment, I don’t think any of us knew what to say. Her story was tragic, for sure. But I couldn’t find much about a Winston Blackheart, likely because the dude didn’t have any cash or much importance to historians.

When Brenda spoke again, it was soft and filled with clear regret. “In those days, we women didn’t have much of a choice about our futures, but if I could change one thing, it would be that I hadn’t lived during that madness…or rather, that I wasn’t turned into… This. This is a lonely life, and I kept to myself for a very long time because of what I am—a monster to some, I suppose.

“When I met Owen, and he reminded me so much of Winston, he brought back so many wonderful feelings. I just wanted to feel that again. I know it was stupid to believe he was interested in me, but I got swept up in the romance of it all. I hate that the real Owen left behind a wife and children, and that I might be the cause of that.”

The softer side of me—and believe me, there isn’t a lot of me that’s soft—kinda felt like shit for Brenda. “You’re not a fucking monster. That would mean we’re monster’s, too.”

“Correction!” Marty said with a teasing tone, rising from her chair to hobble over to Brenda and give her a small hug. “Nina’s definitely a monster, but we’re not, and neither are you. I think when this is all over, we need to introduce you to some of Arch’s friends. He has tons of them, some of them are even from your era, but one thing I know, I’m sure he’d be willing to share them.”

Her smile was small but hopeful as she gave Marty a pat on the back. “I wish I’d known how many of us there are. I’ve isolated myself for so long due to fear, too afraid to step out of my comfort zone. Maybe, if I don’t end up eradicated by the clan or in jail, it’s time to start being a part of something.”

I nodded my head, pulling Doug from me to set him under my lamp so I could think. “That sounds like a start, but in the meantime, we need to know who the fuck wants you framed for murder, if it has anything to do with this picture of Winston, and why that picture of Winston sparkled and turned to dust.”

Her eyes looked worried. “I wish I had answers for you. I simply don’t, but with all this evidence piling up around me, the video of someone that looked like me entering Owen’s apartment, the fingernail, the extension cord, I’m beginning to think it’s time I handed myself over to the clan. I can’t let you women, who’ve been so gracious and kind to me, get into trouble. I’ve had some time to think, and to talk with Archibald and Tottington. You’re good people—good people who don’t deserve me and whatever’s happening darkening your doorstep.”

I don’t know what it is about this lady, maybe it’s her loneliness I can feel to my bones, but pinning her for Owen’s murder felt all wrong. For sure, I’ve battled with her innocence, but fuck all, every time I’m almost sure she’s guilty, she says something that changes my mind.

Brenda’s sadness felt like a living entity. If I still had tastebuds, I’d probably be able to taste it—it was palpable.

I don’t like people a whole lot, but I don’t wanna see ’em suffer either. All this time she’s been hiding away, living in solitude, and the one time in a zillion years she reaches out, she gets her hand slapped.

Her words made me make what might be considered a rash decision, and I don’t make those often, but it wasn’t just Owen’s kids that deserved justice, Brenda did, too. “Nope. You’re staying put. We’re gonna figure this out, come hell or high water.”

I know that surprised Marty and Wanda because it wasn’t like me, but I meant it.

There were pieces to this puzzle we still needed, and I was determined to find them.

For Owen Jr. and Lacy.

And yeah, for Brenda, too.

“Vampire?”

I leaned against the arched window frame in the murder basement, watching the snow fall. Marty and Wanda had them added so it wouldn’t be so gloomy down here, and now, I was glad they did because I was definitely feeling gloomy.

“Halfsie?”

Wanda grabbed my arm, giving it a squeeze as she rested her head on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“What makes you think I’m not okay?”

She rubbed my arm. “I’ve known you for a long time, vampire. I know when you’re in your head. Talk to me?”

As the huge snowflakes drifted to the ground, I knew there was no hiding how I was feeling from Wanda. She had an emotional barometer unmatched by many.

“I can’t get those kids out of my head. They’re so young, and it’s fucking Christmastime, Wanda. Astrid’s such a frickin’ mess, who knows if she’s even gotten anything for them. It’s a shitty time. They need to have something to look forward to. They need some kind of stability. I don’t get the feeling Astrid’s got her shit together enough to keep them together, ya know?”

Wanda nodded, her eyes sad when I saw them in her reflection in the window. “She did say her parents were coming from Arizona. I’m sure they’ll help her get situated.”

I nodded. “I hope so. What would make me feel better is finding out who killed Owen. I’m fucking tired of running into roadblocks, but where do we go from here?”

“I think we go talk to his ex-business partner Derek, and maybe we go back to the apartments and see if we can find anyone else besides Sonja the Neighborhood Spy to talk to us.”

“I’ll even put on another skirt if it means we can figure out who did this.”

Wanda stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. “I don’t care how much we tease you, and you might no longer have a beating heart, but you’re soft and gooey on the inside, and I love you because you’re so real—every day, all day.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered. I gave her a hard hug, and then I set her from me. “Now knock it the fuck off and help me find out who killed Owen.”

“Hey, you, two!” Marty poked her head into the sitting room of the murder basement with a goofy smile. “Guess who made the morning news? Come look.”

I scoffed as Wanda peered around my shoulder. “Brenda again? What’s she wanted for now, grand larceny? Did she snatch the ‘Mona Lisa’ right out from under the cops’ noses?”

I think some of my anger comes from the fact that the police hadn’t looked at anyone else since the beginning, and now that they’d found the cord from Owen’s lamp in her house, she was screwed if they got their hands on her.

Marty shook her head, the messy bun on top of her head bobbing. “It’s not quite that bad. Not for Brenda anyway, but according to the news this morning, we’ve gone viral.” She held up her phone and pressed play.

We watched a grainy video of three black blurs, zipping down a street lit up with Christmas lights.

My eyes went wide. “Is…is that us ?”

Marty nodded with a mischievous smile. “The news is reporting it as some strange, unexplainable lighting phenomenon, but the best part? There are some hardcore conspiracy theories going around that these are images of—are you ready? Aliens !” She began to howl with laughter, tears streaming down her face.

I looked at the number of views it had and it was already up to five hundred thousand. But some of the comments?

To my very untrained eyes, those look exactly like the aliens that abducted me from sleepaway camp when I was nine…

Do you see the outline by this shadow’s head? If you look closely, it almost resembles a butterfly.

“Fucking butterflies!” I began to howl with laughter, too.

And that felt good in the middle of us all feeling like so much shit.