Myth and Magic. Mae Clair

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СКАЧАТЬ the sight.

      A charred, cracked lump, broken by knobby protrusions of white, burned on top of the stacked logs. Something popped with the sound of cooking meat.

      Choking on terror, she stumbled backward with a scream.

      A severed human hand was swaddled within the dancing flames.

      * * * *

      “Drink this.” Aren Breckwood shoved a cup of hot tea under her nose.

      Veronica caught a whiff of vanilla and chamomile, but the soothing aroma did little to calm her nerves. She set the cup aside on an end table. “I’m not crazy.”

      “I never said you were.”

      Seated on a couch in the lobby, she tried to ignore the commotion swirling around her. Phone calls had brought Aren and the police. The few guests in residence at the lodge were gathered at the foot of the sweeping staircase, whispering among themselves as they watched the confusion. Lew Walden trailed the sheriff and two of his deputies as they inspected the fireplace and scoured the lobby. The fire had long since been doused, nothing but charred wood found in the hearth. A good hour had passed since she’d discovered the severed hand, but the grisly sight remained ingrained in her head.

      “I know what I saw.” She’d left the lobby only long enough to dash to her office and call the police. When she’d returned the hand was gone, the fire crackling undisturbed. “I’m not crazy.”

      “I don’t doubt you, Veronica, it’s just—” Aren halted when she looked quickly in his direction. “All right, all right.” He raised both hands. “I know we’ve discussed it before. Something’s obviously going on here.”

      “And you need to do something about it.” She stood, hooking her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “BI needs to take control or there isn’t going to be a lodge left. Do you know how hard it is keeping the few guests I have? You and Galen have to do something. Soon.”

      Flicking a glance over her shoulder, she took note of the officers milling in the background. “The police already think I’m delusional. This is the fourth time I’ve called without proof. Most of the incidents have been things we can’t prove or look foolish mentioning. If it weren’t for the dead dog in the Hummingbird Suite, they’d have me committed.”

      Aren nodded. “Whoever’s pulling these stunts has it down to a science.” Frowning, he glanced around the room. “I left a message on Merlin’s cell. I thought he’d be here.”

      “Didn’t Melanie tell you? He’s at the Jade Club.”

      “Again?” He scowled. “It must have slipped her mind. She wanted to come herself, but bringing the boys—”

      “Would have been a mistake. Noah and Matt don’t need to be exposed to this.”

      Smart, pretty, and poised, Melanie had twin nine-year-old sons with Aren. Sometimes Veronica positively envied her friend’s life.

      “You’ll call and let her know you’re all right?” Aren studied her sharply. “I mean…you are okay, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, I’m fine.” She tensed, noting the approach of Sheriff Duke Cameron. There was little doubt she commanded the position of honor on his most-irritating-calls-from-whackos list. They’d grown up together but had never been close. Tall, with a slightly paunched middle and straw-colored hair, he was the same age as Merlin.

      “Ms. Kent.” Beaming an ingratiatingly false smile, Duke halted at her side. “We, uh…we seem to be coming up blank here, Veronica.”

      “Then you’re not looking hard enough. I know what I saw, Duke.”

      “Veronica,” Aren interrupted.

      She sent him an annoyed glance, but he directed his next words to Duke, trying to soothe ruffled feathers. “It’s not that we don’t think you aren’t trying, Sheriff, but these occurrences are getting out of hand.”

      Duke chuckled nervously, probably weighing his options. It was no secret Coldcreek’s stability and wealth revolved around BI. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of its chief operations officer. “As I’ve told you before, Mr. Breckwood, there’s just no proof. No signs of forced entry, no evidence left behind, not even traces of anything unusual in the fireplace. I can leave a man here for twenty-four hours as a precaution. We’ve done it before.”

      “That won’t be necessary,” Aren said.

      Veronica wasn’t so sure. The presence of an officer would provide an added measure of comfort to the guests, but the decision was up to Aren. Come morning, most would probably pack their bags and hightail it to the nearest exit anyway.

      “What about the phone call?” she asked Duke. “Are you suggesting I dreamt that up, too?”

      “We’re not suggesting you dreamt up anything, Veronica. It’s just…” Uneasily, he looked at Aren. “Based on our findings, there’s little we can do.”

      “Understood.” Aren offered his hand. “We appreciate your time, Sheriff.”

      Looking relieved to be off the hook, Duke shook Aren’s hand and departed with a quick nod.

      “The man is worthless,” Veronica mumbled in disgust.

      Aren chuckled. “You haven’t liked him since he sent you that valentine in the eighth grade and said it was from Caith.”

      Leave it to Aren to remember something as silly as the valentine. Duke had sent it to her and signed Caith’s name, thinking it a clever joke. To this day she wasn’t certain who’d been more mortified, she or Caith.

      She ignored the jibe, focusing on the problem. “We need to do something about damage control, Aren. After tonight, I wouldn’t expect much help from county services.” She hesitated, debating whether to broach an idea she’d entertained for the past week. With the police unwilling to help, there was only one alternative. “We need a private investigator.”

      Aren blinked. For a moment he appeared lost in thought, then a slow smile spread over his face. “That’s brilliant, Veronica!” He gripped her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. “This could all end up working out for the best. Excuse me. I’ve got phone calls to make.”

      Puzzled by his odd behavior, Veronica watched him dart away.

      Chapter 2

      Caithelden Lairen plucked the mail from the box at the end of his driveway and sorted through the letters. Two bills and a junk circular inviting him to take advantage of a twenty-percent markdown on costumes at the Halloween Emporium.

      Not likely. He hated the wretched holiday, though anyone who didn’t know him would find it hard to tell. His front porch was decorated with cornstalks and hay bales banked by bright orange pumpkins. A plump scarecrow with a floppy brimmed hat sat slumped in a wooden rocker. Despite his negative feelings, he did his best to make Halloween fun for his son, Derrick. Right now the kid was home from school with a cold, bored out of his mind, but not well enough to be out in the crisp autumn air. The tribulations of an eight-year-old.

      The wind shifted and he caught the scent СКАЧАТЬ