Sizzle and Burn (The Arcane Society #3)(10)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Classic serial killer victims,” Andrew mused. “The kind of people no one misses when they disappear. I wonder why Stacy Anderson was still alive when you found her.”

“She said the freak told her that she needed to be punished first by being locked up in the basement. She thinks he intended to finish the job tonight. It was just pure luck that I happened to go through the house today with the real estate agent.”

“Do they think any of the previous victims were stashed in Vella’s basement, too?”

“I don’t know what the cops will conclude,” Raine said, “but I didn’t pick up traces of any other victims. I’m almost positive that Stacy Anderson was the first one the freak stashed in Aunt Vella’s house.”

“I don’t suppose the local cops paid any attention to what you told them.”

“No. I think I made Chief Langdon nervous.”

Andrew’s chuckle was dry. “You do have that effect on cops.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“When are you coming home?”

Raine crossed one ankle over the other on the hassock. “I’ll stay overnight, as planned, because Langdon said the detectives from Portland and Seattle might want to talk to me. But I can’t do anything about putting the house on the market until the police take down the crime-scene tape so I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“I stopped by your condo this afternoon and fed Batman and Robin. Played with them for a while. They’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.”

The cats tended to get anxious if they were left alone for too long. Anxious cats could do a lot of damage in a small condo. That was especially true with Batman and Robin because Raine had refused to declaw them. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to deprive them of their only natural defense just for the sake of her very expensive woven wood window treatments. She knew all too well how important it was to have some defense mechanisms.

“I suppose Chief Langdon is going to take all the credit for the big break in the case?” Andrew asked. “The way Bradley always did?”

Andrew and Gordon had never entirely approved of her arrangement with Bradley Mitchell.

“As it happens, Langdon is very photogenic,” Raine said, amused. “He’s the rugged outdoor type. He’ll look good on the evening news.”

“Bradley always looked good standing in front of a camera, too. Going to be interesting to see how many more interviews he gives now that you’re no longer solving his cold cases for him.”

“Mmm.” She kept her tone deliberately noncommittal.

As hurt and pissed off as she was, she had not yet decided what to do about her working relationship with Bradley. Their personal relationship—what there was of it—was finished but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to stop assisting him on certain cases. In some way that she could not explain to Andrew and Gordon or even to herself, she needed to use the psychic side of her nature. Denying it was like trying to deny that she could see and hear and taste and touch and smell.

“Do you want Gordon or me to drive up to Shelbyville?” Andrew asked.

“No, don’t worry, I’m not a suspect,” she said quickly. “I spent an hour answering questions for Chief Langdon and I told him to call Bradley if he wants a character reference. He seemed satisfied. Glad to get rid of me, actually.”

“You told Langdon to call the bastard?” Andrew demanded, outraged.

“Bradley’s a professional when it comes to police work. He’ll vouch for me.”

“What about the real estate agent? What was his name? Spicer? How’s he taking this?”

“He was pretty shaken. Got a hunch that after he gave his statement to Langdon, he went back to his office and had an attack of the vapors. One thing’s for sure: if Aunt Vella’s house was a tough sell before this, it’s going to be almost impossible to move now.”

“Maybe you can dump it on some unsuspecting buyer on eBay.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. But first I’m going to have to clean out the place. I’d forgotten how many crates of paintings are stashed in the basement. Aunt Vella always painted like mad when she was here in Shelbyville.”

“It was her own personal form of therapy,” Andrew said.

“I know.”

The room phone rang.

“Sounds like you’re getting another call,” Andrew said.

“Probably Langdon with a few more questions.”

“Better take it. We’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

She cut the connection and reached for the room phone.

“Yes?”

“Miss Tallentyre, this is Burton down at the front desk. There’s a man here to see you. Says his name is Jones. Want me to send him up?”

The delicate cup she was holding, with its yellow-and-green floral motif, froze in midair.

“Jones?” she repeated, very carefully. There were a lot of Joneses in the world, but within her own private, tightly controlled and contained sphere the name stood out like the ominous light of an oncoming train.

“A cop?” she asked, hoping against hope that coincidences did, in fact, happen occasionally.

There was a low murmur of masculine voices. Burton came back on the line.

“Says he’s a private investigator.”

That gave her pause. Maybe the name really was a coincidence. Maybe one of the families of the Bonfire Killer’s victims had hired a PI named Jones to look into a daughter’s disappearance and somehow Mr. Jones had heard about the day’s events and managed to track her down tonight.

And maybe she could hop on a broomstick and fly.

Adrenaline splintered through her. The primitive fight-or-flight rush left her edgy and profoundly wary. Briefly she considered asking Burton to tell the mysterious Mr. Jones to leave. But she had dealt with reality often enough to know that it was a remarkably stubborn force. It didn’t go away just because one wished it away.

A thought chilled her to the bone. What if the Mr. Jones downstairs in the lobby was the same Mr. Jones who had frightened her and Aunt Vella so badly that night all those years ago? If so, he was in for a surprise. She was no longer a six-year-old kid scared out of her wits.

There was no help for it. She would have to find out why Mr. Jones had tracked her down here in Shelbyville.

“Send him up, please, Burton,” she said.

She tossed the phone into the cradle, put the cup down on the tray and rose from the sofa. It dawned on her that she was wearing only her trouser socks. Quickly she sat down again and tugged on her boots. The added couple of inches of height fortified her confidence.