A Nose For Crime Read online

  My back and neck ached from hunching over the steering wheel, my grip tight. The fan heater whirled like a deranged bee, but I couldn’t keep warm. I turned a knob to blast warm air at my feet, but the windows fogged up. I slowed to rub it with my gloves, then realized I’d lost the Bentley.

  Where was she?

  I couldn’t see more than ten feet in any direction.

  The car ahead stopped, and stupid me stomped on the brakes. My Cherokee fishtailed. The steering wheel spun like a roulette wheel as it slipped through my numb fingers.

  The brakes locked, and the vehicle slid sideways. The car slammed into the curb and shuddered to a stop, the engine stalling.

  “Damn it.” I’d lost my target and wrecked my car. Could I suck any more at subterfuge?

  A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed no one following me. The car started with a pitiful moan, then I backed away, the rear wheels spinning as they tried to grip solid ground. The car pulled to the right, begging to kiss the curb again.

  “That’s enough,” I shouted as if the vehicle had ears and a brain.

  Maybe it had. The wheels straightened, and I creakingly pulled back onto the street.

  I’d lost Margo. Great. Just great.

  I pulled off a glove to blow warm air on my frozen fingers. My eyes scanned for the next cross street where I could turn and go home, my head metaphorically hung in shame.

  My phone rang. In my pocket. Because I suck at subterfuge.

  Cursing and steering into a white blur, I fished out my phone and glanced at the screen.

  Hugh Burrowes.

  What the hell? He’d micromanaged me during the ten days I’d worked under him. Why couldn’t he follow his own damned wife?

  “I lost her,” I barked. Why not tell him the truth and hope he’d fire me? It’s not like I’d cashed his check.

  “Never mind that,” he said, pain in his voice, but not pain from a cheating wife. “Meet me at West Haven General.”

  The freezing temperatures outside coalesced into a block of ice around my heart. “Why? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Kix. Someone tried to kill her.”

  Chapter Four

  Try flying down a road when you can’t see it. Suicide. The wipers beat faster than my heart, and I sent as many prayers to the Gods.

  Kix and I hadn’t parted on the best terms, but not the worst, either. She’d expressed confusion over her feelings for me and the private investigator hired to help on the kidnapping case, David Bennett. I told her to call me when she’d made up her mind. Six months later, she hadn’t picked up the phone. Had I made the right decision? Why hadn’t I fought harder?

  West Haven General Hospital planned on opening a new, state-of-the-art, multi-million dollar facility near the lakeshore in the fall. In the meantime, they operated out of the old one, a patched together conglomeration of buildings that occupied the highest hill in the city.

  Climbing a hill of any size is next to impossible when your car keeps sliding down it. I parked in a 24/7 garage three blocks east and a quarter-mile downhill.

  Climbing a hill on foot isn’t any easier.

  Two hours after I left Hugh Burrowes’s house, I staggered into the emergency ward. My heart and lungs ached from the frigid air; an inch of snow lay over me like an ermine pelt. I wouldn’t be surprised if the staff thought I’d collapse at any moment. Sheer determination kept me upright.

  Why had I decided to live in this climate? I could work just as well in Phoenix.

  A kind soul directed me to the waiting room, where I found Hugh. Even at that hour, a sizable crowd occupied more than half the seating. A chorus of coughs and sniffles overlaid the muted tones of an I Love Lucy rerun.

  Hugh rushed to me, his hair for once lacking sculpted perfection, his gray-green eyes wild.

  “What happened?” I asked. “Is she all right?” He’d not given me any details over the phone.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hallway, lights glaring overhead and the scent of antiseptic jarring my senses. “They took her to get a CT scan. I’m waiting to hear.”

  “But what happened?” CT scans meant something broken, or compressed, or with a hole in it. My mind whirled with a thousand possibilities, none of them cheerful, most of them fatal.

  “I don’t know. Someone stumbled across her unconscious on the sidewalk near Harbor Row. Someone had hit her on the head. The doctor ruled out any other injuries.” He ran a hand through his normally impeccable brown hair.

  “A mugging? When? How long did she lie there? What was she doing out at this time of night? And in that part of town?” Harbor Row wasn’t know for its thousand dollar a plate dinners and cotillion balls.

  “Rory, I don’t know. She arrived as a Jane Doe. Whoever hit her took her purse and any ID. A nurse recognized her from a charity auction last year and called me.” He shuddered. “Thank the Gods someone found her. She could have frozen to death in this weather.”

  I closed my eyes, but my imagination made it impossible to keep them closed. Kix, lying on the icy ground, blowing snow covering the startling red of pooled blood . . .

  “When will you know anything?”

  Hugh looked at his Rolex. “They took her in about twenty minutes ago.”

  I didn’t ask how he’d pulled strings to get her to the front of the line at this time of night. Few humans knew of our existence, but social standing and money talk no matter what the race.

  “When did they call you?” Was he home when Margo left?

  “Not long after Margo slipped away. How far did you track her?”

  I shook my head. What did it matter? “Broadway. Does she know about Kix?”

  He pursed his lips. “No.”

  I backed away. What he said to his wife when he noticed her missing in the middle of the night wasn’t my business. It might bring their situation to a head, and he wouldn’t need my services. Good. This skulking around in the dark may be what TV private investigators did, but I’d found it my least favorite part of the job. Especially in February.

  “Let’s sit down,” I said.

  We settled in a couple of hard chairs and waited.

  Who would want to kill Kix? Did it involve her work with M.I.C.U., or was she in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  I couldn’t imagine anyone hurting the pixie. She exuded fresh air and sunshine. When it came to investigating, she could be as tenacious as a terrier. Her research had put Frank in jail for Bertie’s murder.

  What had happened, and why was she in a dodgy part of town after dark?

  Lucy and Ethyl pulled out of another scrape on the old rerun before a doctor entered the waiting room and called Hugh’s name.

  We stood and followed him to one side of the room.

  “Mr. Burrowes, the CT scan showed no serious factors to your sister’s head, but we’ll continue to monitor her.”

  “Is she awake?” Hugh asked. “Did she say who did this?”

  “She’s dazed and confused and has a severe headache. Temporary amnesia isn’t unusual for a T.B.I.”

  “T.B.I.?”

  “Traumatic brain injury. We’ve moved her to a private room and will evaluate her for any complications.”

  Hugh pounced on the last word. “What type?”

  “Loss of consciousness, vomiting, seizures. These are normal things to look out for, but she may not have any other symptoms than what she’s already displayed.”

  Hugh nodded. “I’ve called Marie Ackerman, the storm must have delayed her.”

  “She’s one of the best neurosurgeons in the region.”

  I didn’t ask how Hugh knew a top class surgeon. Acquaintances like that came with his social class.

  “Can I see her?” he asked.

  “She’s resting, but you can visit.”

  “I’d like to.” He took a deep breath. “We haven’t been close since she moved here, but that’s my fault, I guess.”

  He didn’t address either of us, and neither respo
nded.

  The doctor told him to check with admissions for Kix’s room number, then he left.

  I stood like a lump, not knowing my role. Why had Hugh called me? We weren’t friends. He’d been my direct boss for ten days, and I no longer worked at Myth, Inc. What did he expect from me?

  He turned then looked back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “I don’t know if she’ll want to see me.” Who was I to butt in on family business?

  “Nonsense. She’ll want to see you.” Hugh walked away expecting me to follow.

  I did. Whether he played hospital matchmaker with us or not, the time had arrived for Kix and me to meet again.

  Chapter Five

  Kix looked tiny and fragile. Asleep against pristine white sheets, she sported a vivid red bruise on her temple. Wires and tubes ran to a machine that beeped in the still, pre-dawn hours. A low-level light glowed on a table, leaving the room in continual twilight.

  Hugh approached the bed and stood for several moments, staring down at his sister, his face unreadable. I hung back, not sure why I’d agreed to come, only that I needed to see her again.

  “Kix.” Hugh lifted her hand. “Kix, I’m here.”

  A lump grew in my throat. I was an interloper. I should leave.

  “I’ll check back later,” I said and edged toward the door.

  Kix stirred. I held my breath.

  “Don’t go yet,” he said and sat next to her.

  Did he need a friend so badly that he reached out to me? I couldn’t give him any family relationship tips because I sucked with mine.

  Kix stirred again as if her brother’s voice reached down and pulled her into consciousness. In a moment, her eyelids fluttered, and she stared at him.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “How are you?” He touched her cheek.

  I wanted to sink into the floor. I hadn’t talked to my sister in almost a year. How messed up was that?

  Kix wet her lips. “Been better.”

  “You’ll be well again. Do you want some water?”

  She nodded then grimaced.

  He waved his hand, and a glass with a straw appeared on the night table.

  I gaped. He’d never shown any inclination for magic in our few encounters. What could he have done? Move paperclips around? Staple a report with his mind?

  He helped Kix sit up far enough that she could sip the water, then eased her down. She winced in pain and held a shaking hand to her head.

  “Bump,” she said and closed her eyes.

  “It will go away. Rory’s here to see you.”

  I waved at him to leave me out, but he gestured me closer.

  “She’s tired,” I mouthed. He frowned.

  “Kix?” I wanted to whisper, to tiptoe, but instead felt like I stomped on butterflies.

  Her eyes opened, bruised gray-green petals. “Rory. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I leaned closer. What was she talking about? “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Just am.” Her eyelids drifted shut. In a moment, the even rhythm of her breathing told us she slept.

  I looked at Hugh. “I think I should go.” I’d intruded long enough. I didn’t belong here.

  He nodded, his eyes not leaving Kix’s still form. “I appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

  What? Follow, then lose his cheating wife? Dominating the limited conversation with his sister? Sarcastic Rory wanted to say, I’ll send you a bill, but my mother’s son kept his mouth shut.

  “I’ll check with you later. It will take Kix a while to recover, but she’s getting the best care possible.”

  “That’s one thing I can do for her.”

  He didn’t say more or look up. I bowed out of the room and into the bright corridor.

  Well, that hadn’t solved anything. The whole night ended up in the suck-this department.

  I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Not quite six o’clock. If the storm had slowed, I’d have time to drive home, change, shave, then go to the office.

  First, I’d swing by my parent’s place. I hadn’t check on them the previous evening, my normal routine. My mother rose early. If I was lucky, I could snag breakfast from her.

  I wound through the twisty corridors of the hospital until I found an exit. The bracing air bit into my lungs, but at least the storm had stopped. Streetlights hung like frozen globes as I slipped and slid my way downhill to the parking garage and retrieved my Cherokee.

  Millie Harper Sullivan and her second husband, David, lived in a block of row houses between the Fox River and a cemetery on the south side of town, less than a mile from my house. Da’s health had declined for almost a year. With my sister Caro in Liverpool, I accepted the task of keeping an eye on him and my mother.

  Their street had odd-even parking, meaning every other night, the city plowed snow on one side of the street while the residents could park on the other side. This assured at least the semblance of control of the snow that accumulated over ninety inches a year in our city.

  Today was an odd day, so I parked on the even side, wedging the Grand Cherokee into a vacant spot the size of a gnat’s knuckle. David parked his Ford Taurus in the alley.

  No one had shoveled the sidewalk leading to the front steps, and I added the chore to my list of things to do before I left for the day. I kept a pair of boots in the back entryway to wear when mucking about.

  The front door opened as I struggled through the drifts. My mother stood at the door, wringing her hands.

  “I knew you’d come,” she said, her voice shaking.

  She sometimes had the second sight, but I knew this wasn’t one of those times.

  “What’s wrong?” I plowed through the snow and stood at the bottom of the steps. “Ma?”

  “It’s your father,” she said, though David was my stepfather. “He’s fallen and hurt himself.”

  Chapter Six

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I entered the emergency room at West Haven General. David had fallen while trying to shovel the snow from blocking the garage doors. I’m sure he’d broken his hip, if not bruised it. Worse, he’d dragged himself by his elbows to the back door to call for help. I admired his fortitude while condemning his stupidity.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” my mother said, patting my hand as we sat in the familiar waiting room. Episodes of The Andy Griffith Show had replaced I Love Lucy. I’d entered a time warp and had traveled back sixty years.

  “Why am I to blame?” I asked.

  “You’re not, dear. It’s your father’s fault. I told him you’d be over, but he didn’t listen.”

  “You can argue with him later.” I closed my eyes, weary. The emotional toll on me competed with the physical rigors of driving in the weather.

  I lost track of time, but near lunch David had a room, and my mother settled in a chair next to his bed.

  “I can bring you something from the cafeteria,” I offered, noting her wan look. I’d written off the whole day, called Lucille and told her not to go to the office.

  “Maybe when you get back, dear.”

  “Back? From the cafeteria?” I didn’t understand her.

  “No. From seeing that nice pixie, Kix. You should check on her.”

  I stared. “Ma, how did you know about her? I didn’t say anything.”

  “Because you didn’t want me upset. I understand, but I saw her last night in a dream. Someone hit her in the head.”

  I moved my chair closer to her. Her second sight always took me by surprise. “She has a concussion. Did you see who hit her?”

  “Now, Rory, you know better.” She pursed her lips and stared past my shoulder. “It was a man. Elf. Old, older than me.”

  As she’d been born shortly after the American Civil War, the mugger must be old indeed. She’d given me a starting point.

  Was I thinking of finding the man who’d hurt Kix?

  I guess I was.

  I stood an
d kissed her on the forehead. “You’re a treasure, Ma.”

  “Oh, go on with you. No, really, go. Check on Kix. She’s awake.”

  “I will.” I hesitated. David’s accident had brought home how fragile they were, how little time they had left. How little time I had with them.

  “I’ll be fine. Go,” she ordered.

  I turned to leave.

  “Rory,” she called as I reached the door.

  “Yes?” Had she remembered something else from her dream? Did she have words of wisdom on how to reclaim my love life?

  “Bring me back a chicken salad sandwich.”

  Chapter Seven

  In the corridor outside Kix’s room, I ran into Max Brady. I’d had little interaction with him when I’d worked at Myth. M.I.C.U. had brought him out of an early retirement to work on the Jimmy Haegar kidnapping. I’d left the same day I’d found the boy. Max stayed, and the lunch bunch took delight in telling me he’d taken over the day-to-day running of the crime unit.

  “Rory,” he said, shoving out a hand to shake mine.

  I grabbed it, awed by the man. His reputation in law enforcement was legendary. A few years earlier, he’d shut down an opiate cartel, one of his many high-profile cases.

  “Sir,” I muttered.

  “Good work on the Haegar case,” he said, pumping my hand with an iron grip. “I didn’t get a chance to say so earlier.”

  No. He’d secured the crime scene while his captain, Mike Mickelson, took over the grunt work of taking my statement. Then I’d quit and hadn’t walked back.

  “Thank you, sir. Are you investigating Kix’s mugging?” It made sense that Hugh Burrows would pull in the best.

  “We are.” He glanced at Kix’s door. “I’ll tell the officer on duty to allow you in.”

  I frowned. Why would he need to set a guard outside her door? “Do you suspect a threat?”

  He watched me with a steel gray gaze. “We’ve ruled out nothing until we complete our investigation.”

  Ice raced up my spine. To ease my worry, I’d concluded that she’d been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. A deliberate attempt on her life? I didn’t like the harsh reality of that thought.