Page 38 of Girl, Reformed

Knockit off, Dark,she scolded herself. No rest for the wicked, remember? You can sleep whenyou're dead.

But even as she rallied, even as shereached for another file, her aunt's voice echoed in her head like a ghostlynag.

You'll catch more flies with honey thanwith vinegar, and you’ll get better grades with a rested mind.

The old broad had a point. Loath as Ellawas to admit it, burning the midnight oil wasn't doing her any favors. Herbrain felt like scrambled eggs on Quaaludes, synapses misfiring like dudsparklers.

She needed to recharge the old batteries.Get some shut-eye and let the subconscious work its magic. Maybe then the dotswould magically connect and she could make sense of this senseless case.

Ella was just about to heave herself outof the chair, muscles creaking like rusted hinges, when the door burst openlike a gunshot.

She whipped around, instincts alertdespite being in the sanctuary of the precinct. But it was just Luca at thedoor, and his pretty-boy face was flushed and his eyes were bright with theunholy glee of a man who'd just struck gold.

‘Ella!’ he crowed, brandishing a sheaf ofpapers like a holy relic. ‘I've got it! The signature!’

Ella blinked, her sleep-deprived brainstruggling to catch up. ‘Context, Hawkins. What signature? What are you onabout?’

Luca practically vibrated with excitementas he crossed the room in two long strides. He slapped the papers down onElla's desk, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

‘Remember that mark we found on the insideof the stocks? The circle with the weird squiggles?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That’s whereyou’ve been? The library?’

Luca's grin widened as he nodded. ‘Oh yes.See, I figured whoever made these stocks had to be old-school, you know? Ablacksmith, a metalworker, someone who still uses their hands instead of a 3Dprinter.’

Ella leaned back in her chair, intrigueddespite the fatigue fogging her brain. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, those types, they tend to advertisethe old-fashioned way too. Classified ads, flyers, that sort of thing. So I hitup the library, spent the last four hours going blind on microfiche.’ Heslapped a newspaper clipping on the desk and jabbed his finger at a grainyimage. ‘And bingo. Look familiar?’

Ella squinted at the ad, the words'Aleister Morgan's Medieval Museum' leaping out at her in bold, Gothic script.And there, tucked away in the corner like an afterthought, was a familiarsight.

‘The signature,’ she breathed. ‘The samedamn squiggle from the stocks.’

Luca nodded, triumph oozing from everypore. ‘Looks like this guy Aleister Morgan - is more than just a curator. He'sa craftsman too, specializing in 'authentic recreations of medieval torturedevices.' Charming, right?’

Ella shook her head, a grudging respectblooming in her chest. The kid had done good, damn good. She'd been ready towrite this whole thing off as a dead end, but Luca had followed the thread,unraveled the clues like a seasoned pro.

‘Aleister Morgan's Medieval Museum,’ shesaid. ‘What the hell is it?’

Luca frowned at the newspaper clipping.‘Not much to go on here. Just a few ads, a name, and an address that's probablyolder than dirt.’

Ella snatched up her laptop and startedtapping away, fingers flying over the keys like a concert pianist on a bender.‘Let's see what the wonder of the world wide web has to offer.’

But the internet proved to be a ficklemistress. No website, no social media presence, not even a damn Yelp review forAleister Morgan's Medieval Museum. The place was a phantom in the digital age.

Ella was about to toss the laptop aside infrustration when a tiny blurb caught her eye. She clicked, zoomed, her eyesnarrowing to slits.

BUSINESS STATUS: INACTIVE.

‘Well. Looks like our buddy Aleister didhave a business at one point.’ She dug in a little deeper. ‘But it went downthe pan two years ago. Filed for bankruptcy by the looks of it.’

Luca leaned in, his breath tickling herear. ‘Bankruptcy, huh? That's one hell of a motive for murder.’

Tale as old as time. Guy loses everything,blames the world, decides to take his pound of flesh outta anyone unluckyenough to cross his path.’

Luca huffed out a laugh, but there was nohumor in it. ‘Guess we better pay Mr. Morgan a visit then.’

‘Even if he’s not our guy, the stocks useddefinitely came from him.’ Ella was already on her feet, snatching up her keysand her piece. She punched the address into her phone, a frown creasing herbrow. ‘Huh. That’s weird.’

---