Page 30 of Girl, Reborn

They climbed out of the car and started upthe flagstone walk. Creed's place was a study in conspicuous consumption –easily the most extravagant house in the street. The kind of joint thatscreamed ‘I have more money than everyone else here and I'm not afraid to proveit.’

And proving it he was. As they approached,Ella could hear the tinkle of ice in highball glasses, the raucous laughter ofthe well-lubricated. She exchanged a glance with Luca, eyebrows climbing intoher hairline.

‘Sounds like one hell of a wake,’ shemuttered.

‘Maybe it's that kind of party,’ Lucasaid.

This felt wrong, off-key. What kind ofscumbag threw a backyard get-together mere hours after his political rivalturned up in a cornfield with a gullet full of stagnant water?

They rounded the corner of the house,following the sound of forced frivolity. And there, in all his gin-blossomedglory, was Vernon Creed in his backyard. Holding court in a circle ofglad-handing toadies, a smarmy grin plastered across his punchable face.

He was a tall drink of water, Creed;gangly limbs, bulging Adam's apple, like a praying mantis in a three-piecesuit. Steel-gray hair coiffed within an inch of its life, a set of pearlyveneers that belonged in a toothpaste ad.

And that smile, Christ. It stretched hisface all wrong, twisting his features into something just to the left of human.Like a cheap Halloween mask, a poor simulacrum of a real boy aping the motionswithout a lick of genuine emotion.

She hated him on sight.

Ella didn't bother with niceties. The lackof a fence around the perimeter provided her alarmingly-easy access to thispublic figure. She sauntered toward Creed like a sawtooth cat on the prowl,Luca scrambling to keep up. The assorted lackeys scattered at her approach,clearly sensing the oncoming storm.

But Creed just stood there, grinning intothe teeth of her fury. Like some kind of demented jack-o-lantern that didn'tknow it was about to get smashed.

‘Vernon Creed?’ She barked, slapping theflat of her badge against her palm. ‘Agents Dark and Hawkins, FBI, working withLiberty Grove PD. We need to have a word.’

Creed's smile slipped microscopically, buthe hitched it back into place with the ease of long practice. 'FBI? To what doI owe the pleasure?'

‘Cut the crap, Creed. You know exactly whywe're here.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out of the evidence bags.‘Look familiar?’

Creed didn't so much as flinch. He cockedhis head, eyes wide with studied innocence, then he turned to his hangers-onand made a shooing motion. ‘Alright, boys. This is grown-up talk. Why don't youall head inside, help yourselves to the good stuff in the study? I'll be alongshortly.’

The group dispersed with reluctantgrumbles, shooting curious glances over their shoulders as they filed into thehouse. Creed watched them go, then turned back to Ella and Luca. His eyesglinted with a sort of cruel amusement, like they were bugs he was consideringpulling the wings off of.

‘So,’ Luca said, ‘the letter. Or letters.’

‘Ah. Those.’ He plucked the bag from herfingers, turning it over with casual disdain. ‘What can I say? Campaigns getheated, tensions run high. I may have gotten a bit...carried away in themoment.’

Ella was suddenly lost for words. He wasactually trying to justify it. Brush it off like a parking ticket.

‘A bit carried away,’ Luca repeated.‘That's what you call threatening a man's life?’

Creed shrugged and handed the bag back.‘What can I say? Politics is a blood sport. But it's all just words, boys andgirls. Part of the game. Toledo gave as good as he got.’

Ella saw red. She took a step forward,getting right up in his smug face. ‘The game. Right. Is that what you call it?Just a bit of friendly attempted murder between pals?’

Creed held up his hands, placating. Butshe didn't miss the way his eyes darted nervously to his sycophants, nowhovering at the edges of the scene like well-dressed buzzards.

‘Okay, okay. I admit, I may have crossed aline with those letters. Got a bit too deep in the roleplay. But c'mon. Youdon't actually think I had anything to do with Ricky's death...do you?’

Ella stared at him long and hard, takinghis measure. He fidgeted under her gaze, beads of sweat springing up along hishairline despite the mild afternoon. Fear or guilt?

There was a vicious sort of satisfactionin his voice. This was a man who held a grudge, who nursed his resentments likea fine wine.

But was he a killer? That was themillion-dollar question.

It was plausible, she had to admit. Creedwas the quintessential hollow man, all smarm and no spine. He probably got hiskicks kicking puppies and shorting the wait staff. Sending nasty-grams to hisrivals was likely the extent of his testicular fortitude.

She struggled to picture him getting hishands dirty, not directly. Couldn't picture him lashing Toledo's limp body to aconcrete block and chucking it down a well.

But then again, never underestimate thewrath of a mediocre man outshone. Or what he might pay to see a threat removed.

---