Page 32 of A Bloom in Winter

“Or female,” Autumn pointed out.

The brothers nodded at her before Butch corrected, “That’s right.Whoeverdid this also took a souvenir. Broadius was only wearing one cufflink. I didn’t find the other one.”

“Where’s the body now?”

“At the morgue.” Butch tilted his glass forward. “Now it’s your turn. What do we know about our victim?”

Going over to hisshellan, Tohr sat on the arm of the love seat, and rubbed her shoulder. “From what Saxton and I were able to discover, he was part of the new group welcomed into the aristocracy about thirty years ago. Not mated. Money made in bitcoin. No controversies—”

“Here we go.” V sat forward and turned his laptop around. “This is our killer.”

Everyone leaned in as the surveillance footage was played on the screen. The grainy images didn’t show much because of the fucking falling snow, but after Tohr’s eyes focused properly, he could make out a figure in white battling the blizzard’s fury, curved in against the gusts as they approached the garage.

“The ski mask covers the face, of course.” V hit replay. “And they weren’t stupid. The first thing they did when they got inside was turn off the system so this trek to the side of the garage is all we have. The interior cameras go black right after this.”

“Like I said, it’s a professional,” Butch murmured as they watched things for a third time. “I mean, no fingerprints anywhere—but then I’m working under the assumption it was one of our kind anyway. But no boot prints, either. I did findtwo puddles on the floor just inside that door. I’m guessing they jimmied the lock, got in, and slipped on some treadless pads.”

“Any sense what they did with the security stuff, V?” Tohr asked.

“They knew the code.” V sat back on the sofa and stroked his goatee with his gloved hand. “It’s a pretty standard system. You have a minute to disarm it any time you open a door or a window. The log was easy to access and review, and it shows entry from the garage at five thirty-eight p.m. and shutoff with the code less than thirty seconds later.”

“It was twenty-two minutes before the maid arrived for the night,” Butch cut in. “And she confirmed the alarm was off when she arrived, which was unusual.”

“After those digits were entered”—Vishous shrugged—“they they were in like Flint.”

“I loved those movies,” Tohr said under his breath.

“Zowie.” The cop lifted his glass. “Cheers to Coburn.”

“So who wants Broadius dead.” Tohr looked at V. “I only scratched the surface on his identity. I need you to go further.”

“No problem.” Vishous tapped his lappy. “By noon, I’ll know a lot. By nightfall, I’ll be able to tell you even what his favorite fucking color was.”

“I love you,” Tohr said under his breath.

“You should.” V started touching the screen. “Because while we’re on the subject of surveillance footage, I know who left that envelope in the Audience House’s waiting room. Lady and gentlemales, I’d like you to meet our courier.”

As everybody went forward again, the Lenovo was turned back around. “Meet Candice, daughter of Meiser.”

This time, there were four images in a square, each offering a different angle of the waiting area. When V hit the play button, a short female in a wool coat entered and checked in with the receptionist, her voice well modulated and quiet. Then shenodded pleasantly to the male and female who were seated on the couch, and took the single chair by the door.

“I’ll speed it up,” V said as he tapped something.

Abruptly, the little clock in the lower right-hand corner went into flight mode, and the three vampires twitched and jerked through their movements, their feet tapping, their hands shooting up to cover a cough, a series of tiny, split-second tilts of heads punctuating the Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks-octave, staccato convo that was exchanged.

And then the couple was called out. After which a male came in with a female and a tiny baby in a pink blanket. They took the place of those who’d departed on the sofa.

More time passed at a dead run, and more supersonic chatter twittered along.

Then one of Saxton’s paralegals came in and the female in the single chair stood up. As she did, an envelope fell out from under her coat and got wedged in the juncture between the arm and the seat.

Tohr frowned. “She didn’t know it was—”

“Wait for it.” V tapped the upper right quadrant feed, which showed the door. “Wait . . .”

Just before the female stepped out, she glanced back—and not at the couple with the young.

Her worried eyes went to where she had been sitting.

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