Page 23 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

“With crimes this prolific, I’d bet money he was outside at some point. The killer had to stalk each victim to learn their schedules. These murders were premeditated, and those custom pieces required time to prepare. He would have stalked their lives for weeks, maybe even months. I believe he would want to witness the aftermath.”

“He must be someone the town was used to seeing since he observed them for so long, unnoticed,” Garrett said, and Abel Reus and his daily oatmeal order popped into Bel’s head. “Someone who flew under the radar. If your profile is correct, Eamon Stone isn’t invisible. He is too tall, too handsome, too rich to be ignored, and the killer would be someone we wouldn’t blink an eye at.” Garrett purposely avoided Bel’s gaze, and she blushed, knowing full well how captivated she had been by Eamon’s presence.

“There is something else,” Bel said, expertly moving the conversation away from the millionaire’s sex appeal. “Emily always opened the shop herself, and then her employees would arrive for the morning rush hour. If I hadn’t seen her hand and broken the door, one of her subordinates would have discovered her. Brett Lumen was found by his assistant. In both cases, an employee should have found the body.”

“And both victims were bosses,” Garrett continued. “Could the killer resent authority? Perhaps he’s someone who was passed over for a promotion or who worked under a terrorizing manager. Perhaps by killing business owners, he is reclaiming his dominance over a boss who humiliated him?”

“To afford the Reale Mansion and surrounding estate, Eamon Stone is clearly not a disgruntled employee. Commissioning multiple designs from Lumen’s Customs would cost a fortune, hinting that his status is most likely that of an executive and not a subordinate,” Bel said.

“But…” Garrett swallowed the last bite of the spring roll and snagged his laptop, dragging it closer. “What was her name again? The woman Stone argued with?”

Bel opened her notes. “Alcina Magus.”

“He was evasive when we spoke to him yesterday about her. He called her ‘a friend’, but based on the way his body tensed at the mention of her and the surveillance footage fight, I’m guessing they aren’t actually friends.” Garrett started typing.

“Are you thinking she is his employee?” Bel asked, scooting closer to her partner to watch him.

“Or maybe she is an old girlfriend who broke his heart. I don’t know.” Garrett shrugged, and Bel pulled her laptop beside his, entering Eamon’s name into the search bar.

They worked in comfortable silence as the night bled past them. Back cramping and eyes exhausted, Bel finally pushed her chair away from the desk and stood, stretching with a groan. “I’m not finding much on Stone,” she said as she drained her water bottle. Her gaze caught the clock’s accusing time, and she groaned again. They had gotten takeout for dinner, but no one was home to feed Cerberus. She needed to find her little beast a sitter until she solved this case. “A few news articles mention him, but there are no photos except for this from a few years ago.” She pointed at her screen, the photo capturing his profile behind a well-dressed couple at a black-tie event.

“That doesn’t look like him,” Garrett said, leaning closer to the image. “Except for the height.”

“It’s older, and the background is blurry.” Bel attempted to explain the discrepancies, but she had to agree with her partner. Eamon’s jaw line played on repeat in her mind, too defined to be muddled by a grainy photo. “There is a charity that lists him as their CEO. Looks like they provide shelters for displaced families and victims of disasters… which explains his renovation skills, but I can’t find much else.” She continued her search. “The man is an online ghost. No social media. No photos. No interviews.”

“Well, you found more than me.” Garrett pushed his chair back and looked at her. “I found absolutely nothing. Based on what I can tell, Alcina Magus doesn’t exist.”

* * *

The next fewdays were quiet, too quiet, setting Bel’s teeth on edge. Lina Thum had placed a rush on the toxicology report, but it was no surprise when it revealed Emily Kaffe had not been under the influence at the time of her death. Just like Brett Lumen, she had allowed her heart to be stolen without drugs to subdue her or a single defensive wound on her body. She had not struggled, not fought to survive. Bel hated that fact most of all. Emily hadn’t tried to live.

The detectives buried themselves in paperwork. They interviewed family and coworkers until they repeated the questions so often, their mouths moved on autopilot. They studied every crime scene photo and examined the ceramic Emily had been posed in, but nothing new presented itself. The mug and the chandelier were handmade, giving them no manufacturer to track purchases from. The victim’s hearts were still missing, and before both security footages were disabled, the only people caught on tape were townsfolk going about their business. If being filmed on camera at The Espresso Shot was a sign of guilt, then Bel, Garrett, Sheriff Griffin, Violet, Abel, Vera, and occasionally Cerberus were all to blame. Lumen’s footage was similar. Friends, tourists, neighbors. The only exception was Eamon Stone. Besides the few frames where his face was captured on the coffee shop surveillance, his likeness was nowhere to be seen. After their conversation about the killer’s profile, Bel paid attention to the stranger’s presence in town, but her vigilance didn’t matter. Eamon was a ghost, a monster locked away in a castle in the woods. No one spoke of him, knew of him, thought of him. Only she did.

By the end of the third silent night, Bel was more police station coffee than human. Garrett had stood up as she scanned a takeout menu, and not so subtly insisted he was making her dinner. She protested, pointing to the mountain of work taunting them with a solution she couldn’t find, but her partner made it very clear that she could not help the dead if she worked herself into the grave. Emily and Brett were gone, and chaining herself to her desk while surviving on vending machine chips would not bring them back. She needed sleep and real food, and the best way to avenge the fallen was to not fall herself.

Bel relented to his wisdom, despite her stubborn streak raising its hackles, but the moment she set foot in her partner’s apartment, she knew it had been the right call. He made spicy chicken kabobs served over rice, and the meal settled her soul. By her second glass of wine, she couldn’t keep the yawns from her lips. Garrett’s presence was comforting, lulling her into peace.

Since he had only finished one beer, Garrett drove her home and walked her to the front door with an agitated hesitation in his steps. Bel opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong as she fished her keys out of her pocket, but Garrett’s hands caught her face in a grip of adoration before she could utter a word.

“Bel,” he whispered, lowering his forehead to hers. “I wanted to wait for our date, but I have the worst timing. I… Can I kiss you?”

Her feet grew roots, binding her in place as her heart fought to escape her chest. Her extremities and her organ warred with each other, threatening to tear her apart. No one had stood this close to her since the attack. The last time breath had brushed against her skin had been seconds before teeth had carved through her flesh.

“Are you all right?” Garrett pulled back to gaze into her eyes, and only then did Bel realize how rapidly her breathing assaulted her lungs. She forced herself to nod as she studied his brown irises. They were kind. Gentle. Not the stare of a monster. No, this was Garrett, her Garrett. The man who cooked her dinner when she was too stressed to eat and who didn’t pressure her into confessing her secrets.

Hesitantly, Bel lifted herself onto her toes and placed nervous fingers on his chest. His heart leaped at her touch as if it wanted to escape his ribs and meet her palm. The tenderness in his eyes and the thunder of his heartbeat swelled the emotions in her own chest, and before fear convinced her to flee, she kissed him. Their lips met feather-light. Soft and sweet and gentle, and when they broke away, Garrett’s smile was oceans wide.

“Good night, Bel.” He tucked a loose chestnut curl behind her ear. “Sweet dreams.” He leaned forward, kissing her cheek in farewell.

“Good night.” She grabbed his hand; their fingers locked together until the distance separated them. She watched him walk to the car and waved as he drove away. The kiss hadn’t been earth-shattering, but then again, she was impressed that her anxiety allowed anyone to get that close. She liked Garrett. He was a good man. Someone without drama or danger. Once the case was over and her stress reduced, they could work on the fireworks.

Bel turned to go inside when her sight snagged on Vera. Her elderly neighbor was watching Garrett leave with laser-sharp vision, her eyes cold and aggressive. The expression was foreign on her normally sweet face. As if sensing she was being watched, she jerked her gaze to Bel and smiled bright enough to charm the heavens. Bel smirked and waved back, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Vera wanted her married and with a family so badly, she was practically salivating at Garrett’s Prince Charming form.

Safely locked away in her cabin, Bel spent the rest of her evening with her main man, the one she trusted more than any human besides her father. As she cuddled the furry beast, she read, hoping to dream of curly brown hair.

The dreams started innocently, and even in sleep, she dared to hope. Garrett’s kisses were warm. The sun shone. The birds sang. His lips were soft, soft, soft, but then his eyes changed. Black as midnight, as death, as destruction. The kiss turned rough, her body screaming for an escape. Begging for more, so much more. A hard chest pressed against hers, forcing a moan from her lips as a tongue slid inside her mouth. His dark eyes owned her. His tongue claimed her, and her skin burned. She was all fire and heat and desire. She craved more. She craved an end to the madness. And then the teeth came. It was always the teeth that woke her.

Bel stared at her phone,thumb hovering over her father’s number. She needed to call him. To tell him this case was drowning her in fear. He would understand. He wouldn’t judge her. Her dad was the person she trusted most. They were cut from the same cloth, and he would never betray her trust. But it wasn’t just her anxiety that kept her thumb from pressing his contact. The hesitation was darker, more complicated, and she was afraid of the truth. Unwilling to admit that the nightmares went beyond her fears.

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