Page 27 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

Bel mulled over the evidence while Sheriff Griffin spoke, hoping to see things from a new angle, to form a fresh theory. The killings were too elaborate, the scenes too clean. The carpet at The Ivory Keys had been absent blood, but as the autopsy she attended this morning proved before the Sheriff’s press conference, Victor Legat had exsanguinated like Lumen and Kaffe. The human body held on average one and a half gallons of blood, and to drain every vein without so much as misplacing a single drop? It was impossible. She had not lost nearly that much, but after her attack, her blood had been everywhere. In her ears, under her nails, woven into her clothes. The stench had lingered in her nostrils for days, coating her skin with its phantom slickness. Maybe she had died that night and this unreasonable case was a Hell tailored specifically for her. It was as if a beast had clawed out its victims’ hearts and drank them dry, but there was no such thing as monsters. Only men who were often more terrifying than the beasts of mythology. Human depravity ran deep and ugly.

The Sheriff’s voice yanked her back to the present, and Bel surveyed the crowd. After they interviewed Legat’s son yesterday—who stood to inherit his father’s business—only to discover the music store owner was a well-loved member of society and his family without enemies, debts, or vices, word of a third gruesome murder spread like wildfire. Bajka had erupted in fear, and Griffin had called a press conference to answer questions and ask people to stay home at night, preferably not alone. He avoided the case’s specifics, which Bel could tell annoyed those gathered. Not that she could blame them. The townsfolk had never witnessed terror like this, and to suddenly have unspeakable horrors committed against their friends? Their families? Their fear begged to be indulged.

Bel studied the crowd as the Sheriff slowly drew the press conference to an end. Based on her theory that the killer lived for the thrill of attention, she assumed he would be present, but the faces staring back at her were those of friends. Of good people. Of townsfolk who were welcomed here. David Kaffe and his heartbroken daughters stood arm in arm as they watched the police before them. Violet huddled among a group of girlfriends; her delicate black-tipped fingernails pressed against her mouth in horror. Abel Reus hovered on jittery legs at the edge of the throng. No one stood out. No anomalies caught her scrutiny—

A wisp of gold fluttered in the corner of her eye, and Bel’s gaze snapped to the side street. Blonde hair. Long blonde hair just like Alcina Magus, Eamon’s nonexistent friend from outside of The Espresso Shot. The woman was slowly walking away from the press conference, clearly restraining her escape as to not raise suspicion. Bel froze for a second, for a fraction of a breath, and then she was moving.

Careful not to draw attention to herself, she slipped from where the officers stood and into the outskirts of the crowd. Some spectators regarded her with curiosity, but most were too intent on the Sheriff’s nerve-wracking words to notice the pretty brunette walking calmly. The second Bel rounded the corner, though, her pace quickened, and she ran past the small shops and offices until she came to a cross street. She scanned the sidewalks, but they were painfully empty. Not a single life in sight. Bel paused, wondering if exhaustion and frustration were playing tricks on her vision, but then a flash of blonde stepped out from the shield of a car.

Bel burst into a run, her muscular legs chasing the stranger. She slid her sidearm out of its holster as the woman bolted into an alley.

“Freeze, police,” Bel called, but the blonde picked up her pace, vanishing from sight. Bel hesitated slightly before plunging into the alley, but the narrow space was empty. She moved carefully over the asphalt, but when she emerged on the opposite end, that street too was void of pedestrians. A single car drove past as she spun in search of the stranger, but the driver was a curly-haired teenage boy. Not her fleeing mystery woman.

Bel cursed softly and scanned the streets again, but the blonde was gone as if she had vanished into thin air. Maybe she had. Maybe Bel needed sleep more than she realized, and with that thought polluting her brain, she slid her weapon back into its holster. She returned to the press conference in defeat and slipped silently into the crowd, hoping to go unnoticed and unquestioned.

“Bel?” The detective jerked but relaxed when she noticed Vera peering up at her, clutching a purse to her chest with crooked knuckles. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, and Vera tilted her head with that all-knowing stare grandmothers worldwide had perfected. “I’m tired. Bajka was supposed to be a quiet town.” Bel subtly gestured to the press conference winding down.

“I know, dear.” Vera slipped an arm comfortingly around Bel’s waist. “This is so scary. I’m afraid to leave my house now. Thank goodness I have my very own police officer next door.” She squeezed her for emphasis.

“Don’t worry.” Bel draped a toned arm over her neighbor’s shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know. You’re such a sweet girl.”

* * *

A low growlrumbled from Eamon Stone’s throat as Isobel Emerson rejoined the crowd and slipped arm-in-arm with her neighbor. For a second, he thought he had scented something, and he almost abandoned his hiding spot to chase after his pretty detective as she fled the press conference, but then the scent vanished as she reemerged. He settled back into the shadows, studying her, stalking her, and as if the elderly woman’s protective nature sensed his obsession, she twisted her gaze to where he stood. She couldn’t see him. No one could. He had made sure of it, but he could see her, and he stared the woman down with violence burning through his veins. That should be him out there with his detective. Those should be his arms surrounding her waist. His lips against her mouth. His fist around her throat. He bit his lip until he tasted blood as his muscles clenched painfully tight. Isobel Emerson was his. Not Vera’s. Not Garrett’s. Not this town’s.

His.

Bel stood,fist raised before Garrett’s apartment door, contemplating if she should knock. She hadn’t texted him to say she was coming over. She didn’t even know if he was home, but her world felt unsettled. She hadn’t told anyone about Eamon’s warning in the woods, nor had she mentioned why she raced off during the press conference. She hadn’t planned on confessing either event, but earlier, when she walked Cerberus, he had pulled towards the forest. It was the first time since moving to Bajka that she feared those trees, feared what stalked it as its hunting ground.

She had contemplated visiting Vera, but when a sharp wind rattled her neighbor’s bushes, forcing a low growl to escape her dog’s throat, she reconsidered. Hence why she now stood unannounced at Garrett’s door; the fact that he might kiss her, a bonus.

With a fortifying breath, Bel knocked, but silence answered. Her knuckles rapped against the wood a second time, but the door remained closed. With a disappointed sigh, she slid her phone from her pocket and pulled up their text thread.

“Hey… I stopped by, but you aren’t home. Call me when you get this?”

She hit send, waiting to see if the notification pinged inside his apartment, but after a minute she felt like a stalker and turned to leave.

“Hello?” The door cracked open, and she twisted at the voice. “Bel?” Garrett leaned out into the hall slightly, revealing soap still in his hair and only a towel clothing his lean body. For a second, words escaped Bel. She knew her partner was in shape, but seeing him dripping wet and half naked was an entirely different experience. The idea of kissing him being a bonus for her visit doubled and then tripled as she watched a drop of water trail down his abs.

“What are you doing here?” His flustered question jerked her gaze away from dangerous territory and back to his brown eyes.

“I…” she choked, as if the words had wedged in her throat. “I texted you.” She cleared her throat, but the act didn’t clear her thoughts. “I wanted to see you.” She tried and failed to keep her eyes from dipping. “To talk,” she clarified.

Garrett glanced behind him awkwardly, and Bel got the horrifying sensation he was hiding something.Oh god, please don’t let it be another woman.

“Um… yeah, come on in.” He blushed, gripping the towel as he opened the door, and much to Bel’s relief, no woman popped out at her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Bel brushed past him, painfully aware of how wet and naked and close he was. “I don’t know. Some thoughts are nagging me, and I need someone to talk to.”

“Me?” Garrett smiled wide and stepped closer, momentarily forgetting the shampoo dripping from his brunette curls. “I’m glad you came.” He leaned forward and then froze, blushing when he remembered that nothing but a damp towel separated them.

“Me too,” Bel teased, quirking her eyebrows to place him at ease, and he seized the opportunity. Closing the distance, his lips pressed against hers, and she closed her eyes, letting the kiss steal her from the present. Her fingers cupped his jaw, and when they broke apart, Garrett was all heartbeats and smiles. No fireworks for her, but this kiss was significantly better than their first, and Bel brushed her thumb gently over his bottom lip. Maybe they would come. Until then, she would enjoy trying.

“Um…” Garrett looked down at his body and then back at her. “Can you give me five minutes?”

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