Page 107 of Evidence of a Folktale

“Yeah, a bit ago,” the deputy said. “He was driving that actor to the bed-and-breakfast.”

“Did he take the detour?”

“I think so.”

“Thanks.” Bel sprinted back to her car and used the Bluetooth to dial the inn. “This is Detective Isobel Emerson. Has Mr. Draven returned yet?” she asked when the owner answered her call.

“Hi, Detective,” the woman said. “No, I’ve yet to see him. Returns are slow with this weather, though. I hope you’re staying out of it.”

“So you haven’t seen him?”

“Not since this morning, no.”

Bel cursed under her breath. “Thanks.” She hung up and drove recklessly around a smaller car blocking her path. Beau hadn’t returned to the inn, but that meant nothing in this blizzard. It was slow going, especially with the accident. They might still be driving. She still might catch them.

Bel honked her horn, and the sedan aheadofher swerved out of the way. The driverflashed her a glareas she passed, only for his expression to turn sheepish when he saw her raised badge. She continued to honk, receiving car after car of dirty looks until the drivers realized she was a cop on a mission, and through the curtain of snow, blue and red flashing lights finally came into view. Sagging into her seat, Bel pulled up beside the squad car, confident she’d found Rollo until she recognized the officer’s features. She cursed as she rolled down her window, and Yates leaned down from where he stood guiding traffic.

“You okay, Detective?” he asked.

“Officer Rollo and Mr. Draven,” she shouted over the commotion of horns and distant sirens. “Have you seen them?”

“Um…” the officer peered behind her. “I’m the only squad car I’ve seen. Most are at the accident site.”

“Do you know if there were casualties?”

The deputy stared down at her with pinched lips, and she had her answer. Someone had died, and her mind flashed to Violet. According to Rollo, she was supposed to be home waiting for him. She prayed that was the truth.

“So, to confirm, Officer Rollo never drove past you?” she asked.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Thanks.” Bel rolled up her window with a curse. Somewhere between the last officer directing traffic and Deputy Yates, Rollo and Draven had disappeared, and she turned her car around.Creeping through thewall ofwhite, she scanned the streets for a clue where Rollo had taken the actor.

It all made sense now. Whythebodiesprovidednoevidence.Why the victims didn’t have defensivewounds.Thekiller was a cop. He knew what the detectives would search for, so he’d been careful. People trusted police officers. They’dbe quick toaccept a lift from a handsome officer in the cold. Rollo had been on duty when Ellery Roja left the inn for snacks, but his shift ended only minutes later. Had he driven to the twenty-four-hour mart and offered the costume designer a ride home just beyond the reach of the store’s surveillance? Had he promised to protect her and then flirted to distract her from where he was driving? Or had she enjoyed the flirting and agreed to disappear with him? Was that how he’d convinced Gwen Rossa to get into his car? Had he used his beauty to catch her eye and lure her into the woods?

Bel couldn’t figure out how he’d tricked Alistair Rot into his car, but being a police officer, she imagined it took little convincing, and with Warren Rouge, Chloe Rider did all the heavy lifting. After Miss Rider left the bed-and-breakfast in the cab, Rollo drove to check out a noise. He’d then parked so only the front feet of his hood were visible on camera, and Bel assumed it was because he wanted a better view of the inn. Only he hadn’t been there. The car’s lights were merely his alibi. He’d left, killed the director, and returned before the end of his shift, his squad car never moving from the camera’s watchful eye.

And now Draven, or as he’d been born, Reds. Bel had handed him to Rollo on a silver platter, a dangerous blizzard and a fatal car crash granting him the perfect night of chaos. With all the snow, Rollo probably excused his deviation from the detour as a way to skirt traffic. Draven was unfamiliar with Bajka. He wouldn’t know that Rollo’s alternate route was a lie. He wouldn’t remember which directions led back to the inn and which led to the tree-concealed hiking trails.

Bel slammed on her brakes, her SUV sliding a few feet before it slowed to a halt. Tire tracks. They were faint, meaning no one else had traversed that side street in a few minutes, but she knew whose car they belonged to. This was where Rollo deviated from the detour because that seemingly inconsequential street led to a road that eventually wound its way to the edge of town… the edge that sat up against the hiking trails and the expansive Reale Estate. He was taking Draven into the woods, and if she didn’t catch up with him, Beau would become Bajka’s most famous murder victim.

Bel eased through the cars blocking the turn. She could barely see more than a few feet ahead of her, and she thanked God this part of town was abandoned. She pushed her car to a reckless pace and hit the Bluetooth button to dial her boss.

But nothing happened.

She dialed again, but aquickglance told her she had no service. The accident or the storm must’ve knocked something out, and she glanced at her useless phone as she barreled after a serial killer. Olivia was out of town and the entire force was dealing with the crash. If shedidn’t catchRollo, Beau would die, and while he might be guilty in his own right, she couldn’t let Hollywood’s favorite heartthrob die in Bajka. Rollo wasbiggerthan her, but he wasn’t as experienced. He was younger, and he hadn’t faced evil like she had. He hadn’t survived a witch or two kidnappings. He hadn’t fought a man cursed by a drugged tattoo orlived throughthe Impaler’s attack. He was nothing but a young officer with a gun. Bel was the woman who threw herself into kidnappers’ cars and choked them until they crashed. As long as she reached Rollo before he murdered Draven, shewas the one withthe upper hand.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,”Eamon called as he jogged down the grand staircase. Cerberus was barking at the front door, signaling he wanted to go outside, and Eamon felt guilty. He’d been so distracted by helping Bel these past few weeks that he needed to play catch-up on hisownwork. He’d sequestered himself in his office, gifting Bel’s pitbull a pile of new toys to keep him busy, but that was hours ago. It seemed the poor animal had to potty sobadlythat he’dtaken to shoutingin the foyer so his voice would echo endlessly throughout the mansion.

“I should build you a fence out back and a doggy door,” he said as he shoved his feet into his shoes and pulled open the door. “I’ll have to install security cameras though, because I don’t think your mom would like you hanging outside alone, even with a fence.”

Cerberus ignored his musings and leaped off the front stoop, almost disappearing in the deep snow as he landed on the driveway. Eamon burst into laughter as the pup’s stocky legs fought the white drifts, and then he froze. He’d been locked in his office all day, and while he’d noticed the snowflakes falling past his window, he’d been on the second floor. He hadn’t realized how deep it had gotten, and panic replaced his humor at Cerberus’ antics. Bel wasn’t home, nor had she called, and he pulled out his phone to click on their text thread.

Eamon

Justchecking in since the storm’s getting worse. Are you okay? Do you need me tocomeget you?

Cerberus barked, and Eamon glanced up, shoving his cell into his pocket when he realized the pitbull was glaring at him.

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