Page 25 of Evidence of a Folktale

“Oh god,” Lina said. “I hope not, but I’ll check for signs of sexual assault during my autopsy.”

The officers fell silent, and for long moments, no one spoke as they worked. Bel stared at the girl in red, her stomach roiling until she felt Eamon step closer to her. Murder was heinous enough, but to be assaulted beforehand? She gagged at the possibility.

“If everyone has what they need, I’d like to turn her over and see who we have,” Lina said, finally breaking the mournful silence as she gripped the woman’s limbs. “She’s partially frozen, so it’ll be difficult to confirm the presence of Rigor Mortis, but the snow is a solid indicator that she died last night—Oh my god.” She yanked her hands away from the corpse, and the officers froze where they stood when the victim’s abdomen came into view. Her pale skin had been eviscerated, slashed apart in a brutal display of violence, the cold perfectly preserving the horror in vibrant color.

“What did this to her?” Griffin stepped backward. “That… that looks almost animal.”

“It does,” Lina agreed, and Bel whirled on Eamon, her eyes asking for her voice. They’d found a bloody body in the woods once before. Was it happening again?

Eamon leaned forward and inhaled before returning his gaze to her. He nodded, then pinched his fingers together until only an inch of air separated them. It wasn’t confirmation that someone like Ewan had murdered this woman, but it seemed it was possible.

“No ID,” Lina said. “But I didn’t expect to find any. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to learn more.”

“Wait…” Bel lunged closer to the victim’s face. She’d been too preoccupied with her flayed stomach to notice her features at first, but even frozen in death, she recognized this woman. “I’ve seen her on set a few times. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her. She’s Aesop’s Files head writer.”

Griffin cursed.

Lina cursed.

And then Bel cursed.

“You sure that’s her?” Griffin asked.

“Yes,” Bel said.

Griffin cursed again. “This isn’t good.”

“I don’t think my hookup theory explains this.”

“How do you mean?”

“A hookup turned violent between fans obsessed enough to brave the weather is plausible, but the writer? The episodes are her creations. Why would she risk something so dangerous when her jobalreadyrequires her to be on location? I guess it’s possible, but…” she trailed off.

“But what, Emerson?” Griffin asked, and every eye zeroed in on her.

“Naked save for a red hooded cloak and slashed apart as if attacked by an animal… or a creature. This feels an awful lot like the killings on the show.”

“You think someone killed the writer in the same way she’d write an episode?” Lina asked.

“I don’t know what I think,” Bel said. “This just feels like an episode of Aesop’s Files. Less than a mile away, they’re shooting a murder scene, and what do we find? A real death in the woods. And to make it worse, we won’t recover much evidence. The blood and the melting snow would’ve contaminated anything of importance.”

“Good god, this is bad.” Griffin lookedas ifhe might sit down on the drifts and give up. “All right, everyone, I realize our odds aren’t great, but let’s find something. This just became a very high-profile case.”

“Something like that?” Eamon asked, pointing to the snow beside the body. Bel followed his directions, squinting at the ground for long seconds before she noticed it. It blended in with its surroundings flawlessly, and if Eamon hadn’t spotted it, they might have missed it entirely.

“It’s a gift box.” Bel directed the techs to photograph the tiny white square wrapped with a crimson bow, and when they were done, her gloved hands plucked it free of the scene. “It was on its side. I wonder if the killer placed it on the body, but the wind blew it off.”

“The red’s the same as the victim’s hood.” Griffin settled next to her to examine the object. “They’re probably related, but that seems too small for a gift box. What’s it hiding?”

Bel grabbed the ribbon and started topull, but Eamon snatched it from her, his hands protected by stolen gloves she hadn’t seen him slip on.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Mr. Stone, you’re not a police officer,” Griffin said. “You’re here only as a witness.”

“I’m here to ensure no one kills the woman I love… again.” He glared at the sheriff, a battle of wills rearing its masculine head. “This is probably nothing, butin the eventit’s a trap, I’ll open it, not Isobel.”

“Let him,” Lina said, the authority in her voice warning shewas not tobe argued with. “I never want the real Bel on my morgue table.”

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