Page 4 of The Devil in the Details

Walker never looked at her like that. She saw that now. Their relationship had been entirely one-sided, infatuation on her part, and him just telling her what she wanted to hear.

“I know Walker was behind it, or at least part of it. He used me, and then vanished after the robbery.”

“You suspect,” Malgraxon said.

“I know!” Fishtopher jumped on the couch and butted his head against her arm. She scratched behind his ears the way he liked. When her voice was steady, she said, “I don’t have any physical proof, but certain things he said make sense in retrospect. He was with me at the time of the robbery, but that was just to keep me distracted.”

“You are each other’s alibi. What did the police think? The insurance adjuster? They are often more concerned with recovering the item than the legal authorities.”

Zelda tossed her hands up in frustration. “Nothing. They were more interested in me, but that’s ridiculous. If I had anything to do with it, I’d have to be brain dead to use my own codes.”

“Yes, that would be shortsighted on your part, but not unsurprising. Criminal masterminds are few and far in between.”

“Well, eventually they came around to that opinion, but I couldn’t shake the gossip. Anyway, long story short, I lost my job, and no museum, gallery, or archive will hire me.” She leaned back against the sofa cushion, perfectly aware that she was sulking. “The art world is small, especially on Mars. Insular. No one’s going to hire me unless I clear my name.”

In desperation, she had applied to the Mars Mart around the corner but her name tripped some flags on the background check. The fact that the investigation was closed and charges dropped didn’t matter. It was fine or whatever. She didn’t want to work at a convenience store anyway.

“Relocate for employment. That is the obvious solution, not making a deal with my kind,” the demon said, his eyes a glowing swirl of black and luminescent blue.

“Why should I have to move? This is my home. I’m a third-generation Martian.”

Malgraxon gave a dramatic yawn, the jerk. “This is my concern, why?”

“Because he’s going to do it again. Amiron Yan is having a party next week. Halloween.” She paused, waiting for a reaction. “It’s an old Earth holiday. People dress up like ghosts and devils. You’d like it.”

“As intriguing as that sounds, I do not see a reason to be involved.”

Zelda grabbed her tablet and projected an image onto the far wall. It was a vase of white flowers with two red poppy blossoms in the lower left of the arrangement. “That is ‘Poppy Flowers’ by Van Gogh.”

“You show me flowers,” the demon said, sounding unimpressed.

“It was stolen in 2010 and never recovered.”

He licked the last of the hot chocolate from the mug, giving no indication that he cared.

“The rumor is that Amiron has it,” Zelda said.

“You are suggesting that your beau will want this painting.”

“He won’t be able to resist—and he’s not my beau.” Not any longer. Zelda was embarrassed to think how head-over-heels she had been for Walker, but it hadn’t been real. Nothing about that man had been real.

Malgraxon remained silent, studying the painting. Finally, he said, “You have no proof that Walker Rocheford is responsible for your misfortune.”

“I don’t need proof. Iknow.” It had to be Walker. There was no other opportunity for someone to grab her keycard and codes.

“You are desperate to blame your ex-lover for all your woes rather than accept that he left you for the typical reasons. He grew bored. Your relationship was stale. Unexciting. Tedious.” With each word, Malgraxon’s presence seemed to grow larger, chasing out the light in the room until it was just him.

“No,” Zelda protested.

“You are nothing more than a spurned lover. There was no plot. You are just another pathetic human looking to blame someone else for their troubles.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Prove it,” Malgraxon growled.

“Men who look like Walker don’t date women who look like me,” she said, mortified at her words.

Barely a heartbeat later, she was pressed flat on the sofa with Malgraxon looming over her. He pinned her hands above her head in a firm grip. One knee wedged itself between her thighs.

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