Page 2 of Deadly Avarice
Ah, now that was a bit problematic.
“Speedler’s supposed to be in the Bahamas on vacation.”
I cringed as I stared down at what was left of Thomas Speedler. Yeah, the Bahamas wasn’t his final destination.
“You’re sure it’s Speedler?” Pablo asked, reminding me of Franklin. My man typically called others by their last name, not their first.
Thomas answered for himself. “I know exactly who I am,” Thomas said. I wasn’t certain how that worked. Obviously, Thomas no longer had a mouth to speak from. When a corpse’s mouth was intact, they opened that mouth and spoke to everyone as you’d expect. Thomas didn’t have a mouth any longer and yet, with my necromancer power assisting him, he could still convey his thoughts. And it wasn’t just into our heads. Recording devices picked up on the sound and could be easily heard. Good thing too. States differed in their individual laws regarding evidence collected or learned by bringing the dead back. Recordings helped.
“Holy shit,” Pablo exclaimed and took a step back, head twisting this way and that. “I heard that.”
I scoffed. “Of course you did,” I answered.
“S-sorry,” Pablo apologized. “This is my first time.”
“Ah, virgin territory,” I teased and, with a wink, added, “I get it, and there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
Pablo’s dark cheeks flushed. I’ll give the man this, it took him less than fifteen seconds to collect himself and get down to business. And get down to business he did. “For the record, you are stating that your name is Thomas Speedler, not Titus McMahon, as the grave marker and records indicate.”
Rage poured from Thomas’s soul. I hated the angry ones. Not that I figured Thomas didn’t have every right to be pissed, especially considering he’d most likely not passed from natural causes. Still, that kind of anger coated my insides like thick tar and took forever to wash away. At least the man wasn’t a psychopath. Not that I was clinically trained to make a judgment. I was simply a layman who’d had the unique experience of touching souls that were horrendously unpleasant.
“I am Thomas Speedler.” Thomas’s voice boomed with authority. Some souls were more difficult than others to hold onto. Some didn’t want to be back. Thomas Speedler wasn’t that kind of soul. He was all too eager. In fact, I thought sending him back beyond the veil might be the difficult part.
Pablo didn’t bother writing anything down. He recorded the conversation with his phone. I’d been surprised when I learned it would just be the two of us, but according to Pablo, he needed more evidence for the Louisiana police to take an interest. I had no doubt that when they listened to this recording,interestwouldn’t be a problem.
Typically, I was the one doing the questioning. Me or the person who’d hired me. With Thomas Speedler, questions weren’t required, at least not from our end. Thomas was a different story. He had a plethora of questions, not the least ofwhich was why the police weren’t present. Needless to say, he wasn’t impressed when Pablo explained the reason.
“They do not believe I am deceased?” Thomas asked, disbelief clear. “Why would I go to the Bahamas? I have no business there.”
Considering I had absolutely zero idea, I let Pablo take the lead on this one. This was one of those jobs where I could be a wallflower. Pablo and Thomas needed my power to make this meet and greet happen. They didn’t need my commentary.
Leaning against a nearby headstone (I found them terribly comfortable and found my rear planted on their surface on several occasions), I listened in and stifled my disbelief. I’d been involved in more murder investigations than I cared to remember, and few of them were this complex or contrived. I had to give credit to Titus McMahon. He’d nearly pulled this off. The man lost all that credit when I remembered why I’d been brought into this investigation in the first place.
Titus had gotten sloppy…or maybe cocky was the right word. Human arrogance never ceased to amaze me. Fairies were arrogant too, but they had reason to be. Fairies had the juice to back it up. Humans, not so much.
I stood there, a silent witness on the sidelines, as the tale became increasingly clear. Money and greed. Those were two words that were synonymous with motive. While I might not fully comprehend the particulars, the short of it was that Titus and Thomas had gone into business together and that business hadn’t proven as profitable as they’d hoped. Of course, it probably would have been more successful if Titus hadn’t been skimming the profits. At least according to good ol’ Thomas Speedler. There were a couple of life insurance policies on Titus McMahon. One paid out to the wife. The other to Thomas. Obviously, Thomas hadn’t collected his share. Turns out, Thomas wasn’t married, didn’t have a significant other,or any close family to speak of. He’d carried a life insurance policy too—with Titus McMahon as the inheritor. That wasn’t particularly odd given they were business partners. I could only assume that eventually, when no one heard from Thomas and with some evidence that Titus McMahon probably had at the ready, someone would figure out that Thomas was deceased and the insurance policy would be paid out. With Titus supposedly dead also, the payout would go to hisgrievingwidow.
And just like that, Mrs. Titus McMahon would become a multimillionaire. She’d remarry, most likely they’d move out of the country, and bingo-bango, money problems solved.
Quite slick, as long as you didn’t mind getting your hands bloody.
“Is he telling the truth?” Pablo asked. We’d already covered that in one of our preliminary discussions, but I didn’t blame him for asking again. Honestly, I was only surprised he hadn’t asked earlier.
“He is,” I easily answered. Technically, soulscouldlie, but I didn’t allow that and knew if they were trying to do so. The truth was what I guaranteed, whether it was what one really wanted to hear or not. I made that very clear in the bold print in each and every contract. Someclaimedthey wanted the truth. Truth was a tricky mistress. It was only loved when it said the words the paramour wanted to hear.
“Shit,” Pablo repeated. If I had a dime for every time he said that word, I’d be able to swing through a Taco Bell drive through and grab a taco or two. “I need to get this to the police.”
I couldn’t agree more. Thomas Speedler had just given a very detailed account of his own murder. One guess who the assailant was.
I popped a piece of hard candy into my mouth. My blood sugar wasn’t in jeopardy of falling too low, but I’d promisedFranklin that I’d take care of myself. And this was me keeping that promise.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Taking a quick peek, I saw it was from Pops. The message was quick and to the point.Call me when it is convenient.I tucked my phone back into my pocket. If it were urgent, Pops would blow my phone up. If he said it could wait, then it could wait.
Pablo continued asking Thomas’s soul questions. I’d been in on enough police investigations to realize Pablo was good at this. The man was thorough and had gotten over the weirdness of basically talking to a few trembling, crispy bones scattered in a box. Pablo had good focus.
I checked my watch and noted that Pablo and Thomas had been speaking about forty minutes. I wasn’t even close to tapped out, but Thomas’s continued rage made my head hurt. I activated one of Pops’s pain charms. The relief was instantaneous, and I silently thanked my warlock father for the billionth time.
Time ticked on and the minutes added up. I was contracted for an hour, and we were precariously close to going into overtime. I wouldn’t turn down the money but wanted the relief of letting Thomas’s soul go more than the cash. With a heavy sigh, Pablo finally seemed to have everything he needed. “I think I’m done here.”
