Page 31 of Tested
Chapter Nine
Two hours later, I’ve come to a startling conclusion. Murder is boring. Connor called Smith, who made us promise not to leave the scene. Apparently, Pasadena has its own police force, but not a supernatural liaison, so the three of us – Connor, and Smith, and I – get plenty of side-eye while the incident team rolls into gear.
By some miracle, Smith gets permission for me to view the victim. “You don’t have to stay in there long. In fact, it’d be better if you got in and out as quickly as possible. I need you to tell me if you smell anything similar to Adaline Nosaka.”
To say I don’t want to go into that house is an enormous understatement. More accurately, I’d rather shave my head and buy a Taurus than go into that house.
“Sure. Just give me a minute.”
I spend some time communing with the boxwood hedge, then nod at Smith. “Ready.”
Only the hedge hears my spoiled little boy rant about having to do things I don’t want to, and the hedge isn’t talking.
The mood in the house has changed. Instead of emptiness, there’s hubbub. Instead of dim spaces, the rooms are lit by harsh halogen spotlights.
Instead of a lively interview with Adaline Nosaka’s bestie, there’s the body of a selkie in her human form, her face covered by her pelt.
Maybe I should take Trajan up on his offer.
Gathering my ’nads, I stand next to the body. I shut my eyes so nothing distracts my sense of smell. Under the broad swath blood leaves across my senses, there’s a salty ocean scent that’s likely the selkie herself. Humans, but no more than I’d expect from the incident team. A trace of smoke which might be Smith. I’d smelled something similar near Adaline Nosaka, but then he’d been at that scene, too.
No one scent saysHi, I’m your killer, which is frustrating. I try for another couple minutes, then give up in disgust.
I suck at this.
Smith is busy with one of the homicide detectives. I catch his eye and mouth, “Nothing,” and at his nod, I beat feet away from the scene.
A small crowd has gathered on the street in front of the house. I find Connor standing in the middle of them, chatting up one of the neighbors.
“First Adaline, and now Monica. This is just so sad.”
The woman at Connor’s elbow looks to be the same generation as Adaline, although she reads to me as wholly human. Connor’s expression reads as sincerely sympathetic. “They’ve been friends a long time,” he prompts.
“Oh my gosh, yes. I think they went back to high school.”
“You knew them both?”
“We’re in the same wine group. Ada has a knack for choosing great wines, and Monica has a knack for drinking them.” She doesn’t seem to notice she’s referred to the two dead women in the present tense.
Connor asks her whether their husbands get along and gets a dissertation on Monica’s dating life and how her first husband and Adaline’s only husband are still close. “Monica and her ex had something of a competition to see who could bring the youngest date to wine group.”
The crew from the medical examiner rolls a gurney into the house and Connor’s informant grows quiet. “I’ll miss them,” she says, her eyes growing damp. “They were perfectly lovely, and now they’re gone.”
She breaks off and, giving Connor a watery smile, she leaves the little cluster of neighbors.
“Do you suppose she knew they were supes?” I ask.
He watches her go, his frown thoughtful. “Is she?”
“I didn’t pick up anything but human.”
“Me neither.” He scratches at his George Michael facial hair. “Should have asked her if she knew who might want to hurt them.”
Given that my knowledge of detective work is limited to a few episodes of NCIS, I’m hesitant to volunteer anything, except I’m me, so I do. “See what house she goes into and we’ll stop by tomorrow and ask a few more questions.”
“Good thought.” He pulls out a small notebook and pencil and jots down her address. “Smith is going to have a long list of people to talk to, so he’ll appreciate the help.”
He catches my elbow and leads me gently out of the cluster of people. “Did you get anything in the house?”
