Page 35 of Brimstone and Broomsticks
“Werewolf,” Ophelia said as she dusted off her hands and gathered up the stones.
“So someone slaughtered a werewolf in this hotel room,” the sheriff said from outside the doorway.
“No, someone smeared a bunch of werewolf blood in the carpet of this hotel room.” Ophelia shot the man a wry grin. “I don’t need to be a witch to know that. Look at the edges. And there’s no spray, no other blood besides this spot. Shot, stabbed, or whatever, the victim would have decorated the bed and possibly the walls with droplets and streaks of blood. They would have clutched at the wound, leaving a hand print as they slid to the floor. And they would have left a dragged trail of blood as their body was removed.”
The sheriff nodded then shot her an embarrassed look. “I don’t get many murder scenes here, you know. Mostly theft. Or people beating up other people, usually because someone stole something. Last time I seen this much blood was when that minotaur gored the ogre in that bar fight. Or butchering day over at Sally Chesterfield’s.”
“So someone wanted us to think a werewolf was stabbed, or maybe even killed, here,” I mused. “Which means they probably wanted to frame Lucien for the supposed crime.”
“Well, I have established a bit of a pattern when it comes to fighting with shifters,” Lucien chimed in. “I guess it’s not too far of a stretch to think I might have killed one.”
“But why?” Bronwyn asked. “Lucien’s only been in town, what? Just over twenty-four hours? It’s not long enough for someone to have a feud going with him.”
“Besides Clinton Dickskin,” I reminded her. “And maybe whatever other shifter Lucien has been fighting.” I frowned, going through our shifter population in my head. Clinton. Stanley, although he wouldn’t do anything without Clinton’s approval. Then that other guy Lucien had fought tonight… “Wait, the other guy your fought was a shifter? What kind of shifter?”
Lucien’s expression turned wary. “I’m not sure,” he lied.
I knew he lied. I could feel it in my very bones. “But you knew he was a shifter, so either you saw him shift, or there’s something about you that allows you to recognize them, or someone identified him for you.” I scowled. “Which was it?”
He shrugged. “Alberta said he was a shifter. I only knew he was an asshole and deserved my fist in his face.”
“A panther shifter, I’m guessing?”
He grinned. “Good guess. You can take the demon out of hell, but you can’t change his nature. I punish. I seek justice. It’s what I do. Kind of hard for me to let that go.”
I rolled my eyes. “Next time make a citizen’s arrest, or call 911. Lucien, you’ve got to stop getting in fights or you’ll never get out of this town.”
“I’m thinking of extending my vacation anyway,” he said with a slow smile. “Things here in Accident are far more interesting than I’d ever suspected.”
“Flirt later,” Bronwyn told him. “We’ve got a possible crime scene here, and a sheriff that could really use our help.”
The sheriff nodded gratefully. “So as far as people who may have wanted to frame you for something, we’ve got Clinton Dickskin, and there’s only one panther shifter in town. I’ll question them both, because I know better than to send Cassie over to talk to Marcus.”
“Hey,” I protested. “I just spoke to him this evening and managed to not incinerate anything. Think I can control myself. I can tell you right now that this isn’t Marcus’ style. He’d sue, or key your car or something, but not risk staining his nice clothes by transporting blood and smearing it around on a carpet.”
“Well it’snotClinton Dickskin who did this. I’m pretty sure of that,” Ophelia commented drily. “Because this divination came through clear as can be. It’s not just any old werewolf blood on the carpet, it’s Clinton Dickskin’s blood.”
I caught my breath. That meant someone had either killed or severely wounded Clinton, and knew enough about Lucien’s two run-ins with the werewolf to attempt to frame him for the crime.
The fight last night outside a crowded Pistol Pete’s. Everyone at the courthouse, at the anger management meeting. Everyone who was at the Red Brick Tavern and saw Lucien’s second fight with the werewolf. Pretty much everyone in town knew the demon and the werewolf had exchanged blows at least once.
So the question wasn’t who knew enough to frame Lucien, it was who wanted Clinton Dickskin dead. And unfortunately the answer to that question was the same as the first one—pretty much everyone in town.
