to this detectiving.
“The maid said she found the vic when she let herself in this afternoon. The discovering officer didn’t mention another set of footprints.” Parker glanced down, pointing at his feet. “I’ve been walking in the prints already left here.” He picked up one foot. “See? No tread. Those marks are from the booties.”
“And there were no footprints.”
Parker nodded. “So, the victim was either killed last night while the maid was in the house,” Parker paused, frowning. “Or it could fly. Are we looking for something with wings now?”
I looked around Hayes at the undisturbed carpet. “Not necessarily. Vampires have no quantifiable weight. They wouldn’t leave any tracks.” I thought of Nina, the silent way she flitted around our house. “Lots of other mythical creatures wouldn’t leave footprints, either,” I said quickly.
We crossed the hall and I glanced through an open door where the maid, in a crisp, pale blue uniform, was sitting on a rose damask loveseat. She was sobbing loudly, working a rumpled handkerchief between her thick, stubby fingers while an officer stood by, taking notes.
At the end of the hallway, we paused in front of a set of double doors, and Hayes looked over his shoulder at me. “Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and he pushed open the doors.
The master suite was phenomenal, even in its dimmed-light state. The huge bay windows were obscured by pale gray floor-to-ceiling curtains that only let in a few meager shards of sunlight. An imposing carved-wood bed took up one whole wall, and tucked daintily into the bed a woman rested, peaceful, eyes closed, pale lips drawn, her golden hair spread out in fairy-tale swirls on her white silk pillowcase.
“She’s so young,” I said, frowning, looking around the pristine room. Delicate antique perfume bottles were lined up on a glass tray, and a vase full of tulips—not a single petal lost—arched over the nightstand. Not a thing was out of place. The calm of the room was palpable.
“Why do they think this was a murder?” I asked, stepping closer to the sleeping woman. “She looks so peaceful. Maybe it was natural causes? Heart attack, cardiac arrest, choking …” I ticked off all the causes of death I could think of from watching Grey’s Anatomy. “And she’s got eyeballs, right? This doesn’t look like our guy.” I clapped my hands, a prickly wave of relief washing over me. “I guess that’s it, right? Should we head back to the station? Grab a cup of coffee from the diner? I’m buying.”
Hayes ignored me and moved closer to the bed, putting one gloved hand on the bedclothes carefully folded over the woman. In one swift motion, he folded them back.
I gasped, my heart lurching, my knees buckling. The hardwood floor felt cool through my skirt as I sat down hard and my feet kicked away, trying to shove my body farther from the offensive scene.
“Oh. God,” I gasped, then clamped my mouth shut. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Hayes looked back at me, panicked. He crouched down next to me, his knees touching mine, his hands on my shoulders. “Lawson, are you okay?”
I wagged my head and fought to get up, one hand still clamped over my mouth. Hayes stepped out of the way, and I found the bathroom door, shoved it open, and vomited.
Chapter Six
I was splashing cold water on my face when Hayes appeared in the doorway, a combination of concern and amusement washing over his face. “I barfed at my first crime scene, too,” he said companionably.
“Good for you,” I said, swishing water in my mouth and then spitting it into the sink. “But I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” I turned off the tap and wiped my hands on a towel— a dead woman’s towel —and felt the urge to vomit again. It passed and I pressed my hands against my heart in an effort to keep it from thundering through my chest. “This was a bad idea. I’m an administrative assistant. I don’t do murders. I file papers. I
“The maid said she found the vic when she let herself in this afternoon. The discovering officer didn’t mention another set of footprints.” Parker glanced down, pointing at his feet. “I’ve been walking in the prints already left here.” He picked up one foot. “See? No tread. Those marks are from the booties.”
“And there were no footprints.”
Parker nodded. “So, the victim was either killed last night while the maid was in the house,” Parker paused, frowning. “Or it could fly. Are we looking for something with wings now?”
I looked around Hayes at the undisturbed carpet. “Not necessarily. Vampires have no quantifiable weight. They wouldn’t leave any tracks.” I thought of Nina, the silent way she flitted around our house. “Lots of other mythical creatures wouldn’t leave footprints, either,” I said quickly.
We crossed the hall and I glanced through an open door where the maid, in a crisp, pale blue uniform, was sitting on a rose damask loveseat. She was sobbing loudly, working a rumpled handkerchief between her thick, stubby fingers while an officer stood by, taking notes.
At the end of the hallway, we paused in front of a set of double doors, and Hayes looked over his shoulder at me. “Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and he pushed open the doors.
The master suite was phenomenal, even in its dimmed-light state. The huge bay windows were obscured by pale gray floor-to-ceiling curtains that only let in a few meager shards of sunlight. An imposing carved-wood bed took up one whole wall, and tucked daintily into the bed a woman rested, peaceful, eyes closed, pale lips drawn, her golden hair spread out in fairy-tale swirls on her white silk pillowcase.
“She’s so young,” I said, frowning, looking around the pristine room. Delicate antique perfume bottles were lined up on a glass tray, and a vase full of tulips—not a single petal lost—arched over the nightstand. Not a thing was out of place. The calm of the room was palpable.
“Why do they think this was a murder?” I asked, stepping closer to the sleeping woman. “She looks so peaceful. Maybe it was natural causes? Heart attack, cardiac arrest, choking …” I ticked off all the causes of death I could think of from watching Grey’s Anatomy. “And she’s got eyeballs, right? This doesn’t look like our guy.” I clapped my hands, a prickly wave of relief washing over me. “I guess that’s it, right? Should we head back to the station? Grab a cup of coffee from the diner? I’m buying.”
Hayes ignored me and moved closer to the bed, putting one gloved hand on the bedclothes carefully folded over the woman. In one swift motion, he folded them back.
I gasped, my heart lurching, my knees buckling. The hardwood floor felt cool through my skirt as I sat down hard and my feet kicked away, trying to shove my body farther from the offensive scene.
“Oh. God,” I gasped, then clamped my mouth shut. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Hayes looked back at me, panicked. He crouched down next to me, his knees touching mine, his hands on my shoulders. “Lawson, are you okay?”
I wagged my head and fought to get up, one hand still clamped over my mouth. Hayes stepped out of the way, and I found the bathroom door, shoved it open, and vomited.
Chapter Six
I was splashing cold water on my face when Hayes appeared in the doorway, a combination of concern and amusement washing over his face. “I barfed at my first crime scene, too,” he said companionably.
“Good for you,” I said, swishing water in my mouth and then spitting it into the sink. “But I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” I turned off the tap and wiped my hands on a towel— a dead woman’s towel —and felt the urge to vomit again. It passed and I pressed my hands against my heart in an effort to keep it from thundering through my chest. “This was a bad idea. I’m an administrative assistant. I don’t do murders. I file papers. I
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