Chapter 16
ONE CANNOT conduct a murder investigation when one is drinking with gods.
One can be coerced into singing, judging an arm-wrestling contest, and breaking up a bar brawl before friendly back pats become less friendly fists to the face.
Thor, who went by the name Thorne, was in the corner with a microphone and his guitar singing—sadly and badly—about the total eclipse of his heart. I was alone at a table, nursing a glass of water and wondering who Thorne had been dating to cause him the case of the mopes.
“Delaney.” Odin pulled up a chair and sat down heavily at the table next to me.
“Odin,” I said.
“So.” Hera, who preferred to be called Herri, owned Mom’s Bar and Grill—and was Chris’s direct business competitor and friend. She plunked down on my other side. “We should talk.” She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, beautiful, heart-shaped face with long, dark hair streaked with candy red. Her skin was a shade darker than mine, her light brown eyes smoldered.
The other chairs were dragged across the wooden floor and quickly taken by Crow and then Ares, who went by the name Aaron and looked like a computer programmer who wasn’t old enough to drink. The god of war’s hair was yellow-brown over a softly angled face, green-gray eyes behind glasses in a blocky, stylish frame. He had darker skin than me, but also freckles.
Zeus and Frigg were the next to claim seats, Zeus making it a point to sit as far as possible from Odin. Whereas Odin looked a bit as expected for the Norse wandering god, from wild gray hair to burly build and eye patch, Zeus, who went by the name Zeus, looked like he should own a fashion boutique for only the very rich and very famous.
And he did. He was tall, thin, elegant, and impeccably dressed in deep blue slacks, business shirt, and a jacket that probably cost more than my year’s salary. His dark hair and goatee were trimmed tight, his face long and tanned. Even though he sent a sneer Odin’s way, he was handsome.
Frigg, tall, pale, her golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, went by her name too, though she told people it was a nickname. She reached across the table and patted my hand before sitting. She wore jeans and a tank top with the logo of her towing company, Frigg’s Rigs, across the front of it. The tank was tight enough to accent her curvy figure and showed off the tattoos of a goose in flight, with a spindle in its beak across her muscular arm.
Well, lucky me. Half a dozen gods, all in a row.
“Is this an intervention? Because it feels like an intervention.” I leaned back in my chair and thumbed off my phone.
“It’s not an intervention,” Herri said.
“Do you want an intervention?” Crow interrupted.
“It’s just,” Herri said before I could answer, “we want to talk about that power you’re holding.”
Oh. Well, that made sense. Of course they’d be worried. My dad had been an old pro at this, but this was my first time dealing out a power.
“You let a new god into town today,” Crow said.
“Crow,” Zeus said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Shut up.”
“Thanatos?” I looked them each in the eye. “He signed the contract. As long as he follows the rules of Ordinary, he’s just as welcome here as any of you.”
“We’re not worried that he’s here,” Aaron said. “We just think it’s interesting that hours before he arrived, one of ours falls.”
A chill rolled over my skin. That quote was almost exactly what the anonymous note had said. “What?”
“Hours before Thanatos shows up,” Aaron repeated slowly, as if I needed time to hear each word, “Heimdall dies. Anyone else find that suspicious?”
Crow shot his hand up.
Great. The god of war and the trickster god thought something fishy was going on. Or, more likely, the god of war and the trickster god were trying to stir up trouble.
“I don’t see how they’re connected,” I said.
“Thanatos is death,” Aaron said.
“Exactly!” Crow said.
“Don’t humor them, Delaney,” Zeus said. “Children, find another pot to stir.”
“He’s death,” I said to Aaron, “and you’re war. No one’s blaming you for the Kressler/Wallery garbage can feud.”
He rolled his eyes. “Amateurs! If I were running that feud, one of them would be dead by trash compactor by now.”
He might look like a mild-mannered gardener, but Aaron had always been a cheerleader for blood and mayhem.
“I don’t see why we should blame Thanatos for Heimdall’s death,” I said. “Just because he is Death doesn’t mean people randomly die around him.”
Crow chuckled and even Odin smiled. Okay, it was a dumb thing to say, but it wasn’t wrong.
Odin leaned forward, resting two beefy arms on the table. He had several scars and nicks on his arms and the backs of his hands. Being a chainsaw artist hadn’t come naturally to him, but he was too pigheaded to give up his preferred mortal occupation.
Just like most of the gods.
“Don’t you find the timing convenient?” he said. “That death was no accident. Someone was behind it. Likely a trickster.” He leaned back as if that were that, and the case was closed.
Crow grinned at Odin. “Screw you, old man. I didn’t kill Heimdall.”
“You think you’re the only trickster?” Odin asked, unperturbed.
He was right. Between the creatures, deities, and heck, even the mortals in town, we had plenty of people who were jokers.
“Do any of you know who wanted him dead?” I asked. “Who he might have been fighting with?” I glanced at Herri expectantly.
This is a safe place. You’re with people who care about you, Herri. Tell us you killed him.
Huh. Maybe it did feel like an intervention.
She pulled her hair back from her temples with her thumbs and let it fall. “He and I argued. But I have never disliked Heimdall. As a mortal, he was companionable. Even-tempered. Despite screwing me out of a few choice catches, he was fair to me.”
“As a mortal, you got along with him,” I said. “What about as a god?”
“We leave that outside this town, outside these lives,” she said.
“Do you?” I asked.
“Yes,” Zeus said in his cultured accent. “We all do.”
Herri rolled her eyes at him, and Aaron adjusted his glasses and snorted.
“You have an opinion, Ares?” Zeus asked.
“I’ll believe gods leave petty squabbles behind the day you and Odin kiss and make up.”
“Ass saddle,” Odin muttered.
“What’s that?” Aaron cupped his hand to his ear. “What did you call me?”
“Boys,” Herri warned.
Crow shook his head. “And you thought the tricksters cause trouble.”
“I thought,” Odin said, his deep voice loud enough to silence both of them, “that we were telling Delaney that we’re worried about her.”
“Wait,” I said. “We’re what now?”
“Worried about you,” Odin said, still glaring at Aaron and Crow in turn. “Isn’t that right, boys?”
Crow slid me a small smile. “I think that was actually the point.”
“Worried? That I can’t do my job?” Okay, maybe I said that a little louder than I’d intended.
I could feel all the gazes in the room turn to me.
Terrific. Now all the gods were interested in the subject of my inexperience.
“It’s just that your father…” Zeus began.
“My father what?” I demanded. “He taught me how to do his job. I’ve known for years that I would take it on. Just because he and I don’t sense power in the same manner doesn’t mean I’m not living up to the Reed blood and word. I will not fail this town nor the gods, creatures, or mortals within it.”
“…asked us to look out for you,” Zeus finished quietly.
Oh.
Well, I’d just been getting all worked up over the wrong thing.
“I can take care of myself.”
Frigg reached over and patted my arm. “We know. You’re a Reed. We know you’re strong. Your family always has been. But you’re new to this, Delaney.”
“And”—Zeus held up one finger to keep me quiet—“you not only have a new god in town, but you also need to rehouse your first power. It is a lot to take on at once.”
“Not to mention the murder,” Aaron said.
“And the murder,” Zeus agreed.
I hadn’t told any of them I thought Heimdall was murdered. “Who told you he was murdered?”
“He fell off his boat and drowned,” Odin said. “We’re on vacation, we’re not idiots.”
Thor stood up on a table and wobbled like a surfer trying to catch a wave. “Let’s swim the sea naked! In Heimdall’s honor! Who’s with me?”
Death, who was sitting primly in a corner booth sipping a fruity drink with umbrellas in it, glanced around the room, keenly interested in the answers.
“Well, some of us aren’t idiots,” Zeus said. “Some of us just raise them.”
Odin stood. “At least some of us aren’t cheap.”
“Cheap?”
“You broke my chainsaw.”
“It was dull.”
“Not before you used it on concrete.”
“I paid you to replace the blade.”
“You gave me store coupons. To your store!”
“Of which you should make immediate use. Your decor is hideous.”
“I make all my decor!”
Zeus gave him one slow blink. “I know. Destroying that chainsaw was a service.”
“Screw you and your damn service.” Odin curled his massive, scarred fists. “I’ll take my payment out of your face.”
“Finally!” Aaron cheered.
“No.” I stood, grabbed Odin’s arm. “You touch him and I’m dragging you to jail.”
“Worth it,” he growled.
Zeus was slouching a bit in his chair, relaxed, like he had no care in the world. “Let him go, Delaney. He couldn’t hit me if I carved a target on my forehead with a dull chainsaw.”
“I’ll carve you a target, right up your—”
“Bargain.” I pointed a finger at Odin and turned it on Zeus. They watched me. All the gods watched me. Nothing interested a god more than a juicy bargain. “In exchange for the excessive wear and tear on Odin’s chainsaw…”
Zeus made a short, offended sound.
“…which I am sure was unintended,” I amended. Odin growled. “Zeus will carry five pieces of Odin’s art in his shop on a sixty/forty commission until they sell.”
“Ten,” Odin said, his single gray eye lit almost silver. “Ninety/ten. And the owl statue is one of them.”
“Owl? That hacksawed lump of pine on your porch? That, dear sir, is not art,” Zeus insisted, offended.
I gave him the look. The one that said I could throw the book at him if I wanted to.
“One piece.” He sniffed. “Eighty/twenty. No owl.”
“Eight,” Odin said. “Eighty/twenty. Owl stays.”
I let go of Odin’s arm like a parent letting go of a child’s first ride without training wheels. Quibbling over numbers should keep these two on the up-and-up, but I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
“Too much like your father,” Crow said quietly. I glanced his way and thought I saw pride. “Peacekeeper.”
I shrugged and took stock of the gods around the table. Aaron stared raptly at the argument, like a starving man watching bacon sizzle. Frigg and Herri seemed uninterested in the argument.
Once the terms had been settled—three pieces, fifty-nine/forty-one, owl included—the two gods shook on it. And that was that.
Aaron sighed and leaned back in his chair as if he’d just consumed an amazing meal. “Marvelous.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Odin said. He patted my shoulder, then went off to raise a toast at the bar with Thor, Chris, and Death.
“Thank you,” I said to Zeus.
He plucked imaginary lint off his suit. “We all know who would have won if it had come to blows.”
“Odin,” I said. “He could have taken you to small claims court over the chainsaw.”
“That is beside the point,” he said.
“What we were trying to say,” Herri said, “is that we are here and will help you if you need us, Delaney. With the power, or anything else.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Can you tell me that you didn’t kill Heimdall? Complete truth, Herri.”
She looked me straight in the eyes. “I did not kill him. Nor was I involved in his death. On my word, honor, and power, Delaney Reed. The complete truth.”
I believed her. That kind of a statement, with that kind of oath, was binding.
Words had power. Even the gods knew that.
“That’s really good to hear,” I said.
She stood up and patted my shoulder. “Come on over to my bar sometime when you’re off duty. We’ll talk, just us girls. It isn’t just the town fish who can pour a decent brew.”
“I will.”
“Good. Then I’m out. See you all at the rally.”
She sauntered over to the bar, maybe to look for Chris, who, come to think of it, I hadn’t seen for a while. She leaned over the bar to look at the floor behind it. She shook her head then walked around the bar and bent.
Myra walked over and helped her with whatever was back there.
Correction: whomever. The two of them half dragged, half carried an unconscious Chris out from behind the bar and lugged him over to a pool table, where they laid him out more or less in a comfortable position.
Herri also placed a pitcher of water on the table for him, and patted the side of his face. He made a lazy swipe at her hand, rolled over, and snored.
“So,” Crow said, “you got what we’re saying?”
“That you all promised my dad you’d help me?”
“That. Keep us in mind. For anything.”
“Anything? Want to judge the Rhubarb Rally instead of me?”
His eyes widened in shock. “Oh, hell no. Anything but that.”
“Chicken.”
“Maybe, but at least I won’t have to live in a town full of people angry at me for voting down their nana’s secret recipe.”
“You know they wrote legends about how brave and clever you are,” I said. “Schoolchildren read them.”
“All true. I am clever. And brave. Which is why I would never get roped into judging a rhubarb contest in Ordinary, Oregon. What were you thinking?”
“To serve, protect, and keep Bertie from going to jail for hitting Dan Perkin over the head with her desk.”
“And that,” he said as he stood and planted a quick kiss on my cheek, “is why you are the police chief. I always feel safer knowing you’re on duty.”
“Suck-up.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Good night, Delaney. Don’t get into too much trouble.”
He started toward the door, and so did Aaron and Frigg. Zeus got up and wandered over to talk to Thanatos, or maybe to pick another fight with Odin. It didn’t matter.
It looked like the party was over and everyone was leaving.
Myra walked my way. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“I think so. Is Chris?”
“He had several too many. He’ll be fine in the morning. You know his constitution. Jean’s waiting for us in the car.”
We walked to the door.
“What did the deities have to say?” she asked.
“They don’t think Heimdall’s death was accidental either.” I pushed out into the cool, salty breeze. Took a nice deep breath. Smelled rain on the air.
“Is that all?”
“They made a deal with Dad that they’d help me through my first power transfer.”
“That’s…nice?” she said.
“And a little condescending. But yes. Mostly it’s nice.”
Jean perched on the hood of the car, drinking a beer and staring at the sky. “Finally. I thought you two would never come out. I am not the desig-ig…desig-nated driver tonight.”
Myra looked at me.
“I’m good. One beer two hours ago.”
She nodded and tugged on Jean’s leg, sliding her down the hood a bit.
“Yo-ho-ho,” Jean sang, “where’s my bottle of rum?”
“We’re leaving,” I said.
“Shotgun,” Myra said.
“Shotgun,” Jean said too late. Then: “Crap. Fine. I’ll sit in the back seat. Who’s covering my shift tonight?”
“You,” I said. “Roy’s already over his hours for the day. Ryder should be gone.” I started the engine. “Finish the beer. I’ll stay at the station, do some paperwork until you sober up, then it’s all yours.”
“Killjoy,” she said.
I glanced in the rearview. She stuck out her tongue at me.
“Want me to drop you at your place?” I asked Myra.
“No. I’ll go to the station too.”
“It’s not your shift.” I turned onto the main street. “You should get some sleep.”
“I can nap on the cot.”
“Are you that worried?”
“I just think we should all stick together tonight.”
And since it was such a nice thought, I didn’t argue.