29
Given my nasty fall off the cliffs, Jo-Jo insisted on checking me out one more time. She gave me a clean bill of health, and I left the salon and went back home to Fletcher’s house.
Finn and Silvio were both there waiting for me, sitting in the den, with stacks and stacks of papers spread out all around them and covering every available surface, from the couch cushions to the coffee table to the open space in front of the fireplace.
“Finally! I thought you were never going to get here. We’ve been working for hours already,” Finn said, the words rushing out of his mouth without him even stopping to take a breath.
He reached over, grabbed a large mug, and took a long swig. I could smell the strong scent of chicory coffee all the way across the den. From the bright glaze in Finn’s eyes, it looked like he’d had at least a pot of the stuff already—maybe more.
“What’s going on? I thought that you guys cleaned up all the Dollmaker files and sent them back to the police station.”
“Oh, we did,” Silvio said, his demeanor much calmer than Finn’s. “But we decided to start on a new project.”
“And what would that be?”
Finn rolled his eyes and took another swig of coffee. “Figuring out who Mason is, of course. You know, the name that Rivera dropped to you last night? The one that you kept repeating over and over again in your concussed state? The guy who is probably the leader of the Circle?”
“That’s what this is all about?” I asked.
“Of course,” Finn chirped. “Not that we’ve been getting anywhere, though. Do you know how many people named Mason—first and last—there are in the Ashland area? Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. And Mason may not even be his real name.”
He tossed up a wad of papers in indignation, then glared at them as they drifted down to the floor around him like square snowflakes.
Silvio cleared his throat. “I think what Finn is trying to say is that even with the name, we’re still looking for a needle in a haystack.” He gestured at all the papers. “A very large haystack.”
I could see that, but my throat still closed up to think that they’d cared enough to start searching anyway, without my even asking them to. It took some of the sting out of the fact that Tucker had gotten to Damian Rivera before I did. Still, that little warning bell clanged in the back of my mind again.
Mason. Where did I know that name from? And why did I get the sinking feeling that learning the answer would only cause me more heartache?
“Gin?” Silvio asked. “Are you okay? Is something on your mind?”
I pushed my worries away and plastered a smile on my face. “I’m fine. I was just thinking that I have the utmost faith and confidence in y’all. If anyone can track down this Mason fella, it’s the two of you.”
Finn snorted. “Faith? Faith is all well and good . . .” He deliberately let his voice trail off.
I sighed, knowing what was coming next. “But?”
“But dinner would really help. With dessert.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Lots of dessert.”
I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and ruffled his hair.
“Hey, now!” Finn smoothed his dark brown locks back down into place. “Don’t mess with the ’do.”
I ruffled his hair again, just because I could. “Tell you what. You guys take a break, go into the kitchen, and see what’s in the fridge that you might like me to whip up. Deal?”
“Deal!” Finn chirped again, grabbing his mug and surging to his feet. “I need more coffee anyway.”
“I doubt that,” Silvio muttered, but he too got up, grabbed his own mug, and headed into the kitchen after Finn.
While the two of them argued about who was going to get the last cup of coffee, I headed over to the fireplace and stared at the framed drawings on the mantel of my mother’s and sister’s runes, the snowflake and the ivy vine, representing icy calm and elegance. I also reached out with my magic, listening to the stones that made up the fireplace and the surrounding walls. They murmured back to me, echoing my own anger, grief, and sadness that my family was gone, that they had been taken away from me so suddenly, so brutally, so cruelly.
I wondered how many times Bruce Porter had stood in front of his own mantel, staring at that doctored photo of him and Maria and thinking about the past. The ironic fact that I was doing more or less the same thing as a serial killer wasn’t lost on me.
In a way, I supposed that I was just like Porter, forever dwelling on the past, obsessed with it even, and still snared in all the consequences of so many people’s dark deeds, including my own. But my obsession was for learning the truth, for getting answers, and for finally making the people who’d murdered my family pay for their crimes.
“I’ll find Mason sooner or later,” I said to my mother’s photo. “No matter who he is or where he’s hiding. And then I’ll kill him for what he did to you and Annabella. I promise you that.”
I ran my fingers over her snowflake pendant a final time, then left the den and headed into the kitchen to see what Finn and Silvio had come up with for dinner.
• • •
Over the next few days, things slowly returned to normal. I ran the Pork Pit during the day and searched for information on the Circle and the mysterious Mason at night, along with the rest of my friends.
Bria and Xavier were assigned to investigate the murder of Damian Rivera, but it turned out to be an open-and-shut case. Tucker hadn’t just killed Rivera. The sly vampire had actually left a note behind—and he’d blamed the whole thing on Bruce Porter.
Tucker had typed up the note as though he were Porter, and in it, he’d confessed to being the Dollmaker. He claimed that Rivera had found out what he’d done and was going to turn him into the police, so Porter had killed his boss instead. And here was the real kicker. The note claimed that Porter was so distraught by what he’d done to Damian that he’d thrown himself off the cliffs at the edge of the Rivera estate. So in one fell swoop, Tucker killed Rivera, blamed Porter for it, and closed the entire case by claiming that Porter had committed suicide.
I had to admire the vampire’s efficiency, if nothing else.
Of course, Bria and Xavier did a thorough search of the entire Rivera estate, including Porter’s caretaker cottage. They found a secret drawer in the bottom of Porter’s dresser that was full of locks of blond hair, each one tied off with a different-colored ribbon and all from the women he’d murdered. I didn’t like the fact that Tucker had twisted the story around to suit his own needs, and also those of the Circle, but at least the victims’ families got a little bit of closure, knowing that the person who’d killed their loved ones couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.
Including Stuart Mosley.
Four days after the fight at the Rivera estate, the dwarf came to the Pork Pit at about two o’clock in the afternoon. He shrugged out of his long gray overcoat, hung up his matching hat, and sat on a stool at the counter next to Silvio, who was typing on his tablet like usual, still in hot pursuit of the mysterious Mason. The two of them exchanged polite nods, and Silvio went back to work.
“Mr. Mosley,” I said. “You’re looking much better today.”
And he truly did. His silver hair was neatly brushed, his Rudolph-red nose had returned to its normal color, and his hazel eyes were sharp and clear instead of tired and watery. Plus, he was wearing a suit instead of the rumpled pajamas he’d had on the last time I’d seen him.
Mosley harrumphed. “Yes, according to Finn, I am not a germ-infested, snot-ridden mess anymore, so that’s a definite improvement.”
I laughed, pulled my order pad out of the back pocket of my jeans, and grabbed a pen from the top of the cash register. “So what can I get you?”
“I’m not here to eat.”
“Oh?”
Mosley glanced around the restaurant, which was largely empty, since the lunch rush had already come and gone. Only two spots were occupied.
Jade Jamison sat at a table across from Dr. Ryan Colson. Given the way the two of them kept staring at each other, smiling and laughing, I’d say that they were on an unofficial date, whether they realized it or not. Jade saw me watching them, and I flashed her a thumbs-up. She grinned back at me, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. She leaned forward and focused on Ryan again.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed Jade and Ryan together. From a nearby booth, Elissa Daniels stared over at her sister, a faint smile lifting her lips.
Jade had been calling me every day with updates. Elissa was seeing a therapist and trying to cope the best she could with everything that had happened. Bria had been able to keep Elissa out of the official police investigation, so no one knew that she’d almost been the Dollmaker’s next victim. The last thing she needed right now was to be hounded by the news reporters who had been covering the story nonstop.
Jade had told me that Elissa just wanted things to go back to normal—or as normal as they could be—so I’d decided to help with that. Three other girls were sitting in the booth with Elissa: Eva Grayson, Owen’s sister; Violet Fox, her best friend; and Catalina Vasquez, Silvio’s niece.
Eva, Violet, and Catalina had all been through some pretty horrific things themselves, and I thought that the four of them might be able to help each other. That they might be able to talk about things together in a way that maybe they couldn’t with the older people in their lives. At the very least, Eva, Violet, and Catalina could show Elissa that this too would eventually pass, that the pain and fear would slowly lessen, and that there were still plenty of good things and people left in the world, instead of just the nightmare that she’d experienced.
Plates of food were spread out across the table, along with their laptops and textbooks. Ostensibly, they’d come here to study, although they didn’t seem to be getting any work done. Eva was doing most of the talking, throwing her hands up into the air as she told some story, with Violet and Catalina both chiming in occasionally. Elissa sat there, nodding her head instead of talking, but every once in a while, her eyes would brighten, and she would smile a little at something one of the other girls said. You couldn’t get more normal than gabbing with some new girlfriends. I just hoped that it helped her.
Mosley looked over at Elissa. “She seems to be doing well.”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
Elissa noticed Mosley sitting at the counter. She hesitated, then raised her hand and waved at him. He waved back at her, a strained expression on his face. Elissa went back to her conversation with the other girls, and Mosley turned around and faced me again.
“I reached out to Ms. Jamison as soon as Finn told me what happened,” he said. “Jade told me that they were coming here today. I didn’t want to intrude on Elissa’s recovery, but I wanted to see her for myself. Make sure that she was really okay. Physically, at least. I’ve also set up a trust to pay for whatever she needs now and in the future.”
“That was nice of you.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. Not since all of this is my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“If I hadn’t gotten sick that night, Elissa would have been at that charity dinner with me,” Mosley said. “She never would have gone to Northern Aggression, and Bruce Porter would never have gotten his hands on her.”
“No,” I said. “He would have kidnapped some other poor girl, someone whose sister didn’t come to me for help, and we might never have found her, much less stopped him for good. Believe me, Mr. Mosley, I am well acquainted with guilt. None of this is your fault. It’s all on Porter. He’s the one who chose to kidnap and kill all those women.”
“Including my Joanna.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
I didn’t say anything. Nothing I could say would take away Mosley’s grief over his granddaughter’s murder.
He stared down at the counter for several seconds, slowly tracing his fingers back and forth along the smooth, shiny surface, lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked up at me again.
“There’s no need to stand on formality. You can call me Stuart.” His mouth quirked with a bit of amusement. “After all, you have seen me in my pajamas now.”
“Only if you call me Gin.”
He nodded and steepled his hands together, finally getting down to business. “Seeing Elissa isn’t the only reason that I came here today. I wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything that you did for her, my granddaughter, and all of Porter’s other victims. I only wish that I’d been able to get my hands on him myself.”
For a moment, his face darkened, and cold, calculating rage glinted in his hazel eyes. And I realized that Stuart Mosley was not a man you wanted to mess with.
He looked at me again. “I also came here today to tell you that my offer still stands.”
“And what offer would that be?”
“Any favor you want, any boon or consideration that you, Finn, or the rest of your friends need. I am not without money, resources, and influence.”
First Jade, now Mosley. I should take down serial killers more often. Everybody wanted to do me favors now.
I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity.
“I have questions. About Fletcher. And the Circle. Did he tell you about them?”
Mosley nodded. “Yes. Fletcher didn’t tell me much about what he was up to or about the group itself, but I’ll be happy to answer what I can. Perhaps over dinner one day soon?”
“I’d like that.”
He smiled at me. “I would too.”
“But first things first.” I stabbed my pen at him. “You need to order some food. Fletcher would never forgive me if I let one of his friends leave without a good hot meal.”
Mosley chuckled, thinking that I was joking. But when he realized that I was serious, he ordered a platter of pulled barbecue chicken, along with baked beans, a garden salad, and a basket of Sophia’s homemade sourdough rolls. I also threw in a heaping serving of blackberry cobbler with vanilla-bean ice cream for dessert.
Some more folks came in to eat, and we were suddenly busy again. Sophia helped me fix Mosley’s food, and I’d just set it on the counter in front of him when the bell over the front door chimed. I looked up to call out a greeting to my new customer, but the words died on my lips when I realized who it was.
Hugh Tucker had just strolled into the Pork Pit.