Revel in Bones Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

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  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Revel in Bones

  Wren Delacroix, Book Seven

  V. J. Chambers

  REVEL IN BONES

  © copyright 2020 by V. J. Chambers

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

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  Author’s Note

  The last book in this series took place during the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic, and I originally intended to write this book acknowledging its continued presence in Wren’s and Reilly’s lives.

  But then I started writing the first scene of the book, and I got to the part where I should talk about masks and social distancing, and I just… couldn’t. Some part of me was too exhausted by the whole thing to write about it.

  If this bothers you, you can assume that everyone is wearing masks and that all the conversations about such things have been cut out for the sake of getting to the actual story. Or, you can pretend that Wren and Reilly live in an alternate time line in which the pandemic was quickly sorted, and now no one talks about any of that anymore.

  Either way, you’ll find no mention of it within these pages, so feel free to read this book as a pure escape.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Phineas Slater’s greeting was larger than life. The Cape Christopher homicide detective wore a leather jacket open over his blue clingy shirt, which seemed to be made out of some kind of material that had a bit of a sheen to it. His jeans were well worn but perfectly tailored, and his hair was artfully styled so as to look as though he’d just run his fingers through it.

  Detective Slater was grinning a white-toothed smile at both Wren Delacroix and her partner (and boyfriend) Caius Reilly, holding up both arms in a pose of exultation. “You made it.”

  Slater came for her and Wren had the horrifying realization that he was going to hug her.

  Wren was a little squeamish about hugs, mostly because she’d grown up in a weird cult where everyone was hugging everyone all the time. Being hugged tended to bring back weird memories. The thing about the Fellowship of the Children of the Lord was that they sexualized children, girl children, and a lot of those hugs she’d gotten growing up, well…

  She thrust her hand out in front of herself for a handshake. “We made it.”

  Phineas stopped, grin widening, and he slowly looked down at her hand. He was close now, and her outstretched hand was pointing at his flat stomach. He was an attractive man, if you liked that kind of overthought carelessness, she supposed. He clasped her hand warmly and shook it. “Was the traffic bad? Sometimes coming over that bridge is a nightmare.”

  Cape Christopher was situated on the Virginia coastline, just north of Virginia Beach proper. It was a small coastal city, sleepier than its more commercial neighbor. Either way, however, a traveler had to get over the Chesapeake Bay, and that involved a series of bridges and finally a tunnel under the water.

  “Not until we got into the tunnel,” spoke up Reilly, and Wren could hear the edge in his voice, probably because of how overly effusive Slater was being with Wren. Reilly wasn’t the jealous type or anything, but he had a protective streak when it came to Wren, and he knew how she felt about hugs from strange men.

  Slater gave Wren’s hand one last squeeze and let go to turn all of his attention on Reilly. This man, he was like a spotlight, turning on a beacon when he spoke to you. All that raw charisma. Huh. It put her in mind of David Song, actually.

  But she should stop thinking nasty thoughts about Slater. All her interactions with him thus far had been perfectly innocuous. There was no reason to let Wren’s own baggage inform her opinion of him. He was just a nice guy.

  Slater oozed at Reilly, grinning at him too. “Detective Caius Reilly, it’s an honor to finally meet you. Do you hug?” He opened his arms to Reilly.

  Reilly raised his eyebrows, obviously a bit taken aback.

  “It’s a gay thing,” said Slater. “I just hug everyone.” He wrapped his arms around Reilly.

  Wren watched her boyfriend stiffen. Reilly definitely didn’t hug back.

  Slater seemed to notice. He pulled back. “Oh, but I don’t hug in a… in a gay way. I hug everyone, regardless of whether they’re as beautiful as the two of you are.” He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, smirking at the two of them. “So, you two, like, how many cases you closed? In a year? Is that right? And what? You just eat, like, tofu?” He looked them both over.

  Wren hunched into her own leather jacket, feeling uncomfortable with everything about Phineas Slater, including the fact that they seemed to dress alike.

  “Thin, successful, smart… you guys do it all,” said Slater. “And when I put in a request for you to come and help out, I thought there was no way you’d actually come. I couldn’t believe it when it got approved. So, I’m sorry. I’m a little bit of a fanboy. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  Reilly cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

  “No,” said Wren. Yes. Something about you is off, Phineas Slater. She forced herself to smile.

  The three of them were standing just inside the entrance to the Cape Christopher Police Department. The was a front desk on one side of the room and three people talking in a cluster on other side.

  “Well, what should we do first?” said Slater. “You guys want to get started right away? You want a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee’s good,” said Reilly.

  “We’re always up for coffee,” said Wren.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Slater. “Well, we’ve got drip coffee over there.” He pointed to a little table next to the front desk with a very dismal coffee pot half full of coffee that could have been sitting there for hours.

  Wren cocked her head at it, considering. It looked awful, but coffee was coffee.

  “Yeah, it’s a little sad,” said Slater, as if he’d read her expression.

  She turned to look at him. “Oh, it’s fine. We’re not coffee snobs or anything.”

  “Sure, we’ll drink anything coffee,” said Reilly.

  “If you two want coffee,” said Slater, “you should really have it down the street at Sunny Days Coffee. Give me a second, I’ll grab a few files and we can set up there and I’ll get you two up to speed on the case.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and sped out of the entrance, disappearing behind a door marked Only CCPD Employees Beyond this Point.

  Reilly turned to look at her. “He’s, um, energetic.”

  “I don’t like him,” said Wren.

  “Really?” Reilly shrugged. “I kinda do. I think maybe we make him nervous, that’s all.”

  “He doesn’t seem nervous to me,” said Wren. “I’m not getting nervous from th
at.”

  “What are you getting?”

  She shook her head. “You know what, I should probably save this for the killer, huh? No reason profiling the homicide detective.”

  Reilly shrugged affably, accepting this.

  And seconds later, Slater reappeared, with a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the front pocket of his leather jacket, and he slammed them on his face with a bright smile. “Follow me. This is going to be the best coffee you’ve ever tasted, trust me.”

  Wren and Reilly followed him out of the office.

  It was late October, days before Halloween, but the air outside was unseasonably warm. The forecast said that it would get into the low 80s that day. Now, it was cool enough for a jacket.

  Slater led them down the sidewalk for about three blocks, and then they stopped at a small shop that was called Sunny Days Coffee.

  They stepped inside. The decor was bright, sunny colors, mostly blues and yellows. It had a breezy atmosphere. A chalk board hanging over the counter proclaimed various drinks, from lattes to cappuccinos.

  “Phineas!” called a woman from behind the counter. She had cat-eye glasses and she wore her light blond hair in a bun at the back of her neck. She hurried over, a big smile on her face.

  Slater leaned across the counter, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them inside his jacket. “Morning, beautiful. How are you doing?”

  Wren decided that maybe he called everyone beautiful. He might just be one of those kinds of guys. He devoted all of his attention to this woman behind the counter, just as he had with the both of them moments ago, turning the beacon of his charisma directly on her.

  She seemed to bask in it, looking bashful but pleased. “I’m just fine. You haven’t been by in nearly a week.”

  “It’s a damned shame, that, isn’t it?” said Slater. “Missed your pretty face. Listen, these are two very important detectives.”

  “Oh!” The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Are they here about the, um, the murders?”

  “Yes,” said Slater. “And they need brain fuel to solve the case. So, can you whip up two of your very best snickerdoodle caramel lattes, please? With extra whip cream.” He shot a glance over his shoulder at the two of them. “When you come back, you can order whatever you want off the menu, but this time, you have to try these. I insist.”

  Wren didn’t mind. She liked variety, especially when it came to coffee. She glanced at Reilly to see if he’d object. He could be particular about that kind of thing. But Reilly was grinning at Slater. Well, he had said he liked him.

  Slater turned back to the woman at the counter. “What muffins you got fresh today?”

  “Pumpkin walnut.”

  “Biscotti?” said Slater.

  “Almond.”

  Slater thought this over. “Okay, three biscotti, two of the muffins, and those little chocolate swizzle sticks? You still have those?”

  “Always,” said the woman.

  “Six of those,” said Slater, sliding a hand into his back pocket to get out his wallet.

  “It’s all right,” said Wren. “We’ve eaten breakfast.”

  Slater grinned at her. “None of that. Every once in a while, you gotta indulge, and trust me, you’re going to want a taste. And after you have one taste, you’ll want more. The muffins are huge, though, so two is plenty. We’ll cut them up and share.” He turned to Reilly. “You one of those guys whose not secure enough in his masculinity to eat pumpkin?”

  Reilly laughed a deep-bellied laugh. “I think I can handle it.”

  “You most certainly can.” Slater slapped his wallet down on the counter.

  The woman was busily ringing them up, and she gave Slater the total.

  Wren spoke up. “We’re happy to chip in.” They actually had an allowance for food from the federal government, who were paying to send them here to help out with the investigation. But she also could afford to buy her own coffee.

  “No way,” said Slater. “I got this. Your money’s no good here.” He took out a twenty dollar bill and stuffed it in the tip jar.

  “Phineas,” said the woman at the counter scoldingly. She shook her head. “We appreciate it, but you don’t need to do that.”

  “Of course I do,” said Slater, grinning at her.

  The barista averted her eyes, clearly affected by the intensity of his gaze. She liked it, but Slater was a lot to take. “It’ll be a couple minutes,” she said, and then scurried away.

  Slater stood up straight in a fluid movement, squaring his shoulders. He gestured. “We can sit over in the corner there. If anyone else comes in, they won’t get an eyeful of the crime scene photos. That’d probably put them off their coffee.” He laughed a little.

  Reilly laughed too.

  Wren had to admit that she was starting to warm up to the guy. Maybe he’d rubbed her the wrong way at first, but she had been too hard on him. He was energetic, and it was a little infectious. She couldn’t help but like being around him.

  They settled in at the table in the corner, and Slater opened the file folder. “This isn’t anything you haven’t seen before, of course. I know you’ve been over the files that we sent over.”

  “Right,” said Wren, who pulled one of the glossy photographs closer anyway. Something about a dead body, it always drew her to it. She didn’t know why she was fascinated, but she was. She used to think it meant that there was something dark in her, something she had inherited from her serial killer mother, but Reilly didn’t think so, and she had tried to see it as a gift that she used for good, therefore not dark at all. She ran her fingers over the image, running an outline around the dead woman’s shoulder. “Where’s the latest one again?”

  Slater riffled through the folder and pulled out another glossy photo. He slid it across the table to her. “So, what do you think? The other boys in homicide, they think that he meant to kill another female sex worker, but that he got our vic here by mistake.”

  The body in the picture had been stripped naked, and it was streaked with dirt since it had been buried under the ground, but there was no missing the male sex organs.

  “She was a trans woman, though, right?” said Wren. “Donna Anderson. She was in the process of officially changing her designation on her drivers license and other documents.”

  “Sure,” said Slater. “But just because she knew she was a woman doesn’t mean the killer necessarily should have agreed with her. The other cops I work with, they think it’s strange that the killer still followed through with all the same ritual with this body as he did with the others.”

  “Right,” Reilly spoke up. “I would have thought the discovery that the victim was born with biologically male parts would have enraged the killer, that he wouldn’t have thought this victim worthy of his ritualistic killing.”

  “It is odd,” said Wren. “Serial killers almost never cross gender lines with their victims, but this… I don’t know if it counts or not. It’s different.”

  “And it’s why you came,” said Slater, grinning. “When it was just two women found buried out by the highway, it wasn’t enough, but this, it changed your mind.”

  “Honestly,” said Wren, “we didn’t know about the case until just after this body was found. The FBI didn’t contact us about it until this wrinkle came to light.”

  Slater sighed. “Well, that’s disappointing. I really thought they would have at least asked you about it.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

  From the front of the store, someone yelled, “Phineas!”

  “Oh, that’ll be us.” Slater got up and sauntered to the front of the store.

  Reilly went with him, saying, “You’ll need help carrying all that.”

  In a moment, they were both back, sliding mugs heaped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings onto the table. There were two chocolate swizzle sticks sticking up out of the whipped cream in each.

  Slater set down a plate of
muffins and biscotti and he pulled out one of the swizzle sticks. “You crunch these. They’re like cookies. They’re amazing. Try it. You’re going to want two of them.”

  Wren obliged him, pulling out one of her swizzle sticks. The bottom half had been soaking in the coffee and it was melty and warm. When she put it in her mouth, there was an explosion of flavors—the bitterness of the coffee, the sweetness of the chocolate, and the texture of the warm melted chocolate. Then, she bit down and it crunched. She shut her eyes, savoring it.

  “Good, right?” Slater’s voice had dropped sinfully in pitch.

  She opened her eyes, nodding. “Very good.”

  “I told you,” said Slater. He nodded at Reilly. “What do you think?”

  “Yeah, good,” said Reilly, whose voice was also deeper.

  Wren shivered for some reason. She swizzled her stick again and ate another bite.

  “Oh, you gotta try the pumpkin,” said Slater, using a knife that had come on the plate to peel the wrapper off the bottom of one of the muffins. He cut it in three equal parts, and Wren watched him, mesmerized.

  The muffin did look delicious.

  Slater picked up his third and put it in his mouth. He chewed, and then his tongue darted out to get a stray crumb. He noticed her watching him, and there was something in his eyes…

  She looked away. She, um, okay, he was attractive, but this wasn’t… she didn’t find him attractive, not like that. But there was something about him. The longer that she was near this guy, the stranger she felt.

  Slater licked his fingers. “What are you two waiting for?” His voice had gotten throaty.

  Reilly let out a laugh, and it sounded nervous. He picked up one of the pieces of muffin and ate half of it.

  “Delacroix,” urged Slater. “Taste it.”

  Wren decided she was being silly. It was a damned muffin, for Christ’s sake. She snatched it up and shoved it in her mouth. Okay, wow. That was… wow. It was moist and sweet, but not too sweet, and perfectly spiced, and the texture of the walnuts was perfection. She moaned.

  And then felt heat rushing to her face, because she had not meant to do that.