Out for Blond Read online

  He turned to look at me. “He’s the reason, isn’t he? The reason that things never worked out between us? What you’ve got going with Crane?”

  “You’ve got something going with Crane?” said Brigit. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Just forget it, Brigit,” I muttered.

  Crane sucked hard on his e-cigarette and then blew out the smoke. “You know what? I’m going to find another table. I’m clearly making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant.”

  “No, don’t go anywhere on my account,” said Pike. “I don’t care what you do with her. I’ve got no claim on her. Hell, when I was in a relationship with her, she made it clear that I couldn’t expect her to curb her appetites. If I wanted her, I had to accept you and every other guy out there she wanted to spread her legs for.”

  I took a deep breath. “Are you drunk, Pike?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Might be getting there, though.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said. He never acted this way. Never.

  He gave me a saccharine smile. “Don’t like it when people tell you the truth about yourself, Ivy?”

  “I don’t like it when you’re rude,” I said. “You’ve insulted me, and you’ve insulted Crane—”

  “Leave me out of it,” said Crane, who was in the process of getting up.

  Pike started to stand up too. “Don’t get up on my account, Professor Drakely.”

  I stood up as well. “Pike, stop it.”

  Pike leaned across the table, so that he was eye-to-eye with Crane. “Guys like you think that they can take anything they like—”

  I thrust a hand between the two of them and pushed Pike back. “That’s it. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is unacceptable. Now, if you want to talk to me, Pike, we’ll talk. Alone. But you leave Crane out of it.”

  “Right,” said Pike, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve got to protect your precious Crane, don’t we?”

  “Protect him?” I said. “Does he need protection?” Since when did Pike threaten people? He had to be drunk. Had to be. But I had to admit, I’d never seen him this way, even after imbibing. “Why would he need protecting?”

  Pike turned back to Crane, reaching for him from beneath my grasp.

  I seized hold of the back of his shirt and yanked him back, which made him run into one of the chairs. It fell over with a clatter.

  Everyone in the bar stopped talking and looked over at us.

  “There a problem here?” said the bartender, looking up from cleaning some glassware.

  Pike wrenched himself out of my grip. “No problem.” He looked me up and down. “I get the message, Ivy. You prefer him. I’ll get out of here.” He stalked out of the bar, slamming the door after himself.

  I settled down in my chair, burying my face in my hands.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “We came together to do this ritual,” said Kellen McFarland, the tall serious-looking member of the Clayton Society.

  I was back at the jail, questioning the four of them. Thus far, I’d been to see all four of the other members who claimed to have killed Tess, and this was beginning to sound like a broken record. A gory, gross broken record, but a broken record all the same.

  They were all saying the same thing, the same phrases.

  “Why did you come together?” I asked.

  “Because we were all interested in the Ocapotactu. We were reading about their rituals and we began discussing them.”

  “Is it common for people on the Clayton Farm to study Native American beliefs?”

  “It can be,” he said, echoing the other four. “We’re encouraged to grow spiritually, and so, if we want to find out about different kinds of beliefs, we can do so.”

  “So, all four of you just happened to start studying this ritual. Just coincidentally.”

  “Yes.”

  That I could hardly believe. “No one turned you onto it? No one suggested it to you? Gunner, for instance?”

  “Everyone wants to blame Gunner, but he had nothing to do with it.” There was no emotion in Kellen’s voice. He was so creepy.

  “Right then,” I said, sighing. “So, by coincidence, you were all studying the same Native American tribe and you were all studying the same sacrificial ritual.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You see, the ritual is quite specific. We needed to consecrate a member of our tribe to the Great Spirit in order to gain the Spirit’s protection. And—you must realize—Tess was never really hurt. She was released into the bosom of the Great Spirit, where she was cherished and luminous. We really did her a favor.”

  That part was hard to stomach, and they all said it. They all had looked at me with earnest eyes and claimed that the mangling of Tess Carver’s body had been a “favor.”

  I swallowed, trying not to look as disgusted as I felt. “Really? A favor? Can you tell me exactly how you killed her?”

  I expected them to look away at this point, to be ashamed or disturbed or something. But all of them met my gaze with empty eyes and gave me rote recitations.

  Kellen did the same, his voice empty and deep. “We cut her throat. That’s what killed her. We needed to spread her blood to court the favor of the Great Spirit.”

  I grimaced, but I pushed forward. “Is that all? You cut her throat?”

  “Well, we had to consecrate her first. She had to be marked for the Great Spirit. We carved into her limbs the symbols for light and air and peace and tranquility.”

  I flinched. Tranquility. There had been nothing tranquil about Tess’s body. “And then you cut her throat?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, not at all phased by saying this. “We cut her throat and we caught her blood in a ceremonial bowl, and we splashed her blood around in a circle on the ground, crying out for the Great Spirit to hear us and to take Tess to the Spirit’s bosom and give to us at Clayton Farm protection.”

  “Thank you, Kellen.” I hung up the phone and got up. I didn’t think I could handle talking to him anymore—to any of them.

  I wasn’t sure what to think of their confessions.

  On the one hand, it led a lot of credence to their stories, the fact that they all said the exact same thing. I couldn’t confirm that the symbols on Tess’s body were the same ones as they claimed they were, but that was information that I could look up. I could find out if they did indeed know about this Ocapotactu ritual or not.

  On the other hand, I honestly wasn’t convinced that they were guilty.

  The fact that they gave the exact same confession made it seem rehearsed, not genuine. And the fact that they could look at me in the eye when they spoke of the horribly gory things that had been done to Tess meant that they were all either stone-cold killers or that they hadn’t actually done it. They seemed to be confessing by rote. I thought it was quite possible that they were lying to protect Gunner.

  Was that because Gunner had actually killed Tess?

  Did he believe in this ridiculously bloody and violent Native American ritual as well?

  Where had they heard about it if they didn’t have some knowledge of the murder? They had been coaxed by the killer, even if they hadn’t actually done the deed themselves. They knew too much otherwise.

  * * *

  “What do you know about the Ocapotactu Indians?” I said to Gunner Bray.

  “Indians?” He was wearing a linen shirt, which was unbuttoned, revealing his well-muscled tanned chest. He was just a little bit sweaty—enough so that his browned skin seemed to glow, but not so much that he seemed dirty.

  “Native Americans,” I said. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I doubt it would matter much to the Ocapotactu. They’d rather be called by their tribe name than anything else. Most Indians—Native Americans—don’t consider themselves the same race as other tribes, you know. The Cherokee think that they are a different people from the Sioux.”

  “You do know a lot about Native Americans.” I was trying hard to look at his face and not hi
s bare chest.

  He’d just come from working in the fields. He had a canteen of water, and he took a long, long draught from it. “I know a bit, I suppose. I was interested when I was a little boy. But the tribe you mentioned? The Ocapotactu? I’m not very familiar with them. From what I understand, they lived in this part of the country, though, a few hundred years ago. They may have even had a settlement in the area where the farm is. Other than that… no, I don’t know much about them.” He screwed the lid back on his canteen. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was he feigning ignorance about the crime? If so, and I gave him information now, then I’d never be able to catch him in a lie. “It’s important to the case,” I said, keeping it vague.

  He furrowed his brow. “Really?”

  “Really,” I said.

  He eyed me. “Okay, then.”

  I sighed. Well, this wasn’t working. Not exactly. I needed to ask him questions about the case, and I didn’t know how to do that if I didn’t tell him what was happening with the Ocapotactu. I was going to have to give him some details, I supposed. “Tess was killed in something that was a ritual that could be traced to those Native Americans.”

  He made a face. “A ritual? What kind of Native American tribe has violent rituals like that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe a lot of them. I don’t know much about Native Americans.”

  “What kind of ritual was it? Did it have a purpose?”

  “I understand that it was a sacrifice to the Great Spirit to bring protection to the tribe.”

  “A sacrifice? Human sacrifice?” He shivered.

  Well, he was doing a good job acting as if he’d never heard of the ritual, anyway, so that was something, I supposed. I couldn’t tell if he was genuine or not. Gunner was the kind of guy who might be lying and I wouldn’t really be able to tell, because he was so charismatic and good at his image.

  “Yes,” I said. “Human sacrifice. That’s what we’re talking about here. Ritual murder.”

  He shook his head. “That’s... that’s awful. I can’t imagine... Tess...” He looked at his shoes, covering his mouth with one hand.

  “But you don’t condone that kind of thing here at Clayton Farm?”

  His head snapped up. “Of course not. How could you say such a thing?”

  “Well, I have to admit, Gunner, I’ve been talking to the others—Quinton and Kellen and the women—and they have a lot of weird things to say. They’re all in sync with each other, you know? They all say the exact same thing about the murder.”

  He grimaced. “You think they did it, then?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “If they’d done it, I’d expect them to tell similar stories, but to use their own words. These guys all say the exact same thing. Like they’ve practiced what they’re saying. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why they’d lie unless they were trying to protect someone.”

  “Well, that’s already been established, hasn’t it?” he said. “They’re trying to protect me.”

  “All on their own?” I said. “No one’s coaching them?”

  He opened his mouth to speak and then he closed it. He hesitated for a minute, and then he only shook his head.

  “What?” I said.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Being suspicious is your job. I know that. It’s just very difficult for me to handle. I don’t know if you’ve ever had someone accusing you of murder before?”

  I didn’t say anything, but he looked at me expectantly, and I realized that he wanted an answer. “No, I haven’t,” I said.

  “Well, it’s very disconcerting,” he said. “I want to scream at people that there’s no way I could do anything like this, but I realize that I’m just getting myself worked up for nothing. And I realize that no matter what I say to you, you’re going to follow the evidence.”

  I drew myself up. “I am.”

  “Well, what kind of evidence is there linking me to this crime? Really? What is there other than conjecture that I’m some kind of superhuman leader who can force people to commit crimes for me?”

  I cocked my head. “Honestly? There’s not much. Near as I can tell, there isn’t really much in the way of physical evidence. There’s nothing on her body or person that’s pointing towards anyone in particular. But that doesn’t mean that you’re in the clear, Gunner. People think you’re guilty, and that might almost be worse for you than if there was some kind of physical evidence.”

  He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

  “Listen, to be thorough here, you don’t have any interest in ritualistic murders?”

  “No,” he growled.

  “Or the Ocapotactu?”

  “No.” He started to walk, pushing past me.

  Was he walking away from me? Had I made him that upset?

  “You want to come up to the main house?” he threw over his shoulder.

  I followed him.

  We went into the kitchen, where he paused to get himself a glass of ice water. He offered me something, but I declined.

  Then he led me back a hallway, past several closed doors, and into a bedroom. I was a little surprised. I had expected us to go somewhere like a den or living room. That seemed a more appropriate place to talk. But who was I to say anything? Maybe letting me into a bedroom would allow me better insight into his head.

  He didn’t seem the least bit shy. He peeled off his shirt and threw it on the bed. Then he opened up a closet and began going through it. “So, do you have any idea of anyone else who might have done this besides me?”

  I gazed at his bare back. His tanned muscles rippled as he moved. All at once, I felt a strong desire to run both of my hands over those muscles. I stared at him, and I didn’t answer.

  He turned, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

  Now I was staring at his chest. I could see his well-defined pecks, his flat stomach. He was really a very attractive man. “What?” I said. I couldn’t remember what we were talking about.

  He stepped closer to me. His voice lowered. “Other suspects? Do you have them?”

  I felt flustered. I looked at the floor and swallowed, trying to collect myself. I cleared my throat. “Uh, well, I’ve just started looking into everything.”

  He shook his head, letting out a rueful chuckle. “You haven’t looked at anyone besides me, have you?”

  I swallowed again. He was very close to me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I was finding myself very attracted to him. And he smelled… like the outdoors. Just a hint of spicy sweat. Was he doing this on purpose? Was this the way he got people to do whatever he asked them to do? I bit down on my bottom lip. “Listen…”

  He moved even closer. Now there were barely inches between our bodies. He peered down into my eyes. “And you’re supposed to work for me.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought I worked for the Clayton Society.” My voice came out a little breathless.

  He chuckled again, his tone deep and knowing. “Touché.” His lips curved into a smile. And he gazed into my eyes.

  I felt dizzy. That desire that I’d felt before, the desire to touch him, it was back. It washed over me, intense and forceful. Almost without knowing I did it, I reached up and ran my fingers over his stomach.

  His skin was warm.

  Immediately, I was deeply embarrassed. I snatched my hand back, my face going red. I started to back away from him, mumbling apologies.

  But he seized my wrist and stopped my movement. “Ivy.”

  I looked into his eyes again. I felt like I was drowning in them.

  “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I want you to believe me.”

  My mouth felt dry. “I want to believe you.”

  He was still holding on to my wrist. His grasp softened. He pulled me in close to him. “Believe me,” he said. And then he kissed me.

  * * *

  Gunner was buttoning his pants. “This isn’t going to make things weird between us, is it?”

  I c
ouldn’t find my own pants. I sat on the bed, hugging the covers up over my body. Generally speaking, I wasn’t the kind of person who was nervous about nakedness. But there was something about the situation that made me feel unsettled. For one thing, I had slept with a client again.

  I had a strict policy not to sleep with clients. It was a bad idea. Always. Not only was it unethical, but it put me in an awkward position. Once sex was in the picture, people began to behave in ways that they definitely wouldn’t have otherwise. It was a wild card. So I’d decided not to do it.

  Of course, deciding not to do something didn’t mean that I didn’t actually do it. I made a lot of decisions about what the right thing to do was, but I didn’t always follow through. When it came to sex, it was as if I couldn’t help myself.

  And this wasn’t the first time I had done something like this. My last foray into sleeping with a client had gone so badly that I’d ended up getting beaten up. I knew better, and yet I couldn’t stop.

  I made a face. “Weird? How could this possibly make things weird?”

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. “People are always so uptight about sex. Why can’t we just accept it in the moment as a beautiful experience and then move on?”

  I sat up straighter. “I’m not uptight. I’m the opposite of uptight.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You really think that? You are incredibly uptight. I imagine that attention to detail is what makes you a good detective. But you could stand to loosen up in other areas of your life.”

  I sputtered. “Loosen up? You don’t know the first thing about me.” The fact that I had gotten it on with him should have clued him in. I was a loose cannon.

  But he just laughed. “All I’m saying is that I enjoyed myself. But that doesn’t mean I want our relationship to change.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Seriously? You think I’m gonna get all gushy on you? You think I want a wedding ring or something? I mean, the sex wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t life altering. I think I can live without you.”

  “So defensive.”