Oak & Thorns Page 10

  The waitress didn’t seem surprised by our appetites. She just took down our orders and said that she would be back with our food soon.

  “Did you remember what I wanted?” Herne asked, returning to the table.

  “Yes, O Mighty One,” Talia said, wrinkling her nose. “Did you get a hold of Rhiannon?”

  “Yes I did, and she and Marilyn will be waiting for us after we check in. I told them we would be there by one o’clock. That gives us some time to unpack. She sounded extremely relieved to hear from me. I know her cousin’s death is eating at her.”

  A few minutes later, the waitress was back with our food. It was hearty, and there was plenty of it, and even better—it tasted fantastic. We set to eating, nobody saying much, and by the time we finished, the plates were practically licked clean. As we headed back to the registration desk to check in, I hoped that the rest of our trip would be as good as the food.

  AS SOON AS our luggage was stowed in our rooms, and we had freshened up, we headed out to the Foam Born Encampment. We continued along Oceanside Drive until we reached Salmon Street in the south part of Seacrest Cove. Turning right, we followed the street as it turned and wove its way through side streets, and then we were back on Smugglers Cove Road. From there, we drove south again until we came to Ruby Lane. The private road took us directly into the Foam Born Encampment.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, since the word “encampment” conjured up visions of military barracks and training facilities, but the suburb was anything but military in nature. It was a gated community, yes, but the drive was spacious, and the gates reminded me of an old-fashioned estate. A security guard manned the gates and, after asking our business, he opened the gates for us and we drove down the long winding road into the center of the community.

  There must have been about thirty homes, along with a general store and a community center. A farmers’ market had set up nearby, and a sign next to one of the stalls told us that it was open on Saturdays and Sundays from eight a.m. until eight p.m. From the way they had looped the drive into the farmers’ market parking lot, then out again, suggested a great deal of traffic.

  “From what Talia said, I’m gathering this farmers’ market gets heavily congested on the weekends. Apparently the Foam Born are magicians at growing vegetables and fruit,” Angel said. We had brought all three cars with us, just in case we needed to split up.

  “So only the Foam Born live around here?” I had gotten the impression they were mixed into the community rather than off to themselves.

  Angel shook her head. “I had a glance at the notes while we were on the ferry, and asked Talia about them. While it’s true that most of these houses belong to the hippocampi, just beyond here, there’s another suburb of houses where humans live, along with a few shifters.”

  “I thought sure they would live right on the water, given their nature.”

  “Real estate is expensive on the water, especially out here on Whidbey Island.” She paused. “The body was found down by the park near the water line.”

  She had a good point. It was super expensive to live out on the islands, at least if you were new to the area. If you had inherited a family house or had bought the house before the tech industry boomed in the 1990s, it was probably worth gold now.

  We followed Herne’s car out of the main neighborhood, veering to the northeast. Ruby Lane ran between thickets of trees, then into another small clearing, where there were more houses, spaced out further. I estimated each house sat on two to five acres.

  Herne pulled into the driveway of the third house on the left. We followed suit, and behind us came Yutani and Talia. As we parked, Rhiannon stepped out onto the porch of the beautiful old farmhouse. She was wearing a floral dress, with an intricately woven shawl over her shoulders. Her hair tumbled down, looking for all the world like a halo of soft light.

  As Angel and I stepped out of the car, I was struck by how clear the air seemed. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs. Everything felt clear and clean.

  The farmhouse was two-story, with a wide front porch and steps leading down to the slate stone path that ended at the driveway. It looked well kept. The paint was fresh, a pale lemon like whipped egg yolks, and to either side of the porch steps was a row of rose bushes, some of them already in bloom. The roses were beautiful, ranging from deep crimson to a peach with rust tips. A huge oak stood in the front yard, towering over the house, and to one side was the tree line of the thicket of fir and cedars. To the left of the house, and behind it, I could see a large lot of blueberry bushes. They were covered with leaves, though I couldn’t tell if they were in flower yet. A swing set sat near the oak, and a picnic table. All in all, the house felt lived in, warm and inviting. It made me want to peek inside.

  Rhiannon slowly descended the stairs, smiling as we approached.

  “Thank you so much for coming. I’m so happy you were able to make it. Marilyn’s inside—I told her to wait there with her son. She’ll do her best to tell you whatever she can, but she is still shaken. It’s been a year, but trauma like that never fully goes away.”

  Herne nodded. “We’ve dealt with a lot of trauma over the years. We’ll be discreet and as gentle as we can.”

  Rhiannon thanked him and turned back to the stairs, motioning for us to follow. As we entered the farmhouse, the scent of cinnamon was overwhelming. Either someone had been baking, or there was a lot of incense around. The living room was tidy, with a modest leather sofa to one side, a rocking chair, a playpen, a television and desk—just about everything you’d expect to find in somebody’s living room. The walls were pale blue, and the icy color both calmed and chilled me at the same time. A fireplace abutted one side, the mantel neat and tidy, and it looked like it’d been scrubbed as clean as it could possibly get. I wondered if Marilyn ever used it to actually burn anything in.

  At that moment, a woman appeared in the doorway from what looked to be the kitchen.

  “Welcome,” she said. “Please, take a seat. I just have to finish feeding Ryan, and I’ll be right in. Rhiannon, will you see if they want any refreshments?”

  Rhiannon turned to us and motioned to the sofa. “Please, sit. Would you like anything? Lemonade, coffee, tea?”

  We declined, so Rhiannon joined us. She looked tired. “It’s been a long day already,” she said. “There was an incident at the Treeline—the local diner—today.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Havely, one of our local schoolteachers, found her dog dead this morning.” Rhiannon gave us a long look. “The poor thing had been mutilated. Nobody in our community would ever think of doing any such thing. We’re not sure what happened, but apparently Havely said that he went missing yesterday.”

  A dead dog was one thing. A mutilated dog? That spelled trouble. Killing animals sometimes led to killing people. Especially in brutal ways. Herne seemed to be thinking what I was, because he stiffened, narrowing his eyes.

  “Have you had any other animal murders around here? Within the past year or two?”

  Rhiannon frowned, worrying her lip. “Yes, actually, a few. We always assumed it was just some freak passing through who wanted to mess with us. There are those who still don’t appreciate the fact that humans don’t run the world without interference.”

  Talia spoke up. “Want me to jot that down on my list of things to research?”

  Herne nodded. “It might be a good idea.” He stopped as Marilyn appeared in the door, carrying a toddler. Ryan was a pudgy little kid, with blond hair and sea foam gray eyes. He looked tired, leaning against his mother’s shoulder. Marilyn walked over to the playpen, leaning in to lay him in it. She covered him with a light blanket, and he rolled over and fell asleep without a single sound. Once she had raised the railing, Marilyn took a seat in the rocking chair.

  “If we talk, will we disturb him?” Angel asked.

  Marilyn shook her head. “He’s a remarkably easy boy. Surprising, given his start i
n life. But once he’s asleep, he’s out. I could blast the Red Hot Chili Peppers in here and he wouldn’t wake up. So, Rhiannon tells me that you’re going to look into Jona’s murder?” A faint hope hung in her voice, but her eyes were impassive.

  Herne gave her a long look, then nodded. “We’re going to see if there’s any cause for us to reopen the case. If we come up with any new leads, we’ll check into them and see what we can find. Please understand, though, it’s difficult with cold cases.”

  “The investigation into Jona’s murder was dead in the water before it began,” Marilyn said. “Apparently the authorities around here didn’t deem it worth their time. They chalked it up to some passing vampire, but I know full well it wasn’t a vamp execution. I’ve seen vampire murders before. Their…bodies…looked nothing like Jona’s.”

  “I thought they wouldn’t let you see his body after they found him,” Talia said.

  Marilyn snorted. “I have friends who have friends. They managed to get hold of a few of the crime scene photos.” Her expression hardened. “Trust me, Jona wasn’t murdered by a vampire. No vamp in his right mind would put that many holes in a body, and they were too large to be fang marks.”

  That she could sit there and discuss the state of her husband’s body surprised me, though I supposed it shouldn’t. The hippocampi were a reserved people.

  “Before we take this case, I have to ask you something.” Herne cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Rhiannon wanted to hire us, but do you want us investigating? After all, Jona was your husband.”

  Marilyn shrugged. “I’d like to know what happened to him. I’d like to know who killed him. I’m moving on with my life. I have to because of Ryan especially. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve let go of Jona’s memory. And it doesn’t mean that I’ve settled his death in my heart.”

  “Well, then,” Herne said. “We’ll see what we can find.” As he spoke, there was a knock on the door. Rhiannon answered and when she returned, she was followed by one of the sheriff’s deputies. He was Fae, and he did not look happy.

  Chapter 7

  THE DEPUTY LOOKED around the room, stopping short when he came to me. He held my gaze, sneering as he looked at me. I stared straight back at him, challenging him to say something. Whether it was because I held my own, or because I was sitting next to Herne, I didn’t know, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to Herne.

  “Lord Herne, well met. We heard you were in town. I’ve come to ask if you’re on any official business we should know about.”

  Herne returned the officer’s look with an unreadable expression.

  “I’m investigating a cold case for a client.” He waited, confidently silent. The officer looked uncomfortable, tugging on his collar.

  “Will you be requiring our assistance for Lord Cernunnos?”

  “I’m not on that kind of official business. If I need your help, I’ll drop in at the station. Thank you for your concern.” Cool as a cucumber, Herne might as well have dropkicked the deputy across the field.

  Shifting from one foot to the other, the officer waited, expectantly, but Herne said nothing more. Finally, looking at a loss, the deputy tipped his hat to the room.

  “Yes, well. I’ll tell my superiors. Feel free to ask for help if you need us.” With a disgruntled shrug, he turned and left the room. Rhiannon escorted him out, then pressed her back to the door, suppressing a laugh.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised he showed up.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Jakovan. He’s the sheriff’s lapdog. Absolute toady. The sheriff—Astrana—is one of the Light Fae. She’s got her fingers in every pie she can. I’m pretty sure that she’s the one who told her underlings to warn people to keep their noses out of Jona’s murder.”

  Talia made a note. “Astrana… For some reason that name sounds familiar.”

  “That’s because she was one of Névé’s guards for a while. I remember a kerfuffle we had with her about forty years back, when she still lived in Navane,” Yutani said. “I didn’t realize that she had moved over here. I remember she had a lot of ambition.”

  Talia snapped her fingers, a light flashing in her eyes. “Oh yes! I remember her. She was a pain in the ass. I’m surprised she’s still alive, given how grasping she was.”

  “Well, she hasn’t changed any, then,” Rhiannon said. “Nobody really likes her, but she uses her authority to influence as much as she can. You’d think she was looking to take over the island as Queen.”

  “That’s her, all right,” Talia said. “Névé dressed her down for overstepping her boundaries. Yutani’s right—we met her when we were on a case about forty years ago. Astrana interfered with the investigation in a number of ways. We had to ask Morgana to intervene. That must be when Névé kicked her out, or when she left on her own volition.”

  “We’ll have to walk carefully,” Herne said. “If she’s anything like she was back then, she delights in causing trouble. So just be cautious, and keep your noses clean. Don’t speed, don’t do anything that could get yourself in trouble. At least legally. We’re bound to clash with her at some point if we find enough to really continue this investigation. In fact—Marilyn? Was Astrana leading the investigation into Jona’s murder?”

  Marilyn nodded, her face grim. “Yeah, she was. There were several times I wanted to smack her in the face. She’s been sheriff here for around thirty-five years, maybe a few more.”

  “Okay, well at least we know one of the blocks we’re up against. Can you tell us about Jona’s last night? At least, the last night you saw him.”

  Marilyn let out a long sigh. She pursed her lips, looking like she was trying to hold back tears. “Jona and I were planning our upcoming anniversary. We were married five years ago, so it would have been our fourth anniversary. We had so much to celebrate. Ryan almost died at birth, I don’t know if you know that. But our neighbor saved him by letting me give birth in his pool. As a hippocampus, I have to give birth underwater. Anyway, Jona and I were discussing where to go on our anniversary. We were going to take Ryan with us, given how much fear there was around his birth.”

  “Rhiannon said that Jona went to a grange meeting. Was it a normal meeting? Or was it a special one—called suddenly? Would other people have known he was going to attend?”

  “Oh yes, the meeting flyer was up at the farmers’ market. And Jona was a well-known member. It was a normal meeting in every way. Jona always walked to the meetings, even in the rain. He loved to be outside, and he loved the rain. I asked him not to go that night because we had so much to do. But he said there was an important vote. He wanted to be there for it. In some ways, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for going. I know that’s ridiculous. I know it’s unfair, but part of me just keeps wondering why he insisted. Why didn’t he listen to me?”

  “Anger like that is normal,” I said. “Do you know what the vote was about?”

  She frowned, thinking. Finally, she snapped her fingers. “Yes, I do, now that I think about it. They were voting on whether to expand the farmers’ market. The grange had been discussing the possibility of opening it during the week. During the holiday season it’s open all week long, because crafters bring out their wares…holiday sales and all. But they had been talking about opening it during the weekdays from June through October, as well as November and December.”

  “Was your husband in favor of expanding the hours?”

  Marilyn nodded. “He thought it would be good for the community if we opened up for at least two more days during the week. The grange was split on the subject. It was a close vote even without him. I think, if I remember right, the members voted fourteen against and eleven for expansion. So Jona’s vote wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  I wondered if anybody had thought otherwise. Had someone been looking to cull the vote? But then again, why Jona? And why would they have tortured him? Why wouldn’t they have just killed him? Or even just prevented
him from making it to the grange meeting to vote? They wouldn’t have had to resort to murder to stop him.

  “Rhiannon said it was storming that night. Didn’t that faze him, or make him think twice about walking to the grange?”

  “No,” Marilyn said, shaking her head. “Jona loved storms. We come from the water, from the ocean. The storms out there rage like no storms you’ve ever seen on land. They energize us. Whenever he went out in the rain or in a thunderstorm, Jona felt refreshed. We all do. He left here—a few minutes late because of our argument. Before he left, he gave me a long kiss and told me he’d be home as soon as he could. And then he kissed Ryan, and…and I remember looking out the window as he jogged down the path. That was it. That’s the last time I saw him.” She fell silent, staring at the rug.

  Rhiannon reached over, rubbing Marilyn on her shoulder. “Jona didn’t have enemies. Of course there were people who didn’t like him—and people he didn’t like. But the word ‘enemy’ would be an overstatement. Whoever killed him, they didn’t do it because of the grange vote, or to get control of his beehives.”

  “Can you show us the path to the grange? How far is it?” Herne asked. “I’d like to drive it first, and then, perhaps, walk the route. How far is it?”

  “It’s about a ten-minute drive—maybe a twenty-five minute walk—to the grange from here. I can take you,” Rhiannon said.

  Herne stood, turning to Marilyn. “Do you mind if we ask you more questions later? We’ll call before we come over, of course.”

  “Of course. Let me give you my cell number.” She gave us her number, and then escorted us to the door. “I don’t expect you to find his killer, but I feel better that you are looking into it. Like Rhiannon, I know that it wasn’t any vampire. But there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Was it Astrana who told you to back off?” I asked, remembering the conversation with Rhiannon at the office.