Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,79

pillow lay across the woman’s skull, hiding it from sight. Which was a little weird—why hide the skull and not the body?

Tins of food and discarded food wrappings lay around the base of a dressing table, while a camp stove and a range of cooking utensils and plates sat on top.

The air in the room was rank, though its cause was more unwashed humanity rather than putrefaction—no real surprise given the woman had been dead long enough for her body to become skeletal.

“Why hasn’t anyone found her before now?” Monty said. “Surely the neighbors would have smelled it? A rotting body isn’t exactly a pleasant aroma, and we are dealing with werewolves.”

“Couldn’t say until we talk to them.” Aiden moved across the room and squatted beside the bed. “But they did complain about the rats, and maybe this is the reason for the infestation.”

“Is there any indication of rat feasting?” Monty asked, a mix of horror and fascination in his voice.

“At first glance, yes.”

“Hopefully not when she was still alive.” I shuddered and scanned the rest of the room in an effort to take my mind off the grim images that rose.

If our rogue had been hiding out here, then she didn’t have anything in the way of personal possessions. Given no one had mentioned her being naked—and she’d certainly been clothed when we’d chased her—that had to mean she had another hideaway. So why risk coming here at all? Did it have something to do with the bones she apparently slept beside?

Aiden snapped on a pair of gloves and carefully lifted the pillow. “There’s a bullet hole in the side of her skull, which suggests either murder or possibly suicide. Can’t see anything that suggests it happened here, though.”

“Would you, with a mattress that grimy?” Monty asked.

Aiden glanced up. “You’d see the blood stain at the very least, both soaking into the mattress and the spray of it across the wall.”

My gaze immediately went to the wall behind the bed. It was as filthy as the rest of the place, but there was nothing that even vaguely resembled blood splatter. I rubbed my arms and walked across to the dressing table. “There’s leftover baked beans in a pot on the camp stove, and they don’t look that old.”

Monty walked over. “Cooked last night, I’d say.”

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “And you know this how?”

He smiled. “A long history of leaving leftover baked beans in pots.”

I tugged the sleeve of the jacket over my fingers and then carefully opened the first of the two drawers. Aside from a selection of ancient-looking makeup containers and lipsticks, there was a slightly newer-looking brush and comb. “What color is the victim’s hair, Aiden?”

“Gray—why?”

“There’s a brush in the drawer, and the hair in it is dark. It could belong to our rogue.”

“Which we can confirm by comparing it to the DNA in the blood we found at the hall,” Monty said, “It’ll be interesting to see if there’s a familial connection between the rogue and this woman.”

“At the very least, there’s an emotional connection. Otherwise, why would she be sleeping with the bones?” I left the drawer open and turned. “Did Leesa Rhineheart ever live here? Could the bones belong to her?”

“I really can’t answer either question right now,” Aiden said. “Why?”

“Because Jenny Brown—one of the women murdered in the scout hall—said our rogue resembled her.”

“Then that’s certainly an option we’ll be investigating.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll have to call a team in—Liz, do you want to take my truck and go home? There’s nothing much else you can do here.”

I frowned. “What if she comes back?”

“I’ll deal with it.” Monty touched my shoulder lightly. “Go home. Your eye bags have bags.”

“Thanks for that charming image.” I walked across the room and accepted the keys Aiden held out. “Given you’re likely to be here for a while and I’m likely to be fast asleep when you do get home, I’ll see you tomorrow sometime.”

“Try not to grind the gears too much,” he replied, a smile tugging his luscious lips. “The box is new.”

“You give me the keys, you have to accept the consequences.” I blew him a kiss, then headed out.

The journey home was uneventful, and I avoided grinding the gears, though my hate for manual gearboxes continued. The outside sensor light flicked on when I pulled up, lighting the path as I shivered my way to the front door. Inside, that chill crept through the air, no doubt due to