After a few minutes, she joined me. Her eyes were angry, a tinge of fear mixed into those dark depths. I mutely held out my arms and she allowed herself the luxury of a hug.
“White Deer’s on her way over,” she said. “I’m just glad she wasn’t staying here or she might have gotten hurt.”
“I thought she always stayed with you.” Not once did I remember White Deer staying at a hotel. Of course, with Jimbo around, maybe the equation had changed a little.
“Not this time. She had some business to attend to in Bellingham last evening, and she stayed overnight with a friend. She should be here any minute.” Mur looked around helplessly, as if she didn’t know where to start. “Deacon and Greg dusted for fingerprints, but there’s not much to go on. My back door was pried open, but no prints except for Jimmy’s and my own. The kitchen’s just as bad. Oh Em, I lost so many of my things. And my clothes—upstairs—some have been slashed.”
“Do you have any idea who did this?” The damage was more than superficial; it was going to cost a butt-load of money to repair and replace what had been lost or destroyed. “This doesn’t look like standard teen vandalism.”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what the hell is going on. Who could do this to me? Who would do this?”
“Was anything stolen?”
“No, that’s the killer. Nothing that I can figure out. I’ve trapped Sid and Nancy in the bathroom. Thank God they didn’t get out. They could have been hurt, though, when they slithered over the broken glass of their cages. We lucked out on that one. But I’m scared. I can’t find Whiplash anywhere, and Sid looks like he just ate.”
Shit. That wouldn’t go over big. For such a tough man, and a hunter and trapper at that, Jimbo had a surprisingly soft spot in his heart for animals. Snidely and Whiplash had been stray cats, but they were the best of friends now, and he doted on the orange tabbies.
“Where’s Snidely?” I asked.
“She’s safe. She was hiding under the bed.” Murray’s voice broke and I instinctively reached out and tried to soothe her, envisioning her cushioned in a circle of golden light. I took her hands in mine and closed my eyes as a golden light radiated out from my fingertips, winding up her arms, wrapping her in a cocoon to heal, to help.
Mur took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, then dropped to a chair that had emerged unscathed from the onslaught. “Thanks, that helped. Em, can you . . . would you . . .”
“You want me to see if I can find out anything about what happened?”
She nodded, mute.
I patted her hand. “Of course. You know I’ve got your back, babe. Have you called Jimbo yet?”
“No, he took off out of town this morning to deliver several batches of honey to some of the smaller stores he sells to. I left a message, though.”
That was Jimbo, all right. He hived bees, trapped for fur, cut deadwood for kindling bundles, anything to keep out of the clutches of a regular job. And he’d done quite well for himself over the years. I knew that his land was paid off, and he didn’t owe a dime to anybody.
“Tell you what. Let’s find Whiplash first, then I’ll do some scrying and see what I can pick up. I wish I had my crystal ball with me, but I can make do, or if we can find your cards, I can throw you a reading.”
As we waded into the mess, we decided to start upstairs in Murray’s bedroom, since that’s where Snidely had been hiding. Her clothes looked like they’d been through a shredder, but that was the least of our concerns.
“I think my favorite bra and panty set is missing,” she said, piling the lingerie and panties that remained intact onto the bed. The oak finish on the four-poster bed had been marred by a few dents, but it could be repaired.
“What? Are you sure they aren’t around here somewhere in this mess?”
She glanced around, a puzzled expression on her face. “I suppose so, but they should have been with all of the others.” As she sorted through what had survived and what was now worthless, I rummaged through the closets, looking for any sign of the missing cat. Nada.
“Mur, hon, what are you doing?”
Murray was dumping every piece of underwear into a big plastic garbage bag, even the ones that had survived the onslaught. “I can’t wear these. Someone’s touched them, ripped some of them up. How can I even think of wearing them again? My credit cards are going to get a workout this week.” She shuddered, holding up a lace bra of the sort that I didn’t even know she owned. It had been slit in all too obvious places.
My stomach lurched and I quickly glanced around the room. A feeling that we were being watched niggled at the back of my brain. The air thickened as the sensation grew stronger and, shaking, I backed away to the door. Someone had crept through this room, someone with a careful eye, prying, touching, thinking thoughts better left un spoken.
“Shit, Mur . . . I just . . . there’s something really creepy going on. Somebody left a strong signature imprinted here. I think that you need to stay somewhere else for a few days. You can come to my place, if you want.”
She swallowed hard. “No. I’m not letting anybody push me out of my home. But I will buy new locks today and we’ll install them by nightfall.”
I slowly turned around, feeling out the energy of the room. “You need to cleanse this place and cleanse it good.”
“I can ask White Deer to help. I know you’ve got way too much on your mind to worry over this mess.”
We sifted through the room, calling for Whiplash, but to no avail. The heavy wood furniture had survived, but the mattress had been gouged in several places, big holes exuding stuffing all over the place. I couldn’t ignore the sense of hatred surrounding the room. Hatred and . . . something else.