could have come into contact with the energies most any time. That was the problem with death. The energies got out of control when they were used and spread to the ones the user loved, like my bloodlust could do if I wasn’t very, very careful. If the maker of the death and decay had hidden her power from the world, controlled her magics all her life, and then suddenly started using them, they might now be impossible to restrain. It was like letting the djinn out of the bottle—impossible to get the evil thing back in.
Back at the barn, all the photos had been downloaded to my tablet and sent to HQ. And my tablet had died deader than a doornail. I sat again, thinking. Calm settled in the air. A slow rain began to fall, whispering down, which was going to make moving the dead horse more difficult. Tree frogs began calling, a raucous concert of mating. A horse neighed in the distance. My chair creaked softly.
I might be in a griping mood, but the quiet night was bringing back calming, soothing memories of my youth: the wind moving over grasses, the stamp of hooves, the rare horsey snort, the smell of hay and feed, the bark of dogs and clucking of chickens, the sound and wet feel of rain. Happy memories of time in the Nicholson greenhouse, feeding the basils, making them grow. Not everything about the church was a bad memory and it was good when I could overlay the bad with something wonderful. I rebooted the laptop and amended reports.
By the time midnight approached, I desperately needed sleep. And I heard footsteps approaching. The cadence didn’t belong to Occam or FireWind. My breath hitched.
TWELVE
Moving slowly, I eased my weapon from its shoulder holster and slid it to my lap, pointing above my thighs and at the door.
“Hey! Who lef’ da ligh’sss on?” a voice slurred. “Who’s here?”
I knew that voice. Credence Pacillo had reentered the barn.
Silently, I got up and moved to where I could see him but he wasn’t likely to see me, my weapon hidden at my thigh. Pacillo stumbled slightly in the open central area, unsteady on his feet, as he walked through the barn. When I didn’t answer, he stopped and looked down at the ground, but not where Ingrid’s body had lain, which I thought was telling. Instead, he stared at the prints of horse and humans, overlaid with the deep ruts of a vehicle in the barn dust. “Wha’ da fu . . .”
“I’m here,” I said.
He whirled and nearly fell. I stepped into the light, gave a come here finger wave, and backed into the office. He followed. I took his former seat again. He stood in the doorway, wavering slowly, breathing the sour scent of old liquor into the office. I closed my laptop, reseated my weapon in its holster, and sat back in the chair, my arms out to the sides, my hands on the chair arms, making myself look bigger. Internet Spook School class, Interrogation 201—Body Mechanics. More importantly, the mamas had always said to start out as you intend to go forward. And I wanted to appear accusational. “You looking for Ingrid? You two were having an affair, right?”
“What? Ingrid? No. Why you askin’ ’bout Ing?”
I focused intently on his face. “She’s dead.”
Pacillo sat down hard, landing on the office floor with an ungainly thump. “Why would Ing be dead?”
Not “why would anyone be dead.” Of course, he was drunk, so I didn’t know what importance to assign to that. “Did you kill Ing?”
He didn’t answer right at first and when he did it was a peculiar, distraught whining sound. He raised his head and I was shocked to see he was crying. “No. Why would I kill Ing?”
“Did you kill Stella?”
He shook his head, his confusion growing. “No.”
I leaned forward. “Did you kill Monica?” Head shake. “Did you kill Connelly?”
“No,” he breathed.
“Did you kill Racine?”
“Who?” Head shake. “I didn’t kill them.”
Not “I didn’t kill anyone.” But “I didn’t kill them.”
“Were you having an affair with Ingrid?”
“No. Not with Ingrid. I’d never touch Ing.” He closed his eyes and slid to the floor. Out cold.
FireWind leaped out of the darkness and over Pacillo’s body. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My shriek echoed through the night. My boss’ dog form skidded under the table, ramming into my knees. He grabbed my hand in his massive teeth and pulled me out of my chair.