Page 21 of Treasured By Them
“No.” I hold up a hand and give him a long look. “Not yet.”
He gulps, nods. “Right.”
No doubt, the police will have to be called. This isn’t like Jon’s death, where Troy and I were the only ones to see the body. Even if we could keep Gary from contacting authorities, poor Kara isn’t going to recover. She doesn’t seem like the type to keep a secret like this. The bartender looks furiously protective on her behalf, so he probably wouldn’t keep quiet, either. Maybe they could be bought, but it’s a loose end.
The Layton family hates loose ends.
“Stay put,” Troy says to Gary.
I follow Troy out through the kitchen to the alley behind the restaurant.
“The hell?” Troy stops short.
I come around from behind to stand next to him. “Holy shit.”
It’s the sort of tableau to give someone nightmares. The space is lit by black candles so light flickers over the exposed brick of the buildings’ exteriors, and the green metal side of the dumpster. A man’s body lies spread-eagle in the center of the alley. Strange symbols are etched in a dark liquid—probably blood—around the corpse.
Other than his throat being slit, he looks like he could be sleeping in his black athletic wear—running pants and microfleece sweatshirt. He’s clutching something in his hand.
“What’s he holding?” I ask.
Troy takes a couple of steps forward. “Rosary in one hand. And…looks like a pentagram or something on a chain, in the other.”
What looks like pale rocks are scattered around his head. I squat down to get a better look. Teeth.
Our cop friend warned us about a serial killer. “Ritualistic looking shit” was what Grinnote had said last time we talked to him.
The candles, the bloody symbols, the rosary and pentagram, the teeth—this is “ritualistic” as fuck.
“This has to be the work of that serial killer Grinnote told us about.” I stand up and face Troy.
He nods, expression solemn, but alert. “There aren’t any cameras back here.”
“No.” We did it on purpose, so if the Finch was used for anything shady, there wouldn’t be evidence. Now our lack of security will come back to bite us.
We return to the kitchen and tell Gary to call the cops. Troy impresses upon Gary, Kara, and the bartender that our presence here tonight doesn’t need to be mentioned when talking to the police officers. Sure, a view of traffic cams will reveal that we were here, but hopefully by the time police view them, they’ll realize Troy and I couldn’t have been involved.
My father will be annoyed—any police attention to our places of business is a hindrance, not a help. There’s nothing to be done about it, however.
I text our new driver, a guy named Chuck who’s been with the family for a decade. If he was nervous about taking over for Jon, he didn’t show it.
When we leave the restaurant, Chuck is waiting for us. Troy makes me get into the car first, his gaze intent on our surroundings.
“We need a secure way home,” I say to Chuck.
“Got it.”
Chuck knows the routes with the fewest traffic cams.
Troy catches my eye. “We aren’t stopping at Rendsell first?”
“The news can be shared over text.” I stare at the road in front of us. “I want to get home to Danica.”
“Good.” His shoulders relax. “Me, too. I’m worried about her. With the counselor’s remains, and the new murders. I don’t like how close this was to us—it puts her in danger.”
“It was practically on our front lawn. Everyone knows Finch and Fox is ours.” A simmering rage, shot with fear, bubbles in my gut.
“Extra protection for Dani.” Troy isn’t asking—he’s telling.
