Page 75 of Suspicions on the Stage
“No messing with the scene,” the hellhound says as he glares at my sneaky mage.
Iggy shrugs, aiming for nonchalance, but the tilt of his chin is pure ego. “I was only trying to help.”
“Don’t,” the hound says, his expression dark. “Or I’ll bring that blowhard back in, and you’ll regret it.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t catch Jax’s people snooping about wherever the fuck they are.
My brow furrows as I stare at Rialto Beauregard’s body, dead on the stage, with the banshee coroner conducting a symphony of forensics. The crime scene techs swarm the boards like flies, collecting fibers, swabbing stains, pointing and whispering andmaking a big production of not looking at us in the audience. They definitely think Slade and Lucas are guilty, but I guess that comes with their jobs. I’d bet the percentage of people who discover the body also being the killer is pretty high.
Kaspar is perched on the back of his chair next to Liam, picking at his thumbnail with a silver key and making periodic, deliberate eye contact with the detective in charge. He’s not being an ass at the moment, but the tension is radiating from the dragon in waves. He thinks we’re going to need The Serpent without a doubt, and I suppose he’s probably right.
Detective Kowalski is in deep consultation with his sergeant at the back of the house, their voices echoing in the empty space like a bored podcast. I catch snippets: ‘High profile,’ ‘campus liability,’ ‘separate the perps.’ Kowalski is pointedly not looking at the body on stage or at me, which is disturbing.
I’m still the fucking Dean of this damn place whether he likes it or not.
I turn to Jackson, who’s the only one in our party capable of looking bored and wolfish at the same time. He’s got a legal pad on his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear, but he’s tapping out something frantic on his phone with both thumbs.
“Anything from Eli?” I ask, my voice low. I have zero faith in the acoustics of this place, and negative faith in the privacy of the campus security mics. We never confirmed what the cameras in here are capable of, and I don’t trust the idiot canine guards as far as I could throw them.
Our lawyer shakes his head, grimacing. “He’s working on it,” he says. “This isn’t like calling for a pizza delivery, you know. Are you getting nervous? That doesn’t seem like you.”
I almost laugh. “You haven’t seen me when people I care about are in trouble,” I say. “I can’t believe this fucker is treating me like this. Hera knows he wouldn’t be screwing with Magnus like this. But I can’t go at him like I want to because I think it will make it worse for Lucas and Slade.”
He considers, then gives me a knowing, sneaky smile. “Given the company you keep? Not at all. He should kiss your feet and theirs, too. You’re sitting with Fae royalty, a gangster’s kid, and a billionaire heir to a global conglomerate. That’s not even including the professor down there. His family has mega-pull in the magic community in these parts. It’s baffling, especially since he knows I’m representing them.”
Channing snorts from two seats down. “Hehasto have someone paying him to be this obstructive. There’s no other explanation, Morgana.”
Liam nods, looking at me seriously. “I agree,Maschula. That’s been bothering me since he brought the cub into the station. It just feels off, but I haven’t been able to penetrate whatever defenses they’ve put on him.”
I frown. “You’ve been probing him with magic? Shit, Li, what if someone figures it out?”
The Prince grins. “I’d like to see them try.”
Kaspar clears his throat, pointing to the front of the theater. “Unlike the wayward prof down there.”
We turn our attention to Iggy, and I sigh. He’s now trying to negotiate with the hellhound. I don’t know why he thinks it will work, but I guess we’ll find out.
“Listen,” Iggy says, “I wanted to know what the weapon was. There’s nothing on the stage, so?—”
“So it can’t be a knife,” the assistant interrupts, glaring, “which is what Dr. Balor thinks because she’s a professional. Leave us alone to work.”
Iggy flops back in his seat, arms crossed, and glares up at the stage like he expects the corpse to offer some moral support. I know he’s not accustomed to being told ‘no,’ but I don’t think he’s going to convince anyone that he should be part of the search.
“He tried,” Kaspar says under his breath, “but subtlety isn’t his color.”
The dragon is right.
I scan the rest of the house for Kendrick and Rainier, who are theoretically doing a sweep of the rest of the theater. They’re ghosts—not a trace of them anywhere, just like he said. Maybe the assistant won’t find them, after all.
“We’ve been here for four hours,” I mutter to Jax. “If they’d found anything up there that implicated the boys, they’d have dragged us all downtown by now.”
Jackson taps his pen on the notepad. “They don’t have a murder weapon or a motive.” His tone makes it clear which of these is the real problem. “You know the only reason they haven’t charged anyone is they’re hoping one of them will slip up and hand them a case.”
That’s why I want Lucas and Slade to keep quiet up there.
He looks at the stage where Slade and Lucas are still frozen in their assigned positions: Lucas near the edge, hands shoveddeep in his pockets, head down; Slade dead center, hands loose at his sides, staring straight ahead as he watches the forensics team work on the body.
“Of all the places to do a murder,” Jackson says, “this is a real bitch for plausible deniability. Though, I guess your bear beau didn’t have it any better.”
