Page 57 of Dead & Breakfast
Arthur was many things, but impolite was rarely one of them, so he sat and accepted the beverage, but didn’t drink. After all, it might be poisoned. “I can explain—”
“You don’t have to.” Theodore stood and rummaged for something in the corner of the room. “I could hear you through the door, remember?”
“Is it true that werewolves have exceptional hearing even when they’re not in wolf form?” Salvatore asked coolly.
“Are vampires all very good at basic math?”
“Of course not! I’m bisexual!” Salvatore exclaimed.
“Does one stereotype cancel out the other?” Theodore returned to the light, carrying a pile of clothes. “Never mind. The point is, I didn’t need supernatural hearing. You’re both extraordinarily loud stalkers. If I was on the fence before about whether or not you’dmurdered the mayor, this seals the deal. Neither of you is stealthy enough to take down a sloth, let alone a conscious adult human.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Arthur deadpanned. “Now, what about you?”
“Look for yourself.” Theodore laid a pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and a Big Bad Brew T-shirt on the armchair. Wrinkled and worn they might have been, but there was no bloodstain in sight.
“You could have washed them,” Arthur pointed out. “Or swapped them out for clean alternatives.”
Theodore leaned on the back of the armchair and sighed. “I guess I can see how my showing up soon after you found Brody is suspicious, but it’s no more suspicious than the two of you looking for the kid all day, only to find him near death.”
Arthur glared. “We’re not the ones whose store he was tagging. You have more motive than we do.”
“For the record, I never thought it was you,” Salvatore said. “I was just playing along with Arthur’s fantasy.”
Arthur spluttered. “Fantasy?”
“You know, that you’re the hero of some enemies-to-lovers romance with Theo here, your dashing business rival.”
“Be serious, Sal,” Arthur said, mortified. If he’d been capable of blushing, his face would be beet red by now. “I’m not, it isn’t like that, Ted—”
“See? You’ve got a cute little nickname for him and everything.” Salvatore wiggled his eyebrows. “Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”
Theodore pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Let’s get back to the subject at hand. I didn’t hurt Brody. You can search the whole house if you want.”
Arthur took a delicate sniff of the air. Theodore’s house smelledof coffee—how utterly predictable—sage, and lavender, but there was no blood.
He had wanted it to be Theodore because he’d wanted an easy answer. They had just over a day left before the FPI arrived, and Arthur had wanted to finally be right about something.
“So that’s it, then.” Arthur set the teacup down. “Another lead come to a dead end?”
“Maybe not,” Theodore continued thoughtfully. “Brody and his friends have been tagging local businesses with anti-paranormal messages, including mine, it’s true. But that graffiti tonight…”
Arthur thought about the words on the wall for the first time. He’d barely processed them because Brody had been lying unconscious beneath. “Fur Fiend.”
“FurFriend.” Theodore drew the letterRin the air. “Someone added a letter to make it less offensive.”
Brody’s hands had been stained with fresh paint. Blue paint. The original message had been written in white, but the new addition was blue.
The same blue that had been on the mayor’s sleeve, Arthur realized. It hadn’t been ink after all, but spray paint. It must’ve transferred during the murder, or after, when Brody was transporting the late George Roth to their property.
“Brody.”
Theodore nodded. “Exactly.”
“That’s interesting,” Sal said. “What if his friends realized he was undoing their work and got angry with him?”
“They’re rude and rowdy, certainly,” Arthur said, recalling how they’d laughed at him at the coffee shop, “but I don’t know if they’re murderous. And his other friends didn’t strike me as violent at all.”
“Speak for yourself!” Salvatore clutched a hand to his chest. “They were downright brutal about my advanced age.”
