Hex Type Thing Page 4

  “I can’t seem to remember it at all. My memories of before you came into my life are so dark I can barely see them.”

  I managed a grin. “That was a really good lie.”

  “It’s not a lie.” He held my gaze for a moment and then sobered. “I never dated her. I preferred spending my time with actual adults. Salma might’ve technically been legal, but she had the mindset of a middle-school girl.”

  Oh, well, now we were getting somewhere. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that she was superficial, shallow and altogether annoying. She was one of those entitled trust fund kids who think the world and everyone in it should bow at their feet simply because they were born into a family with money.”

  I was starting to detect a theme with Galen’s disdain. “You really don’t like rich people, do you?”

  “Honestly, there are plenty of rich people I do like. I don’t like people who think they’re better than others simply because of the amount of money they have at their disposal. I have no use for people like that.”

  “I guess that’s why you like me, huh?” I kept my eyes to the ground, looking for clues. It was dark and the area would soon be crawling with people. I didn’t want Galen to inadvertently miss anything. “I’m dirt poor.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond, I turned back and found him staring at me, bemused. “What?”

  “Honey, I don’t know how to break this to you but that lighthouse May left you is worth millions of dollars. You could spark a bidding war that would leave you set for life if you wanted.”

  I stared at him for a beat, dumbfounded. “Millions of dollars?”

  He nodded. “You’re one of the Moonstone Bay elite now.”

  “Um ... I have, like, two-thousand dollars in my checking account and that has to last me until I get this witch-on-call idea off the ground. The lighthouse might be worth something, but it’s not as if that benefits me, because I have no intention of selling it.”

  “No, but you could take out a home equity loan if you needed money. But I don’t recommend that unless you’re really desperate. You have me, so you’ll never be that desperate.”

  “Your family has money, right?” I was trying to get to the bottom of his attitude when it came to the uber-wealthy. He was something of a mystery when he wanted to be. “Do you not like these people because you knew them while growing up?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like some of these people — and I stress some — because their attitudes stink. That’s the start and end of it.”

  “Okay, well ... what can you tell me about Salma? I mean, other than the fact that she’s beautiful.” It was true. The young woman lying on the ground, her blood seeping into the sand, was lovely. She had long dark hair, as black as mine, and her emerald eyes were open. She had the sort of high cheekbones that you find only on the pages of a magazine, and her skin was the color of fresh honey.

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Galen craned his neck and stared toward the parking lot, which remained empty. It was clear he was getting antsy while waiting for backup. “She was an empty vessel.”

  I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I pushed. “Is that kind of like being a twiddle pants?”

  I’d related the term to him during dinner, causing him to roar with laughter. He confirmed that Alastair really was a twiddle pants, but the joke only brought a tiny smile this time.

  “No. She basically spent all her time shopping, hanging out at the beach and drinking coffee at the various shops.”

  “That’s nice work if you can get it. What did she do for a living?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” That didn’t sound right. “She must’ve done something. She was an adult. I mean ... was she going to school or anything?”

  “It’s impossible to get a decent degree on the island,” Galen reminded me. “We have some tourist tracks that are good for most of our kids, but there aren’t many options if you don’t want to get involved in that field. Salma didn’t want to be involved in any field. She basically wanted to be paid for doing nothing.”

  “That’s also good work if you can get it,” I teased. “How did she manage that gig?”

  “Her father enabled her. He didn’t make her work. She was allowed to run wild, do anything she wanted, and he funded her lifestyle.”

  “That sounds great in theory, but I think you’d get bored with it after a time. I know that I’ve been a woman of leisure for far too long. I’m looking forward to starting a business.”

  “That’s because you’re the sort of person who believes in earning your keep. That’s not who Salma was. She spent all her time on the internet recommending products and taking selfies of herself. She got free stuff because of it.”

  I was taken aback. “Wait ... you’re saying she was one of those internet influencers?”

  His face was blank. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “They’re those people who spend all of their time recommending restaurants or makeup or shoes on the internet because they’ve amassed a bunch of followers. And they get paid for it.”

  “That’s not a job.”

  “I agree, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. I read a story ... .” I trailed off and searched my memory. “Oh, right. Now I remember. There was that woman who was on that old sitcom with those freaky-looking twins. She played the aunt on the show. You know the show I’m talking about, right?”

  “I don’t recall watching any show with freaky-looking twins. I think I would remember that.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter about the show. She was married to some fashion designer and they were caught bribing their daughters’ way into college.”

  “I vaguely remember the story,” he acknowledged. “What does that have to do with Salma?”

  “Nothing. But this woman’s daughter was an influencer, and she lost all of her endorsements. She had some eyeshadow deal going with one of the makeup companies and was hawking dorm room decorations for another. She was literally paid to recommend stuff on the internet.”

  “And I’m saying that’s not a job.”

  “It’s not. But it’s still a thing. Salma was doing the same thing.”

  “Are you suggesting there’s a motive for her murder in there?”

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “Did she make enemies with anybody on the island? Maybe she had a rival who wanted to do the same thing she did, or maybe she wouldn’t recommend something and someone lost his or her temper.”

  “And stabbed her seven times?”

  I took an inadvertent step back. “What?” I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the body, but it was dark, so I’d missed the obvious signs of trauma. A second glance told me everything I needed to know. The attack on Salma had been quick and frenzied. “I guess that notion of someone killing her over makeup seems kind of out there.” I chewed my bottom lip and continued to stare.

  “Don’t look at her,” Galen instructed, moving to obstruct my view. His expression was serious. “There’s no need for you to see that.”

  It was too late. I couldn’t unsee the trauma. “I didn’t realize ... .” I trailed off, feeling like a ninny. “You said she was stabbed, but I thought that meant just once.”

  “Would it have mattered if it was just the one time?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “Kind of,” I hedged. “I mean ... one wound might signify that someone lashed out in a moment of anger and regretted it. Seven stab wounds seem to suggest there was a lot of rage on this beach when it went down. Do you know how long she’s been out here?”

  “That’s for the medical examiner to decide. You have a point about the sort of attack we’re dealing with, though. I hadn’t really thought about it like that, but you’re right. I don’t think this was an accidental flash of temper.”

  “No.” I forced my eyes back to the sky. The moon looked amazing with the rippling waves cresting beneath it. “Do you think this has something to do w
ith your festival?”

  Galen opened his mouth, perhaps to deny the idea, but he thought better of it. “That’s a very good question. Why else would she be here? I bet she was one of the people who spread word about the festival. I always wondered how they got so many people in such a short amount of time. I bet they were using these influencers you’ve been talking about.”

  My eyes drifted back to her face. The look of horror reflected in her eyes would stick with me for a long time. “Do you have to notify her parents?”

  He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. My offer to call Booker to get you home still stands. You don’t have to stick around for this.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “Okay. Stay out of the way but don’t go too far. We don’t know if our killer is still out here.”

  “I won’t go very far. I promise.”

  IT WAS ALMOST TWO BEFORE WE made it back to the lighthouse. We were both dragging when we parked the cart in the driveway. I unlocked the door, Galen made sure it was secure once we were both inside, and then we trudged up to my bedroom.

  I stripped out of my clothes and crawled directly into bed. Galen held it together long enough to brush his teeth and splash cold water on his face. I could tell his mind was busy even as it whined for him to shut down.

  When he climbed in next to me, he slid his arm around my waist and tugged until my head rested on his chest. He radiated heat but I didn’t mind because the central air was on full blast.

  “The medical examiner said it was a frenzied attack, just like what you surmised,” I noted as I ordered myself to wind down. “That seems to indicate that it was a lover or someone close to her.”

  His eyes were closed, his breathing regular, but I knew he was still awake. “Are you bucking for an investigative position on my team?”

  “No. Just giving my opinion. That’s allowed.”

  “It’s more than allowed. I like hearing what you have to say.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, though, why do you believe that?”

  “Because to kill someone in the way Salma was killed you have to know the victim. You either have to love them so much that your heart was shattered by something they did or hate them so much that you can taste it. There’s a reason people say there’s a thin line between love and hate.”

  “I’m not disagreeing, but have you considered that we might be dealing with a confused individual? I’ve seen frenzied attacks with the mentally ill. They don’t mean what they’re doing, but the outcome is the same.”

  “But in those cases something happened to cause the individual to snap … and they’re usually apologetic right away. I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I agree. I think she definitely knew her killer.”

  “Which is why she was on the beach by herself after dark. She was expecting to see someone, but things didn’t turn out as she expected.”

  “I agree with you there, too.” He brushed his lips against my forehead. “You need to sleep. Morning is going to come soon enough.”

  “Except I can sleep in,” I reminded him.

  “Like I’m going to allow that. You need to get up and make me breakfast, send me out to face the world with a full stomach. That’s what good girlfriends do.”

  I pinched his flank, causing him to yelp. “I know you think you’re funny but I don’t.”

  He chuckled as he snuggled close. “You think I’m a little funny. Admit it.”

  “I wonder if Salma thought someone was funny,” I mused. “Maybe she was meeting a man out there, one she hurt — whether on accident or purpose — and he ended her to ease his own pain.”

  “That’s a very ... soap opera ... way to look at things. I don’t care how much you hurt me, I wouldn’t kill you.”

  “That’s a great relief, but I have no intention of hurting you.”

  I felt his lips curve against my forehead. “Right back at you.”

  “I don’t think the majority of people have the ability to murder. But those who do can probably convince themselves of anything.”

  “Baby, I think your head is a little too busy tonight. You need to shut it down.”

  I let out a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “You need your rest to cook me breakfast.”

  I was too tired to argue. “I’ll make you breakfast ... if you fix that handle that keeps coming loose on the back door. I can’t find a new handle to fit it because it’s so old and I don’t know how to fix the old one.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  I rested my hand on the spot above his heart. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Now ... sleep.”

  5

  Five

  Galen was scowling at his phone when I woke the next morning. We were still wrapped together, my head pillowed on his chest, but he was already in work mode.

  “Is the shine already off our romance?”

  He shifted his eyes to me, light flitting through them, and then pressed a kiss to my mouth. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Why are you so unhappy?”

  “Honey, any morning I wake up with you I’m happy. Why do you assume I’m unhappy?”

  His phone was still clutched in his hand and I could tell he was anxious to get back to whatever he’d been doing while I slumbered. Still, he wasn’t an idiot. He was smart enough to give me his entire focus.

  “You have a growly face that you use when people are irritating you. I’ve seen you point that face at me a time or two. It isn’t pretty. You had it on when I opened my eyes.”

  “I think you’re mistaken. I only have a happy face when you’re around.”

  I snorted and stretched. “Right. You might as well tell me. I’ll figure it out anyway.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “There will be no breakfast for you until you tell me, and I happen to know that you’re a hungry boy in the morning.”

  This time the grin he graced me with was warm enough to send tingles to my toes. “I am definitely hungry.”

  I recognized exactly where his mind had gone. “Not for that.” I pinched his flank. “Just tell me. I don’t understand why you’re playing coy.”

  “I’m not. I was texting Alastair to tell him I needed to see him. He’s not responding, but his assistant said I have to work around his facial and pedicure.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at the dark expression that took over his features. He was a grump in the morning before he had his first shot of coffee and carbs. “I’m guessing you’re not going to work on his timetable.”

  “Nope. But he seems to think I am.”

  “Well, then I pity him.” I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m going to hit the shower and then head down to make your breakfast. I don’t want to send you off on an important investigation in a bad mood.”

  “I can’t be in a bad mood when I’m with you.”

  I cast him a sidelong look. “You don’t have to keep saying stuff like that. I know we’ve been in a bit of a honeymoon period because we’re both a little giddy, but we still live in the real world.”

  “Are you saying I’m laying it on too thick?”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  “Then I’ll rein it in.” He gave me another kiss and then went back to his phone. “Honestly, it’s been a little hard for me to keep coming up with romantic things to say. I think I need to watch some movies or something.”

  That made me laugh as I rolled out of bed. “You’re fine the way you are. Not every moment has to be flowers and paper hearts. I prefer something real to anything forced.”

  His eyes turned serious. “Everything I’ve said to you is real.”

  “I know, but you don’t have to go overboard. I like who you are on a normal day ... even if you’re occasionally grumpy.”

  “Good to know.”

  I BOOTED MY COMPUTER IN THE kitchen and ran searches while futzing with pancakes and coffee. By the time
Galen joined me, he was showered, shaved and looked to be in a better mood.

  “There’s my favorite girl in the world,” he teased. “I’m surprised cartoon hearts don’t shoot out of my eyes when I see you.”

  I merely stared at him.

  “I just had to get it out of my system and annoy you a little bit along the way. How did I do?”

  “You’re nothing if not a consummate professional,” I replied dryly.

  “On that we can agree.” He flipped the pancakes so I didn’t have to get up and do it and then positioned himself behind me so he could look over my shoulder. He didn’t seem surprised when he realized I was reviewing Salma’s social media feeds. “Anything good?”

  “Well, her Twitter account is one nonstop advertisement for the Skyclad Festival. I mean ... five Tweets a day. Every day for the past month.”

  “It’s almost as if she was contracted to put out that many Tweets, huh?” Galen’s eyebrows drew together as he leaned forward. “Why are you looking at the stuff she was posting before the festival?”

  “I find it interesting. I mean ... look here. She’s praising a new perfume, saying it smells like visiting Heaven while sitting on top of a rainbow.”

  “I prefer my women to smell like coconuts.” He nuzzled the back of my neck and inhaled my body spray. “Seriously. You smell good enough to eat.”

  I ignored his attempt at romance and tapped the screen. “There are two typos in the Tweet.”

  He frowned and straightened when he realized I wasn’t going to play his game. “So?”

  “So all the Tweets before the ones about the festival have typos. That seems to indicate she was doing the bare minimum or didn’t actually know she was coming across as illiterate. Seriously, who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re? It’s not something she gets wrong once or twice either. It’s every time … like looser and loser. They have vastly different meanings. None of the Tweets about the festival contain typos, so either someone else was writing them for her ... .”

  “Or she suddenly developed business ethics and good grammar,” he surmised.