Blood of the Demon (Kara Gillian 2)

I sat down and gentled my voice. “Then be honest with me. It’s the only way out of this.”

She looked at me, green eyes on mine. Then she closed them and took a deep breath. Yes, I thought with a touch of triumph. She’s ready to spill …

“I think I need to speak to my lawyer.”

Fuck.

She opened her eyes and looked at me steadily. She’s not stupid. And she’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. Fuck.

I closed my notebook and stood. “Mrs. Sharp, thank you for talking to me,” I said formally. “If you can think of anything that might help in the investigation of your husband’s murder, please call me.” I handed her my business card.

She stood as well. “I didn’t kill my husband, Detective,” she said, taking the card from me. “And I didn’t pay to have him killed either.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Sharp. I’m sure I’ll be in touch again.”

I left the apartment and returned to my car. I cranked the engine, then rolled the windows down and turned the AC on full blast to push the overheated air out, drumming my fingers absently on the steering wheel as I waited for the air to cool from roasting to tepid. She’d enjoyed that lifestyle, the money. Why leave it without a fight? Was she being blackmailed? Threatened? And what about Sharp’s essence? Was she somehow responsible for that?

I drove away from the apartment complex, returning to Beaulac with more questions than when I’d left.

By the time I made it back, it was late enough that I didn’t feel a need to go to the office. I stopped and bought a new coffeemaker, then swung by my aunt’s house. I had enough of her person, but now I needed some items that were personal to her—something that would resonate with emotional ties to this plane. I parked in Tessa’s driveway and ran up the steps to the front door. Her favorite teacup, and her hairbrush. And maybe that scarf that I—

I stopped with my hand a millimeter from the doorknob, thoughts derailed by the faint prickling sensation in the wards that I’d placed after Kehlirik had removed the others. I slowly pulled my hand back, heart beginning to beat just a bit faster as I shifted into othersight and looked at the wards. I couldn’t see anything amiss with them, and I frowned. Something felt not right on the door, but for the life of me I couldn’t see anything at all out of place in the aversions. As far as I could tell they were exactly the same as I’d left them. Had something passed through them? And would I even know if something had?

I turned and looked out over her yard. Mowed. Trimmed. Weeded. I could almost explain that away—especially now that the wards were mostly disabled. I wasn’t strong enough to have aversions that would keep someone out of the yard. Okay, so someone was taking care of her lawn. Not a reason for huge worry. But someone’s also visiting her in the neuro center …

I gingerly reached my hand out and took hold of the doorknob, letting out a soft breath as the prickle faded away to nothing. Overactive imagination? I entered and closed the door quietly behind me, then stood stock-still in the hallway, listening and sensing as hard as I could.

The only sound was the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, but I still couldn’t shake the incredibly nebulous sense of not right. I walked down the hall to the library, trying to move silently, which was a joke on the creaky wooden floors.

I stopped in front of the library, chewing my bottom lip as I looked at the closed door. Had I left it open or closed? For the life of me I couldn’t remember. I extended mentally, testing to make certain that the wards on the library had all been disabled. And had stayed disabled.

To my relief, there were no wards visible in my other-sight. I entered cautiously, letting my breath out when I didn’t feel the beaded-curtain sensation that I was used to—the ripple of arcane sensing that would have told me that there were still active protections. I also didn’t feel any bolts of lightning strike me down, which I definitely took as a good sign. I gingerly peered in.

The room was so quiet I could hear the rush of my own pulse, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off. I stood in the doorway for at least a hundred heartbeats, but nothing stirred or jumped out at me.

I finally stepped out of the library, firmly closing the door. I continued on to Tessa’s room and gathered up a few personal items, then left the house, locking the door behind me and making sure that the wards were still active.>Elena Sharp crossed her legs and laced her fingers over her knee. “And I appreciate you making the drive to Mandeville, Detective Gillian,” she said, with a slight nod as if to say, There now, we have the pleasantries out of the way.

“So, Davis was murdered,” she continued, mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “I take it I’m a suspect?”

Oh, yeah, she wasn’t stupid by any stretch. “You understand that I can’t rule you out.”

“Oh, I know.” She closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head and sighed. “One more way for Davis to screw me.”

“You moved out and filed for divorce the day before his death,” I said, glancing at my notes. “How long were you two having marital difficulties?”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Oh, no. We were not having marital difficulties at all. I was. I … didn’t want to be with him anymore.” An odd mixture of pain and fear flickered across her face, quickly smoothed away into a polite smile—though the echo of it lingered in her eyes.

Interesting. Had she been afraid of her late husband? Enough to leave him? Or have him killed? “Yes, ma’am,” I said, glancing again at my notes. “You called the police twice in the last three years for domestic violence complaints.” I watched her face, keeping my expression friendly and neutral.

“Yes,” she said. “So I did.”

“You never pursued charges.”

She stood and walked to the window, folding her arms across her chest and almost hugging herself as she gazed out at the lake. “I know that everyone thought I was just a stupid trophy wife. And you know what? I was—the trophy part, that is.” She ran her hands unconsciously over her dress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “But I’m not stupid. I grew up in a trailer, went to the public high school, and learned pretty early on that what money and influence couldn’t get, a blow job and a fake orgasm could.” She shrugged and gave a self-conscious laugh.

I suddenly felt better about my own financial situation. “So you married Davis for his money.”

She gave me an oh, please look. “Well, duh. He was almost twenty years older than me. But I’m not a total mercenary. We actually had a lot of fun together, and I never really expected him to ask me to marry him.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “Shocked the shit out of me, to be honest.”