Perhaps Nolan and company aren’t as harmless as we thought.
He didn’t have a clue. But a guy named Milo Kuzniak dying under mysterious circumstances—he had to check it out. Layne hadn’t been able to tell him much, just that Milo didn’t have a mark on him, which ruled out Eddie the skinwalker and Nolan’s rifle, and nobody knew what had happened. Cormac had told him to call the police, let them investigate. But that would have invited scrutiny of everything else Layne had going on at his compound. So, no, he would not call the police. He wanted Cormac.
Cormac kept thinking he should have refused to help. But he also thought he could stick around just long enough to get an idea about what happened. Maybe he’d find the key to the whole damned puzzle.
Amelia had him pack a few things, different odds and ends than what he usually carried around in his pockets: red pillar candles and a round, frameless mirror. There was something familiar about the items, but it was from one of her memories, not his, and she was keeping thoughts about it to herself. Something he ought to learn to do, since she always seemed to be able to tell exactly what he was thinking.
Because you’re very emotional. You do a good job of hiding it from everyone, but behind all that you’re rather a mess.
Last thing he needed was the back of his own head psychoanalyzing him. He knew he was a mess. He dealt with it. He turned up the radio in the Jeep so he wouldn’t have to hear himself think.
The sun was up and burning off the winter chill when he arrived at Layne’s compound. He turned into the drive, ready to roll all the way to the front of the house, but a body lay in the middle of the dirt tracks. Milo Kuzniak the younger, splayed face up, arms and legs spread out, no obvious signs of violence on the body.
He considered slamming the Jeep into reverse and getting the hell out. This—approaching a potential crime scene, disturbing a crime scene with no intention of telling the cops about it—was exactly the kind of thing Ben and Kitty were worried about him getting into. This could get him thrown back in jail.
You have gloves, yes?
Sometimes, he wondered if Amelia wasn’t worse than he was. He found his leather gloves shoved on the dashboard.
Layne had been watching for him. He came walking up from the house as soon as Cormac left the Jeep, and had a rifle tucked under his arm. Cormac glanced at the house, wondering if Mollie was around. He hoped not, what with people dying and all. He ignored Layne and went to the body.
Cormac wasn’t a forensics guy. He’d read a couple of books because Amelia wanted to learn, and he figured, why not. Mostly, it told him where the TV shows got everything wrong. But he knew a little. The body’s stiffness meant Milo had been lying here for a while, but he hadn’t started to stink. His eyes were open, his lips slack. No blood, no wounds, no nothing. The guy looked smaller, somehow.
He questioned Amelia: did magic do this?
We’ll find out.
“Thanks for coming,” Layne said, which was decent of him. He seemed a lot calmer now than he had on the phone. The panic had subsided. That made Cormac suspicious.
“I ought to just keep driving, Layne. I’m doing you a favor.”
“I figure I paid you enough for the werewolf job, I earned a little extra work from you.”
That was exactly what Cormac thought he’d say. He gave Layne a look and stepped up to the body. He studied the surrounding area for anything out of place, signs of violence, a fight, or magic. As it was, Milo might have had a heart attack and fallen over. This needed a coroner, not a magician.
Kneeling by the body, he looked closer. Maybe not a heart attack—he didn’t look like he’d died in pain. He wasn’t tense, curled up—his muscles hadn’t been clenched. Really, the guy looked like he’d been surprised. He hadn’t even had time to turn around. Something had happened that he hadn’t expected, and it had been instantaneous.
Milo’s arms were outstretched, his hands turned up, and soot streaked his palms, as if he’d held an exploding firecracker. Or put his hands up to fend off an attack.
Cormac looked up at Layne, who stood a ways off, refusing to approach the body. “You see what happened?”
“No.” He crossed his arms. “I was expecting Nolan’s crew to come back and pull some other stunt, so we were all awake, keeping watch. Milo was out front here, all by himself. There was a bang, like somebody setting off a bomb, and I came running. Nothing was there, not even a puff of smoke, and Milo was dead, just like that. They did something to him, didn
’t they? Nolan and his werewolf?”
The story didn’t sound right. Kuzniak wasn’t one of Layne’s heavies. He didn’t even carry a gun. He wouldn’t have been keeping watch at the end of the driveway all by himself.
Nolan didn’t do this, Cormac was sure. Dumb as he was, the guy wasn’t dumb enough to come after Layne on his own ground. He would have sent Eddie, and Eddie would have just torn the guy up. Even if Kuzniak had been out here by himself.
Layne wasn’t telling everything that happened. Of course he wasn’t.
“Did you listen to the message I left you?” Cormac asked.
“Not yet—”
“Nolan doesn’t have a werewolf working for him. Nolan didn’t do this. You’re being paranoid.”
“Easy for you to say. Can you tell me what happened or not?”