Demon's Dance (Lizzie Grace 4)

“It’s likely the rest of the place is locked down as tightly.”

“Probably, but we still have to look.” If only because a cold store was the perfect place to hide a body, especially given it had been closed the day Alice’s mom had gone missing. “I’ll go left, you go right.”

There were a number of allocated parking spaces out the front of the cold store and, on the building itself, two more signs—one saying “office” with an arrow pointing to the left, and the other saying “pick-up and deliveries” with an arrow pointing right.

The office was one of those freestanding portable buildings. I walked up the steps and peered into the nearest window. There were newish-looking desks, filing cabinets, and chairs in the main room, with two doors leading off it—one was a kitchen, the other a bathroom. The front door was locked and showed no signs of being tampered with.

I continued on. There were no windows on this side of the building, which I guessed was no surprise given it was a cold storage facility. I walked to the end and turned the corner. About halfway down there was what looked to be a large loading bay. To my left were four l

arge dumpsters, and to my right a door. I tested the handle; like the rest of them, it was locked.

Belle appeared at the far end of the building as I headed over to the first dumpster. Anything?

Two locked doors but little else. Any luck on your side?

Not a goddamn thing.

We might have to just call it quits and handball it back to the rangers.

Let me check these dumpsters first.

If there was a body in any of them, you’d have smelled it by now, given the heat of the last couple of days.

I still want to check—I owe Alice that much. I grabbed the first lid, but it was heavier than it looked. I used both hands to shove it up and then peered inside. It was empty.

I let the lid go and, as the clang of metal rang out, moved over to the next one. This one had a few boxes down the bottom but little else. The third was jammed full with both boxes and plastics.

There’s no way of getting inside from the loading bay, Belle said. All the doors and roller shutters are locked down tight.

Without the damn necklace to give us directions, we’re basically looking for a needle in a haystack. I walked toward the final bin. No matter how much Aiden might trust my instincts, I doubt any judge is going to issue a warrant to search this place on something as vague as a witch’s say so.

Werewolves have an advantage over us—they can check a person’s location via scent. And do they actually need a warrant? It’s not like he’s actually gotten one for any of the other crimes we’ve gotten involved in.

Good point. I grabbed the lid and thrust it up.

And was hit by a smell so bad that I gagged, dropped the lid, and jumped backward. For several seconds, I did nothing more than suck in air and stare at the last bin with trepidation.

I had to open it again. Had to find out whether or not we’d just found our needle.

“You could just call the rangers,” Belle said, as she stopped beside me.

“And what if it’s a dead cat or something?”

“You don’t think it is.” She tugged a couple of tissues from her handbag and handed them to me. “Shove them up your nose. They’re lavender scented, so it should counter at least a little of the smell.”

I folded the tissues, shoved the end of each one into a nostril then took a final breath of clean air and quickly stepped forward. The smell was just as gut-wrenching but at least this time I was prepared for it.

I reached inside and shifted a couple of the torn-down boxes sitting on top, and found the source of the smell.

It wasn’t a cat. It was a human.

A woman.

And she’d been completely and utterly skinned.

Three

I let the lid drop again and bolted for the grassy area behind the bin, where I violently lost everything I’d eaten.