Sucker Punch (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter 27)

“No,” Newman said, and got out of the car before I could ask why.

I guessed we were both allowed to keep our secrets. I got out on my side of his car and had to double-time it to catch up with his longer legs.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Rico? This is the kind of shit that Troy usually pulls. You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Leduc was thundering, or maybe it was just the acoustics of the stone arch they were standing under that made his voice into a bass rumble of noise like having a verbal rockslide thrown at you.

Deputy Rico mumbled something, but Leduc yelled, “No, I don’t want to hear one more goddamn excuse from you, Rico!”

We were close enough to hear the deputy say, “But it’s their house. How can I tell them they can’t come into their own house?”

“This is not their house. This is our crime scene!” Leduc said, pushing the flat brim of his hat into Rico’s forehead so that the only thing that kept them from touching faces was the hat.

It took me a second to realize that the hat brim was almost cutting into the skin of Rico’s forehead above his eyebrows. He was taller than the sheriff, so he had to be careful not to stand as straight as he could or the hat’s edge would have cut across his eyes. On some police forces, it would have crossed the line from getting your ass chewed to talking to your union rep, but I guessed on a force this small, there wasn’t a union. Who do you complain to when there’s no one higher than the boss?

Thanks to the sheriff yelling at the gate intercom earlier, I knew that Deputy Vargas had not only allowed family members into the house, but had allowed them to change the security code, which meant without it the police didn’t have access to the crime scene unless the family let them in. Family is almost always the first suspected in a murder. You don’t really want them running amok at the crime scene until you’re certain they didn’t do it.

Newman didn’t exactly yell, but he raised his voice enough to be heard. “When did they release Jocelyn from the hospital?”

Leduc stopped yelling, just stood there with his hat brim shoved into his deputy’s forehead like a knife-edge poised to strike. He nearly growled his next words into Deputy Vargas’s face. “Answer the marshal’s question, Rico.”

Rico swallowed so hard, I could see it from yards away. “I don’t know, Sheriff.”

Leduc moved back minutely so that his hat wasn’t actually touching the other man. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I think he was counting to ten. He spoke in a very careful voice, as if he was afraid of what he’d do if he lost his temper again. “How long has Jocelyn been here, Rico?”

“It’s not Joshie, Sheriff.”

“You said the family was inside,” the sheriff said, frowning at him.

“Yeah, Muriel and Todd Babington are inside.”

“God give me strength,” Leduc said. “Muriel and Todd don’t live here, Rico. It’s not their house. The only one that should be changing the security is Jocelyn Marchand, not Ray’s little sister and her husband.”

“They said they were worried that whoever murdered Ray had the security codes and that there were a lot of valuable antiques in the house.”

“Yeah, and they’ve had their eyes on the valuables in this house for years,” Leduc said, pushing past his deputy. The door wasn’t locked, thank goodness. I’m not sure what Sheriff Leduc would have done to Vargas if he’d allowed himself to be locked outside of the crime scene by possible suspects. Of course, maybe Leduc didn’t see Muriel and Todd as suspects, but I did. If Bobby hadn’t done it, then Aunt Muriel and Uncle Todd had just made the top of my list.

10

LEDUC MOVED SO fast through the house that I got only glimpses of it, but what I saw looked like antiques, with real crystal dangling from every light fixture and candleholder, and there seemed to be a lot of those everywhere. The paintings looked like originals, and the statues, from life-size people to tabletop designs, were marble and metal. It was like rushing through a mini museum. Leduc was like a tour guide who had forgotten his job, but he certainly knew his way around the place, because he opened doors only to certain rooms, checked they were empty, and then rushed to another one.

There seemed to be no order to the rooms he was looking at downstairs, and finally he headed for the upstairs, but he didn’t go back to the front of the house and up the grand staircase that was near the front door. He went through a small hallway tucked under an archway. I got a glimpse of a kitchen sitting dim and empty, and then he led us round a sharp turn to a much smaller set of stairs that was so narrow, I wasn’t sure Leduc’s waistline would fit, like Santa trying to squeeze through a chimney. Maybe I’ve always been so small that I just don’t understand how to navigate the world if you’re big. Leduc had no issues; he just had to duck a little on the tight turns of the stairs. Newman, who was nearly a foot taller than me and a few inches taller than Duke, had to take off his hat and bend over a little so he didn’t hit his head. I caught movement around the edges of him and realized that Deputy Vargas was behind us rather than staying at his post. He was as tall as Newman, with broader shoulders, but he seemed to be squeezing through just fine, which meant he was a lot more agile than he’d looked while the sheriff was chewing him out. Meanwhile I was keeping one hand touching each wall so that I could feel how rough the plaster was, because it was narrow enough that my claustrophobia wasn’t happy. I knew from experience that my eyes might tell me the walls were collapsing in on me, but my hands would stay the same width apart. So as long as my hands didn’t move, I could talk my brain out of believing the optical panic. Maybe the stairs weren’t as narrow as they felt, but I could keep my fingertips on either side as I followed Leduc up them, and with my smaller shoulders—the stairs were narr

ow enough.

Leduc opened a door at last, and he was through it before I had time to take a deep breath and let my body know it was in a broad, richly carpeted hallway instead of on the torturously narrow stairs. A heavyset man was carrying a small suitcase out of an open door. He saw us, or maybe just the sheriff, and froze like a deer in headlights. He blinked, and his round head with only a fringe of dark hair left made him look owlish, all big eyes and round face. He drew the suitcase into the curve of his arms protectively.

“Hey, Todd,” Leduc said all friendly, as if they were in town just bumping into each other.

“Hello, Duke. What brings you here so late?” Todd’s voice wasn’t as matter-of-fact as Duke’s, but he tried.

“Work.”

“Oh.” Todd glanced back at the open door. I kept expecting him to call out and warn the mysterious Muriel, Ray Marchand’s sister.

I was fighting not to push past Leduc and see what was in the case and what Todd’s other half was doing in the room behind him. Newman moved up beside me enough for me to look at him. He gave a small shake of his head. This was his town and his warrant. I could chill—for a while.

Duke took the few steps he needed to be within reach of Todd. He held his hand out wordlessly. Todd hugged the case to himself a little tighter. Duke turned his hand upside down and moved his fingers in a give-it-to-me motion.

Todd glanced back at the open door and called out, “Muriel, we have guests.”