Frostbitten
Page 45
He put an arm around me, pulled me against his side and carried on.
WE WATCHED JOEY head for his car, a baby Mercedes that I was sure had never ventured past the city limits. He had his head down, frowning as he searched his pocket for his keys. He pulled them out, pointed the fob and saw Clay and me blocking the way.
Joey stopped so suddenly his loafers squeaked on the damp asphalt. "I said I didn't want to-"
Clay threw the denim jacket on the car hood.
Joey winced as the buttons scraped the paint.
"Recognize it?" Clay said.
"Looks like something you'd wear, so I'm guessing-"
"It belongs to a Stillwell."
"My father? Not exactly his style."
"It's not your father's and it's not yours. But it smells like you. Your kin. Want to know where I got it?" Clay didn't wait for an answer. "Off a mutt. One of the three who killed your father. Can you tell me why he'd be wearing it? Or who it belonged to?"
"Why don't you ask the guy who had it?" Joey frowned. "No, I suppose you can't do that, since he's probably no longer among the living. That's the problem with torturing and killing mutts, isn't it? You work so hard to get your answers, and sometimes they die on you first."
Joey's eyes lit up like Jeremy's when he hit the bull's-eye on a seemingly impossible target. But Clay just stood there, as if waiting for the punch line.
After a moment of awkward silence, Joey said, "I'm right, aren't I? You tortured him. Killed him."
"Yeah."
Again, Joey waited for a reaction-chagrin, embarrassment, shame. Again, Clay waited for him to get to the point.
"Did you use a chainsaw?" Joey said. "I seem to recall you like chainsaws."
"There wasn't a power outlet." Clay turned to me. "That's what I want for Father's Day, darling. A gas-powered chainsaw."
That flush crept across Joey's face, his eyes hardening. "You know what you are, Clay?"
"No idea, but I'm sure you'd love to tell me."
"Yes, we interrogated the mutt," I cut in. "We were trying to figure out what happened to your father, three dead men and three missing women. And yes, Clay tortured him until he admitted they'd tortured and killed your dad, killed at least one of the men, raped and presumably killed the girls. So what did you do with your day, Joseph? Write a catchy jingle?"
"You don't know anything about me."
"No," Clay said quietly. "I guess I don't."
Joey jiggled his keys, as if deciding whether to try shouldering past Clay. After a moment, he pocketed them. "What do you want?"
"I've already asked: who does this jacket belong to?"
"I have no idea."
"Can I guess?" I said. "You and your dad had a falling out. Was that because another son showed up on his doorstep?"
"I'm a little old to be jealous of my daddy's attention."
"I didn't say you were, but you might be miffed with him for being careless and bringing another werewolf into the world, something I don't think you'd approve of."
"If my father did, I know nothing about it. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Clay moved aside to let him into the car. He waited until Joey's hand was on the door, then asked, his voice low again, "Did you call them this morning, Joey?"
"Call who?"
"The mutts. They paid a visit to our hotel after I talked to you."
Joey turned, meeting Clay's eyes. "I can't believe you'd ask me that."
"But you do have their number, right?" I said. "It's part of your deal with them."
"Deal?" He turned to me. "What deal?"
Clay told him what Dan Podrova said.
"Well, that mutt's a liar," Joey said. "Big shock there. That's another problem with torturing someone-eventually they hit the point where they'll say anything to make you stop. No, I don't have a deal with a pack of thugs and I didn't send them to your hotel room. Now take your wife, Clay, and go home."
"We'll leave as soon as I'm done talking to you."
"I mean, go home. Back to Stonehaven. There's nothing here you need to concern yourself with. Take your pretty wife, go back to your Alpha dad and your kids, whom I'm sure are just damned adorable. That's your life. This is mine. Now leave me alone."
WE LEFT HIM alone. For now. But we knew he was lying. Was he colluding with a gang of gun-runners, hoping to make us leave before we poked our nose in too deep? Clay didn't think so, but he had to consider the possibility, and we had to keep doing what Joey didn't seem to want us to do-digging for the truth.
FASCINATION
LYNN NYGARD LIVED in a neighborhood in west Anchorage, one with winding lanes and thick trees, sparsely dotted with eclectic homes that ranged from cottages to sprawling McMansions. Hers was one of the smallest homes-a tiny A-frame chalet. I'd called her again after we'd confronted Joey, and she'd said to come right over. Clay drove me, but stayed in the truck. I must admit that when someone said "paranormal enthusiast," I pictured a tiny, dimly lit apartment, smelling of canned stew, the walls covered in yellowed newspaper articles. It could be a stereo type. Or it could just be that I've met too many who conform to it.
The neighborhood and the house were not what I expected. Neither was Lynn Nygard. She looked like a school-teacher-small and slender with sleek white hair. She ushered me in as she tried to wrap up a phone conversation, mouthing an apology to me and rolling her eyes.
"I haven't forgotten. I'm getting old, not senile. Now I have a guest… " A pause. "Yes, dear, I'll make all the arrangements." She waved me into the living room. "But right now… "
The person on the other end kept talking. A male voice. Judging by her tone, I was guessing a son.
"I really have to let you go, dear. There's a young woman here who wants to talk to me about the wolf kills." She widened her eyes. "Well, no, I didn't plan to mention my theory on the Ijiraat, but now that you mention it… "
A pause.
"No, that is an excellent idea. I'm so glad you brought it up."
WE WATCHED JOEY head for his car, a baby Mercedes that I was sure had never ventured past the city limits. He had his head down, frowning as he searched his pocket for his keys. He pulled them out, pointed the fob and saw Clay and me blocking the way.
Joey stopped so suddenly his loafers squeaked on the damp asphalt. "I said I didn't want to-"
Clay threw the denim jacket on the car hood.
Joey winced as the buttons scraped the paint.
"Recognize it?" Clay said.
"Looks like something you'd wear, so I'm guessing-"
"It belongs to a Stillwell."
"My father? Not exactly his style."
"It's not your father's and it's not yours. But it smells like you. Your kin. Want to know where I got it?" Clay didn't wait for an answer. "Off a mutt. One of the three who killed your father. Can you tell me why he'd be wearing it? Or who it belonged to?"
"Why don't you ask the guy who had it?" Joey frowned. "No, I suppose you can't do that, since he's probably no longer among the living. That's the problem with torturing and killing mutts, isn't it? You work so hard to get your answers, and sometimes they die on you first."
Joey's eyes lit up like Jeremy's when he hit the bull's-eye on a seemingly impossible target. But Clay just stood there, as if waiting for the punch line.
After a moment of awkward silence, Joey said, "I'm right, aren't I? You tortured him. Killed him."
"Yeah."
Again, Joey waited for a reaction-chagrin, embarrassment, shame. Again, Clay waited for him to get to the point.
"Did you use a chainsaw?" Joey said. "I seem to recall you like chainsaws."
"There wasn't a power outlet." Clay turned to me. "That's what I want for Father's Day, darling. A gas-powered chainsaw."
That flush crept across Joey's face, his eyes hardening. "You know what you are, Clay?"
"No idea, but I'm sure you'd love to tell me."
"Yes, we interrogated the mutt," I cut in. "We were trying to figure out what happened to your father, three dead men and three missing women. And yes, Clay tortured him until he admitted they'd tortured and killed your dad, killed at least one of the men, raped and presumably killed the girls. So what did you do with your day, Joseph? Write a catchy jingle?"
"You don't know anything about me."
"No," Clay said quietly. "I guess I don't."
Joey jiggled his keys, as if deciding whether to try shouldering past Clay. After a moment, he pocketed them. "What do you want?"
"I've already asked: who does this jacket belong to?"
"I have no idea."
"Can I guess?" I said. "You and your dad had a falling out. Was that because another son showed up on his doorstep?"
"I'm a little old to be jealous of my daddy's attention."
"I didn't say you were, but you might be miffed with him for being careless and bringing another werewolf into the world, something I don't think you'd approve of."
"If my father did, I know nothing about it. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Clay moved aside to let him into the car. He waited until Joey's hand was on the door, then asked, his voice low again, "Did you call them this morning, Joey?"
"Call who?"
"The mutts. They paid a visit to our hotel after I talked to you."
Joey turned, meeting Clay's eyes. "I can't believe you'd ask me that."
"But you do have their number, right?" I said. "It's part of your deal with them."
"Deal?" He turned to me. "What deal?"
Clay told him what Dan Podrova said.
"Well, that mutt's a liar," Joey said. "Big shock there. That's another problem with torturing someone-eventually they hit the point where they'll say anything to make you stop. No, I don't have a deal with a pack of thugs and I didn't send them to your hotel room. Now take your wife, Clay, and go home."
"We'll leave as soon as I'm done talking to you."
"I mean, go home. Back to Stonehaven. There's nothing here you need to concern yourself with. Take your pretty wife, go back to your Alpha dad and your kids, whom I'm sure are just damned adorable. That's your life. This is mine. Now leave me alone."
WE LEFT HIM alone. For now. But we knew he was lying. Was he colluding with a gang of gun-runners, hoping to make us leave before we poked our nose in too deep? Clay didn't think so, but he had to consider the possibility, and we had to keep doing what Joey didn't seem to want us to do-digging for the truth.
FASCINATION
LYNN NYGARD LIVED in a neighborhood in west Anchorage, one with winding lanes and thick trees, sparsely dotted with eclectic homes that ranged from cottages to sprawling McMansions. Hers was one of the smallest homes-a tiny A-frame chalet. I'd called her again after we'd confronted Joey, and she'd said to come right over. Clay drove me, but stayed in the truck. I must admit that when someone said "paranormal enthusiast," I pictured a tiny, dimly lit apartment, smelling of canned stew, the walls covered in yellowed newspaper articles. It could be a stereo type. Or it could just be that I've met too many who conform to it.
The neighborhood and the house were not what I expected. Neither was Lynn Nygard. She looked like a school-teacher-small and slender with sleek white hair. She ushered me in as she tried to wrap up a phone conversation, mouthing an apology to me and rolling her eyes.
"I haven't forgotten. I'm getting old, not senile. Now I have a guest… " A pause. "Yes, dear, I'll make all the arrangements." She waved me into the living room. "But right now… "
The person on the other end kept talking. A male voice. Judging by her tone, I was guessing a son.
"I really have to let you go, dear. There's a young woman here who wants to talk to me about the wolf kills." She widened her eyes. "Well, no, I didn't plan to mention my theory on the Ijiraat, but now that you mention it… "
A pause.
"No, that is an excellent idea. I'm so glad you brought it up."
