Snared
Page 82
“Oh, we did,” Silvio said, his demeanor much calmer than Finn’s. “But we decided to start on a new project.”
“And what would that be?”
Finn rolled his eyes and took another swig of coffee. “Figuring out who Mason is, of course. You know, the name that Rivera dropped to you last night? The one that you kept repeating over and over again in your concussed state? The guy who is probably the leader of the Circle?”
“That’s what this is all about?” I asked.
“Of course,” Finn chirped. “Not that we’ve been getting anywhere, though. Do you know how many people named Mason—first and last—there are in the Ashland area? Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. And Mason may not even be his real name.”
He tossed up a wad of papers in indignation, then glared at them as they drifted down to the floor around him like square snowflakes.
Silvio cleared his throat. “I think what Finn is trying to say is that even with the name, we’re still looking for a needle in a haystack.” He gestured at all the papers. “A very large haystack.”
I could see that, but my throat still closed up to think that they’d cared enough to start searching anyway, without my even asking them to. It took some of the sting out of the fact that Tucker had gotten to Damian Rivera before I did. Still, that little warning bell clanged in the back of my mind again.
Mason. Where did I know that name from? And why did I get the sinking feeling that learning the answer would only cause me more heartache?
“Gin?” Silvio asked. “Are you okay? Is something on your mind?”
I pushed my worries away and plastered a smile on my face. “I’m fine. I was just thinking that I have the utmost faith and confidence in y’all. If anyone can track down this Mason fella, it’s the two of you.”
Finn snorted. “Faith? Faith is all well and good . . .” He deliberately let his voice trail off.
I sighed, knowing what was coming next. “But?”
“But dinner would really help. With dessert.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Lots of dessert.”
I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and ruffled his hair.
“Hey, now!” Finn smoothed his dark brown locks back down into place. “Don’t mess with the ’do.”
I ruffled his hair again, just because I could. “Tell you what. You guys take a break, go into the kitchen, and see what’s in the fridge that you might like me to whip up. Deal?”
“Deal!” Finn chirped again, grabbing his mug and surging to his feet. “I need more coffee anyway.”
“I doubt that,” Silvio muttered, but he too got up, grabbed his own mug, and headed into the kitchen after Finn.
While the two of them argued about who was going to get the last cup of coffee, I headed over to the fireplace and stared at the framed drawings on the mantel of my mother’s and sister’s runes, the snowflake and the ivy vine, representing icy calm and elegance. I also reached out with my magic, listening to the stones that made up the fireplace and the surrounding walls. They murmured back to me, echoing my own anger, grief, and sadness that my family was gone, that they had been taken away from me so suddenly, so brutally, so cruelly.
I wondered how many times Bruce Porter had stood in front of his own mantel, staring at that doctored photo of him and Maria and thinking about the past. The ironic fact that I was doing more or less the same thing as a serial killer wasn’t lost on me.
In a way, I supposed that I was just like Porter, forever dwelling on the past, obsessed with it even, and still snared in all the consequences of so many people’s dark deeds, including my own. But my obsession was for learning the truth, for getting answers, and for finally making the people who’d murdered my family pay for their crimes.
“I’ll find Mason sooner or later,” I said to my mother’s photo. “No matter who he is or where he’s hiding. And then I’ll kill him for what he did to you and Annabella. I promise you that.”
I ran my fingers over her snowflake pendant a final time, then left the den and headed into the kitchen to see what Finn and Silvio had come up with for dinner.
• • •
Over the next few days, things slowly returned to normal. I ran the Pork Pit during the day and searched for information on the Circle and the mysterious Mason at night, along with the rest of my friends.
Bria and Xavier were assigned to investigate the murder of Damian Rivera, but it turned out to be an open-and-shut case. Tucker hadn’t just killed Rivera. The sly vampire had actually left a note behind—and he’d blamed the whole thing on Bruce Porter.
Tucker had typed up the note as though he were Porter, and in it, he’d confessed to being the Dollmaker. He claimed that Rivera had found out what he’d done and was going to turn him into the police, so Porter had killed his boss instead. And here was the real kicker. The note claimed that Porter was so distraught by what he’d done to Damian that he’d thrown himself off the cliffs at the edge of the Rivera estate. So in one fell swoop, Tucker killed Rivera, blamed Porter for it, and closed the entire case by claiming that Porter had committed suicide.
I had to admire the vampire’s efficiency, if nothing else.
Of course, Bria and Xavier did a thorough search of the entire Rivera estate, including Porter’s caretaker cottage. They found a secret drawer in the bottom of Porter’s dresser that was full of locks of blond hair, each one tied off with a different-colored ribbon and all from the women he’d murdered. I didn’t like the fact that Tucker had twisted the story around to suit his own needs, and also those of the Circle, but at least the victims’ families got a little bit of closure, knowing that the person who’d killed their loved ones couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.
Including Stuart Mosley.
Four days after the fight at the Rivera estate, the dwarf came to the Pork Pit at about two o’clock in the afternoon. He shrugged out of his long gray overcoat, hung up his matching hat, and sat on a stool at the counter next to Silvio, who was typing on his tablet like usual, still in hot pursuit of the mysterious Mason. The two of them exchanged polite nods, and Silvio went back to work.
“And what would that be?”
Finn rolled his eyes and took another swig of coffee. “Figuring out who Mason is, of course. You know, the name that Rivera dropped to you last night? The one that you kept repeating over and over again in your concussed state? The guy who is probably the leader of the Circle?”
“That’s what this is all about?” I asked.
“Of course,” Finn chirped. “Not that we’ve been getting anywhere, though. Do you know how many people named Mason—first and last—there are in the Ashland area? Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. And Mason may not even be his real name.”
He tossed up a wad of papers in indignation, then glared at them as they drifted down to the floor around him like square snowflakes.
Silvio cleared his throat. “I think what Finn is trying to say is that even with the name, we’re still looking for a needle in a haystack.” He gestured at all the papers. “A very large haystack.”
I could see that, but my throat still closed up to think that they’d cared enough to start searching anyway, without my even asking them to. It took some of the sting out of the fact that Tucker had gotten to Damian Rivera before I did. Still, that little warning bell clanged in the back of my mind again.
Mason. Where did I know that name from? And why did I get the sinking feeling that learning the answer would only cause me more heartache?
“Gin?” Silvio asked. “Are you okay? Is something on your mind?”
I pushed my worries away and plastered a smile on my face. “I’m fine. I was just thinking that I have the utmost faith and confidence in y’all. If anyone can track down this Mason fella, it’s the two of you.”
Finn snorted. “Faith? Faith is all well and good . . .” He deliberately let his voice trail off.
I sighed, knowing what was coming next. “But?”
“But dinner would really help. With dessert.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Lots of dessert.”
I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and ruffled his hair.
“Hey, now!” Finn smoothed his dark brown locks back down into place. “Don’t mess with the ’do.”
I ruffled his hair again, just because I could. “Tell you what. You guys take a break, go into the kitchen, and see what’s in the fridge that you might like me to whip up. Deal?”
“Deal!” Finn chirped again, grabbing his mug and surging to his feet. “I need more coffee anyway.”
“I doubt that,” Silvio muttered, but he too got up, grabbed his own mug, and headed into the kitchen after Finn.
While the two of them argued about who was going to get the last cup of coffee, I headed over to the fireplace and stared at the framed drawings on the mantel of my mother’s and sister’s runes, the snowflake and the ivy vine, representing icy calm and elegance. I also reached out with my magic, listening to the stones that made up the fireplace and the surrounding walls. They murmured back to me, echoing my own anger, grief, and sadness that my family was gone, that they had been taken away from me so suddenly, so brutally, so cruelly.
I wondered how many times Bruce Porter had stood in front of his own mantel, staring at that doctored photo of him and Maria and thinking about the past. The ironic fact that I was doing more or less the same thing as a serial killer wasn’t lost on me.
In a way, I supposed that I was just like Porter, forever dwelling on the past, obsessed with it even, and still snared in all the consequences of so many people’s dark deeds, including my own. But my obsession was for learning the truth, for getting answers, and for finally making the people who’d murdered my family pay for their crimes.
“I’ll find Mason sooner or later,” I said to my mother’s photo. “No matter who he is or where he’s hiding. And then I’ll kill him for what he did to you and Annabella. I promise you that.”
I ran my fingers over her snowflake pendant a final time, then left the den and headed into the kitchen to see what Finn and Silvio had come up with for dinner.
• • •
Over the next few days, things slowly returned to normal. I ran the Pork Pit during the day and searched for information on the Circle and the mysterious Mason at night, along with the rest of my friends.
Bria and Xavier were assigned to investigate the murder of Damian Rivera, but it turned out to be an open-and-shut case. Tucker hadn’t just killed Rivera. The sly vampire had actually left a note behind—and he’d blamed the whole thing on Bruce Porter.
Tucker had typed up the note as though he were Porter, and in it, he’d confessed to being the Dollmaker. He claimed that Rivera had found out what he’d done and was going to turn him into the police, so Porter had killed his boss instead. And here was the real kicker. The note claimed that Porter was so distraught by what he’d done to Damian that he’d thrown himself off the cliffs at the edge of the Rivera estate. So in one fell swoop, Tucker killed Rivera, blamed Porter for it, and closed the entire case by claiming that Porter had committed suicide.
I had to admire the vampire’s efficiency, if nothing else.
Of course, Bria and Xavier did a thorough search of the entire Rivera estate, including Porter’s caretaker cottage. They found a secret drawer in the bottom of Porter’s dresser that was full of locks of blond hair, each one tied off with a different-colored ribbon and all from the women he’d murdered. I didn’t like the fact that Tucker had twisted the story around to suit his own needs, and also those of the Circle, but at least the victims’ families got a little bit of closure, knowing that the person who’d killed their loved ones couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.
Including Stuart Mosley.
Four days after the fight at the Rivera estate, the dwarf came to the Pork Pit at about two o’clock in the afternoon. He shrugged out of his long gray overcoat, hung up his matching hat, and sat on a stool at the counter next to Silvio, who was typing on his tablet like usual, still in hot pursuit of the mysterious Mason. The two of them exchanged polite nods, and Silvio went back to work.
