Under Wraps

The officer nodded his head slowly and then stepped aside. He looked from Detective Hayes to me, his tired eyes going a bit softer as he looked at me. “It’s pretty gruesome in there.”

“Aren’t you people supposed to be impartial at stuff like this?” I leaned up on my tiptoes to whisper into Hayes’s ear.

“Come on, Lawson,” Hayes said, ushering me inside.

My mood wasn’t helped when we were each handed a pair of latex gloves and papery booties to cover our shoes. I struggled into the gloves and slipped the booties on. Hayes already had his on when he looked over his shoulder, studying me. “You sure you’re ready?”

My deodorant went into hyper drive as a bead of sweat rolled down my back. “Yep,” I whispered, following him through the front door.

When we walked into the foyer, I sucked in a breath—not at anything crime-related, but at the sheer beauty of the place. Although the room was littered with cops unfurling yellow-and-black crime-scene tape, the opulence of the house still shone. My entire apartment could fit in the enormous, open entryway, and from the looks of it, I could park my CRV in the guest bath with room to spare.

“Whoa,” I whispered under my breath.

Despite the paper booties covering them, my heels clattered on the marble floor and echoed up to the high, vaulted ceilings.

“This place is unbelievable,” I told Hayes.

“And secured like Fort Knox,” he replied, glancing at a sophisticated-looking jumble of wires and flashing lights hung in a metal box on the wall. He shook his head. “Whoever it is that’s doing this is not the least bit fazed by modern security. This is certainly not the work of your run-of-the-mill opportunist perpetrator.” He closed a metal door over the alarm system and slid a painting back over it. “Not a single wire has been tripped or cut.”

“Is that bad?” I asked.

Hayes took me by the elbow, steering me out of earshot of the other officers as they milled about.

“You tell me. Do”—his voice dropped—“your people have the ability to get around technology?”

I chewed on my lower lip. “Well, not exactly. I mean I’m pretty sure there are spells to get around that kind of thing. Witches and warlocks would know, I suppose. And a vampire could certainly trance or glamour a human into turning off an alarm system. A fairy or pixie might be able to do that, too, with a glamour, but they usually wouldn’t have the patience. And I’ve heard that on occasion, certain demons can wreak havoc on an electronic field.”

Hayes’s expression was suspicious, and I hurried on. “But the bottom line is that it’s not exactly standard operating procedure. Alarms—and disarming alarms—that’s really more of a human thing, don’t you think? I mean, demons are pretty much old school.”

“Old school, huh?” He seemed to consider this and then said, “Come on,” one paper-bootied foot poised on the bottom stair. “We’re going upstairs.”

I followed Parker up the winding staircase, our booties making a soft shoosh- shoosh sound as we sunk into the lush ecru carpet. I glanced down, noticing fresh vacuum lines and stared behind me, seeing the lone trail of our footprints.

“Who vacuumed?”

“The maid. She told the officer who’s with her that she vacuums before she leaves each night.”

“Is there another way up?” I asked. “A back set of stairs or something?”

Hayes wagged his head. “Not that we’ve found. Why do you ask?”

“No footprints on the carpet. I mean, other than ours.”

“Good catch.” Parker grinned, chucking me on the shoulder.

I nodded, a bit proud, feeling very junior sleuth.

Maybe I could get used to this detectiving.

“The maid said she found the vic when she let herself in this afternoon. The discovering officer didn’t mention another set of footprints.” Parker glanced down, pointing at his feet. “I’ve been walking in the prints already left here.” He picked up one foot. “See? No tread. Those marks are from the booties.”

“And there were no footprints.”

Parker nodded. “So, the victim was either killed last night while the maid was in the house,” Parker paused, frowning. “Or it could fly. Are we looking for something with wings now?”

I looked around Hayes at the undisturbed carpet. “Not necessarily. Vampires have no quantifiable weight. They wouldn’t leave any tracks.” I thought of Nina, the silent way she flitted around our house. “Lots of other mythical creatures wouldn’t leave footprints, either,” I said quickly.

We crossed the hall and I glanced through an open door where the maid, in a crisp, pale blue uniform, was sitting on a rose damask loveseat. She was sobbing loudly, working a rumpled handkerchief between her thick, stubby fingers while an officer stood by, taking notes.

At the end of the hallway, we paused in front of a set of double doors, and Hayes looked over his shoulder at me. “Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and he pushed open the doors.

The master suite was phenomenal, even in its dimmed-light state. The huge bay windows were obscured by pale gray floor-to-ceiling curtains that only let in a few meager shards of sunlight. An imposing carved-wood bed took up one whole wall, and tucked daintily into the bed a woman rested, peaceful, eyes closed, pale lips drawn, her golden hair spread out in fairy-tale swirls on her white silk pillowcase.

“She’s so young,” I said, frowning, looking around the pristine room. Delicate antique perfume bottles were lined up on a glass tray, and a vase full of tulips—not a single petal lost—arched over the nightstand. Not a thing was out of place. The calm of the room was palpable.

“Why do they think this was a murder?” I asked, stepping closer to the sleeping woman. “She looks so peaceful. Maybe it was natural causes? Heart attack, cardiac arrest, choking …” I ticked off all the causes of death I could think of from watching Grey’s Anatomy. “And she’s got eyeballs, right? This doesn’t look like our guy.” I clapped my hands, a prickly wave of relief washing over me. “I guess that’s it, right? Should we head back to the station? Grab a cup of coffee from the diner? I’m buying.”

Hayes ignored me and moved closer to the bed, putting one gloved hand on the bedclothes carefully folded over the woman. In one swift motion, he folded them back.

I gasped, my heart lurching, my knees buckling. The hardwood floor felt cool through my skirt as I sat down hard and my feet kicked away, trying to shove my body farther from the offensive scene.

“Oh. God,” I gasped, then clamped my mouth shut. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

Hayes looked back at me, panicked. He crouched down next to me, his knees touching mine, his hands on my shoulders. “Lawson, are you okay?”

I wagged my head and fought to get up, one hand still clamped over my mouth. Hayes stepped out of the way, and I found the bathroom door, shoved it open, and vomited.

Chapter Six

I was splashing cold water on my face when Hayes appeared in the doorway, a combination of concern and amusement washing over his face. “I barfed at my first crime scene, too,” he said companionably.

“Good for you,” I said, swishing water in my mouth and then spitting it into the sink. “But I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” I turned off the tap and wiped my hands on a towel—a dead woman’s towel—and felt the urge to vomit again. It passed and I pressed my hands against my heart in an effort to keep it from thundering through my chest. “This was a bad idea. I’m an administrative assistant. I don’t do murders. I file papers. I take fingerprints.”

Hayes leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “Demons have fingerprints?”

“Everyone has fingerprints. Except hobgoblins because of the slime but—” I glanced up at Hayes’s amused face and frowned, fists on hips. “A woman is dead here, Parker. I’m having a severe panic attack. Can you be serious for like, one minute?”