“Ahem,” I heard a male voice.
I looked over the top of my desk, saw no one, and frowned. I went back to stripping my files when I heard it again.
“Ahem?”
I slammed the files down and stood up, palms pressed against my desk. I was craning my neck to look out the open door when I saw two dark, bushy eyebrows and a spray of black hair at the edge of my desk.
“Oh, Vlorg,” I said, my hand to my heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Vlorg smiled apologetically, his yellowed, snaggled teeth pressed against his pale gray lips. “It happens.”
He came around the side of the desk, and my hand went over my nose instinctively. “I’m sorry,” I said again, then shoved it in my pocket, feeling ashamed.
Had I mentioned that trolls smelled? Besides bearing the burden of being only three feet tall, having constantly moist skin that grows a downy layer of lichen, and being orthodontically cursed, they smelled. Badly. Like a more pungent combination of blue cheese, belly button, and wet dog.
“Oh good, you’re already cleaning out your desk. The boys will be along any minute and we’ll move it out for you.”
“Move it out?”
Vlorg rolled up on his toes and grinned. “Elpher Brothers Moving, at your service.”
“Right.” I nodded, remembering my run-in with Vlorg’s brother, Steve.
Vlorg rubbed his stubby fingers over the bashed side of my desk and let out a low whistle. “This baby really took a beating.” He grinned at me, and I noticed that his two snaggled front teeth were his
“Who told you to move it?” I asked.
Vlorg shrugged. “Don’t know. The work order was in my box when I came in this morning, and the new desk is supposed to be here on Monday.” He looked around. “Are you going to be at the public desk until then or something?”
“Uh no, I’m working on a—another project. Um, what about the new desk? Who ordered it?”
“Don’t know that either.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Well, someone must have initialed the PO. Mr. Sampson is the only one with that kind of buying power.”
“Then it must have been Sampson then,” Vlorg said, obviously bored. “In here, guys!” he shouted out the open door, and I slumped into my seat when Olak and Steve filed in.
Olak was a shyer, slightly more stooped version of Vlorg, and Steve, as I mentioned before, was the redheaded stepchild of the troll kingdom—or the velveteen-tracksuit, gold-chain-wearing stepchild. Today he looked like a very tiny adult film producer—only not as charming—with his tracksuit unzipped halfway down his troll sternum, loops of pale green lichen snaking over the zipper.
Steve grinned when he saw me, his gray lips curving up salaciously, his angled tongue sliding over his teeth. He put his tiny troll hands on his hips and sucked in a satisfied breath.
“Steve likes what he sees.”
I wrinkled my nose, this time not caring who I offended. “Steve.” He stunk in more ways than one.
“Oh, yes, Steve. Has Sophie missed Steve? Steve has missed Sophie.” He laced his fingers together and balanced his chin in his hands, donning a look that I think was supposed to look innocent. It came out looking lewd.
“Steve apologizes for not being around more. The business”—he gestured to Olak and Vlorg behind him—“has really been ramping up.” Steve rubbed his fingers together. “But Steve has been making lots of money. Would Sophie like a shopping trip? Perhaps a visit to the Sizzler?”
“No, thank you. And really, your absence has been just fine.”
“Still—Steve apologizes from the bottom of his heart. Steve will be around from here on out for Sophie. At your beck and call.”
I crossed my arms. “Kind of like a stalker?”
Steve crossed his arms. “Steve prefers the term ‘mythical protector.’” He waggled his bushy black eyebrows. “Or perhaps beloved boyfriend?”
“Stalker. And why do you always refer to yourself in the third person? Is it just a troll thing?”
Steve raised one eyebrow. “It’s a Steve thing. Steve is a lot of man.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled out another file folder.
“When is Sophie going to give Steve a chance? Steve can be Sophie’s knight in shining armor. Steve would never leave Sophie.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Sophie is—I mean I’m flattered”—I forced a smile—“really, Steve, but no thank you.”
“Is it because Steve is a troll? Because, you know, not everything about Steve is troll-sized.” The gray corners of Steve’s thin lips snaked up in a lascivious, obnoxious grin.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, grimacing and gathering up my files.
Steve rushed toward me. “Does that mean Steve has a chance? Because Steve can do things to Sophie —”
I dropped my files and pressed my hands over my ears. “Not hearing this!”
Steve frowned. “Steve just wants to make Sophie happy.” That salacious grin again. “Very, very happy.”
I knelt down. “You know what would make Sophie happy? Steve, leaving.”
Steve started to back away, the lewd smile still playing on his lips. “Sophie is going to miss Steve. Sophie is going to miss Steve a lot.” Steve disappeared into the hallway.
“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” I sighed quietly.
Steve poked his head through the open doorway. “But Steve is always just a heartbeat away. You just watch. Steve will wear Sophie down.”
I could hear Steve whistling as he strolled down the hall.
Chapter Ten
At 1 P.M. I had an armload of files and was muttering to myself as I walked down the hall at the police station.
“Something is definitely not right here,” I started as I pushed my way into Parker’s office. “Oh, I’m sorry, Park—Detective—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Chief Oliver, seated on the edge of Parker’s desk, craned his neck to look at me and offered a polite smile. “Miss Lawson. Feeling better today, I hope?”
I felt a flush wash over my cheeks, and I hugged the stack of file folders to my chest.
“Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.” I peered around the chief at Parker and took a small step backward toward the hall. “Detective Hayes, I’ll just wait until you two are finished.”
“No, no.” The chief used one hand to wave me in, the pinkish folds of his big cheeks pushing up in a welcoming smile. “You’re as much a part of this case as anyone else. And”—he glanced back at Parker, whose eyes had wandered back to his computer screen—“maybe you can make a little more sense out of this than we can.”
The chief angled Parker’s computer monitor toward me, and I sat in the visitor’s chair, squinting at the dark screen.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, trying to focus.
The men exchanged a glance and a hazy gray image appeared on the computer screen. I could make out the outside of a building, faded bricks, and a flickering light. There was a spray of glass on the screen, and then what looked like a big dog tore through one of the windows and disappeared out of the frame. I sucked in a shaky breath.
“What?” I whispered. “Is that—?”
