A few years ago, when I’d first moved in, a guy who lived in the building next door had laid it on real thick. Despite my politely, and then not so politely refusing his advances, the dude didn’t give up.
Eventually, I had to resort to making a deal with the rats—infest this guy’s apartment in exchange for a heads-up whenever the landlady called the exterminator or laid traps. It turned out to be a real win-win, as harassment guy had moved out within days.
I smirked as I walked across the worn carpet. My “gift” occasionally had its uses.
My living room looked different tonight. It wasn’t blanketed in the typical neon wash of light from Turk’s sign across the street. That thing was blinding whenever it came on.
I stopped. Blinding. I worked my lip. Blinding. Why was that triggering something? I cast back through my memory. When Peter picked up Bim’s camera at her studio, the flash had accidentally gone off, blinding me.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I felt that familiar tingle of being on the brink of some big realization. I paced again, quicker this time. The parakeet had also mentioned the sign being bright.
I stopped short. “Ah!” I laughed, then pressed my lips tight together. Then laughed again. That was it.
Maybe the killer had been blinded, too, and didn’t kill the intended victim. Maybe they came up the stairs just as Bim turned on the sign outside, and temporarily blinded, didn’t realize they’d killed the wrong person. And if Bim was the wrong person, that meant Zozanna had to have been the target all along.
“We’ve been going about it all wrong.” I dragged my hands through my tangled hair. “We’ve been looking for a reason someone would want to kill Bim and Zozanna, but we only need to find a connection to Zozanna. Bim was an accident.”
I needed to test this theory. I strode to the kitchen, grabbed my key ring, and jogged downstairs. I debated using the front entrance, or the back, and decided on the back stairs that led in through the storeroom.
I slid past revelers in the street down a narrow alley, steam curling around my ankles. I grabbed the worn handle on the door and yanked. It rattled, but didn’t open—locked.
“Snakes,” I hissed. Dur. Of course it’d be locked.
I paced again and tapped a finger to my lips. I already had a hunch about who the killer was, but I needed to get inside to test my theory that coming from a dark storeroom into a room suddenly filled with neon light from the sign would be blinding. I needed to get inside.
If I’d still had my powers, I could probably just magically pick the lock. I groaned. Stupid curse. I let out a heavy sigh as I stared at a metal fire escape, hanging askew on a building with dark, cracked windows.
I could get ahold of Peter by calling the station, but it was the middle of the night. The guy was probably asleep. I rolled my eyes. And even if he wasn’t, his ridiculous boss had closed the case—Peter couldn’t help me now, even if he wanted to.
I could try to wrangle up some street urchin to break in for me but—it’d be so much easier if I just had a key. A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I knew someone who had a key—and he lived just down the street.
33
THE KEY
“Mr. Molino?” I gripped the gilded bars of the fence and rose on my tiptoes. “Turk?” I yanked on the golden cord, and again the concerto doorbell started up.
Somewhere down the street, a drunk tripped and knocked over a metal trash can. I glanced over as the guy scrambled to his feet, then tripped over it again. I stifled a smirk, then turned my face back to the garish home and tried again. “Mr. Molino!”
I rattled the gate, but it stayed shut tight. A light turned on in the front window, and I settled back onto my heels. Awesome. I’d been obnoxious enough to wake him up.
But when the door swung open, it was Millie who stood silhouetted against the golden light from inside.
She craned her neck and peeked out, curlers piled high on her blond head. “Who’s there?”
I twiddled my fingers. “It’s me—Jolene.”
Millie pulled the neck of her fluffy pink robe closed with one hand, slid her feet into some slippers next to the door, then shuffled toward me across the courtyard. She blinked as she neared, her face creased with sleep lines.
“Oh, you.” She leaned over and looked past me. “Where’s that officer and his dog?”
I’d had colder welcomes—it wasn’t going to stop me.
“Oh, they got called away on other police business.” I waved a hand and raised my brows as if to say, ain’t it always the case?
Millie frowned. “What do you want?”
“Can’t a neighbor just come by for a friendly chat?”
Her face slackened, and she turned to go.
I reached through the bars and waved at her. “Wait! Just a joke. I, uh—I need to speak with Turk. Is he around?”
Millie covered a yawn with her hand. “He’s asleep. Like I was.” She gave me a pointed look. “Why do you need to talk to him at two in the morning?”
“I, uh—” A welcome sea breeze cooled the nape of my neck, which had gotten sticky in the muggy summer evening. “I need to borrow a key—to get into the office.”
Millie’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t the case closed?”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected her to have heard about that already. Though I supposed Martin Shaw arrested for murder was probably a big enough deal to have circulated the Darkmoon Night Market gossip circles already.
“Let’s not worry about the details.” I waved it off.
“Are you really here on official police business?” She gave me a hard look.
I nodded. “Of course.” Not.
Her eyes swept up and down me. “I’ll call in to the
