All I Want For Christmas Is a Reaper Page 8

  While Seth made a show of trying them on, I perused the rest of Three Promise’s display case and flipped through their digital look-book of custom art.

  I’d verify it all on Monday, but I had a hunch that Three Promises was one of Oretega’s big earners, and that everything sold here in the fairytale glen was precisely what they said it was.

  “Merri,” Seth’s voice caught my attention, “what do you think?”

  The silver ring he was wearing had a scroll pattern with a dark obsidian inlay.

  “Interesting. It doesn’t look Celtic.”

  “It’s Slavic,” Seth said. “My grandfather had one like it.”

  “Your family is Slavic?”

  “I thought the name was a giveaway.” Seth twisted the ring off and handed it back to the silversmith.

  “Seth isn’t Slavic.”

  “Morana is.” He grinned at me.

  Dangit, now I was going to have to look his name up and figure out what amused him so much.[22]

  Seth touched my arm and leaned in for what probably looked like a kiss on my cheek. “I have a line on some less reputable players. Wanna go hunting?”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said with a demure smile. I waited for him to meander away before turning back to the silversmith. “Give me the price for the ring and your business card, please.”

  “You like it?” Bushy eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “I’m ambivalent about it, but he likes it.”

  “It might be out of your price range...”

  A part of me wanted to buy up the whole store just to prove him wrong. I’m a Kriesmas. I come with a competitive streak pre-installed at birth. But I managed to turn my savage need to win into a cutting smile. “Let me worry about that.”

  “Of course.” The man scribbled a large number on the back of the card.

  “And his ring size.” I was playing for keeps.

  The silversmith handed me the card. “I’m here Tuesdays through Saturdays, no holidays. And I have two weeks off in July.”

  “Understood.” I flipped his card over. “Glen O’Connell.”

  Glen nodded.

  “Have a good day.” Smiling, I tucked the card into my purse. Before I could think about happily ever after, I had to find Cozy’s missing cash.

  I waved goodbye to Glen and followed as Seth began schmoozing the other shop owners. A little off-color joke there. A little hint of tax avoidance there. A little song and dance to convince everyone he was One Of Those Guys.

  How they missed the sharpness in his dark eyes, I’m not sure. Seth looked angry.

  Much more angry than I needed him to be. I strutted over like the floors of Oretega Mineral Exchange were the catwalks of Milan and caressed Seth’s arm, drawing all his attention to me.

  One glance and the anger in his eyes blew away like ash. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Hello.” I practically purred the word as I leaned just so, giving everyone the hint of a peek of a look at what was hiding under my bodice. The suggestion of the forbidden was enough to disrupt whatever conversation was happening. “Find anything you like?”

  “I found you,” Seth said, lifting my hand to his lips for a cold kiss.

  “Is that what happened? I thought I’d found you.”

  Green light sparkled in the edge of my vision. I turned to look at a display case of lab-grown gems carved into a variety of shapes: frogs, cars, buildings. All in bright, emerald green.

  A tall, thin man with pale skin and mousy brown hair dangled himself over the counter like a lost rag doll. “You like the carvings?”

  “Are they yours?” I asked.

  The man shook his head. “They’re Reggie’s.” He tapped the name of the shop owner on a tiny display plaque.

  Reginald Yerke.

  Yerke.

  I’d run across that name before. It appeared frequently in the Cozy books, there was a Yerke LLC in the Windy City Security’s books, and it had come up two years ago in a conversation about an expert witness in a trial I’d also been a witness for.

  Interesting.

  On Monday I’d have the interns run a check to see if they were connected in any way. Yerke wasn’t the most common of names, but Chicago was a large city.

  Seth fiddled with his camera, playing at examining lighting and angles. “Want to try something on?”

  “All of it.” I smiled at the ragdoll of a man. “Can you let me see that ring?” I pointed to one with a chunky gold band and a bright blue sapphire.

  “Um, Reg can, as soon as he comes in.” The man looked over his shoulder. “He stepped out just a minute ago to talk to someone. Ah!” The man stood straighter. “Here he is! Reg!”

  The burly man from the pool this morning, now with a lime green track suit and a bag from Heavenly Monday’s. That at least explained why he’d seemed familiar outside—and his rush to run us off the sidewalk: there was a midday sale on macarons.

  “Reg,” the lean man said, “meet... ah...”

  “Seth and Meredith,” Seth said. “Soon to be Mister and Missus.”

  “Congratulations!” the younger man beamed.

  Reg burped. “You want wedding rings?”

  “I want everything!” My megawatt smile hit a vanta-black shield around Reg Yerke.

  His lip curled up in a sneer.

  “I want her to have everything,” Seth said, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me back for a hug. “And I have the money to give her what she wants.”

  Yerke’s eyes lit up with greed. “In that case, let me show you our premier collection.”

  Premier... Right.

  Seth pulled me closer than he had all day, lips brushing my ear. “Does he look familiar?” The words were almost inaudible.

  I nodded slightly, fully aware that the lean man and several of Reggie’s friends were watching our very public display of affection.

  “He’s the one who came looking for you earlier.” Seth kissed my head as he stepped away.

  Yerke had come looking for me? At Slasher studios? I tried adding that fact to my equations, searching for a connection.

  If he knew I was coming to Oretega on Monday, why look for me at Slasher? Why come to me early and offsite at all? Unless he wanted to tell me something he didn’t feel safe saying here.

  I looked at the row of eager jewelers in the their dazzling shops. On Monday, I’d have full files on all of them. For now I had a row of suspects.

  “Here,” Yerke said, offering me a hand to lead me to a little chair. He took my clutch and set it to the side as he pushed a box of shiny rings in front of me. They were quite pretty, in a generic sort of way. Emeralds and diamonds on simple gold and silver bands. A few sapphires. Two rubies. “What do you want to try on first?”

  “That one!” I pointed to the largest clear gem, with water-fine clarity like cut glass.

  “Excellent choice.” Yerke’s voice dripped with snake oil. “You have an eye for gems.”

  If I did, I wouldn’t be shopping here. The ring was too light to be real gold and the stone too clear to be diamond, white sapphire, or moissanite. Still, I held it up and posed as Seth took pictures.

  Ring after ring.

  Necklace after necklace.

  We worked our way down the row of jewelers with me modeling the fake gems and Seth photographing everything as he charmed and winked and lied to everyone. Before the hour was over, my brain felt bloated with information. I needed to sort all of this, collect Seth’s reports on who had offered him what cutbacks, and check it against the list of props.

  “You okay?” Seth asked as I listed sideways. “You’re looking a little pale.”

  “Just a little hungry.” A tiny white lie. Food could wait, but I couldn’t stuff another fact into my head right now.

  “Let’s go get something to eat and figure out what you liked best,” Seth said, staying in character. He slipped the last ring off my hand and returned it to the jeweler. “What are you hungry for?”

&nbs
p; I smiled up at him. “Whatever you like best.”

  “Ah, here.” Yerke held out the clutch I’d left at his shop as I was whisked down the row. “And my card.” He added it to the top. “Please do come back.” He winked at Seth.

  “I will,” Seth promised with an easy smile.

  As we walked away, I turned the business card over twice, looking for clues. If Yerke was going to slip me information, this would have been the best way to do it.

  “I lost you somewhere, didn’t I?” Seth asked as he held open the door. “Was the hug too much?”

  “Hmm?” I tried to pull my attention back to him, but Seth didn’t fit into the equation here. “Sorry? My mind wandered.”

  “Yeah.” His smile was sad as he opened the door for me.

  I buckled myself in and waited for Seth to put his phone in the slit between our seats. “Can I look at the photos?”

  “Be my guest.” He unlocked the phone for me.

  One by one I reviewed the pictures. “This is good. Can I send it to my phone?”

  Seth nodded. “Sure.”

  “Why do you have a photo of Yerke’s business card? There was nothing there worth buying.”

  “He offered me a deal.” Seth’s lips lifted in a smug smile.

  “Oh? What’d he offer?”

  “Morgan slid me the name of an appraiser who will certify cubic zirconia as real diamonds for the insurance company.”

  And there it was. The first unraveling thread, waiting to be pulled.

  If workspace decor was a reflection of personality or mental health, Ellen needed to schedule an appointment with a therapist. The office space was grungy, with sickly yellow paint peeling off the walls, revealing patches of mint green and industrial beige. Odd streaks of black from old tape filled the gaps between notices, pictures, budgets, and memos that were pinned in every reachable amount of wall space.

  I eyed the sagging ceiling of the office as I took a seat gingerly in a black rolling chair that squeaked in fright and smelled like it had been rescued from the dump.

  Ellen sat behind a wobbly old desk that might have been green in a previous life, but was now so scratched and dented that all that could reliably be said about it was that it was a metal of some form, and that Ellen took her dedication to recycling a little too far. That thing should have been melted for scrap before we were born.

  “So...” Ellen pulled out a small, pink box and lifted the lid to hit me with the strategically aimed scent of lemon and chocolate. She’d brought cupcakes from my favorite shop. “How did your date with tall, dark, and dangerous go?”

  Two cupcakes nestled in the bakery box like little jewels. One with a cheerful pink raspberry swirl of frosting on the tempting body of a lusciously delicious chocolate cake. One a pale golden lemon frosting on a yellow lemon drop cupcake with the Midwest’s best lemon curd inside.[23]

  Ellen tipped her head to the side with a smile as she relaxed back into her chair, the beautiful pieces of temptation resting on her lap. “What do you think?”

  “I think you have either a line to my assistant, or a very good memory,” I said, nodding at the cupcakes. Would Willow give out privileged information about my favorite cupcakes?

  ...Maybe?

  “Remember when we first had these?” Ellen asked.

  “Eighth grade field trip to the museum. You and I snuck away from our group because Marial’s mom was on the phone and Marial wanted to be with her boyfriend. We used your phone and walked two blocks to buy cupcakes and made it back before anyone noticed.”

  “I bet you remember Marial’s boyfriend’s name too.”

  “Hunter,” I said. “He was in Mister Feldman’s class. Played basketball in high school. Tore his ACL junior year. Came out as bi his first year in college. Graduated in three years with a degree in sports medicine. Worked for the Olympic gymnastics team. Married a coach from the woman’s team.” I blinked. “Did you need to know that? Why are you quizzing me?”

  Ellen held the box out. “Pick one.”

  I grabbed the lemon cupcake with immodest haste and far less grace than Ellen showed plucking up the chocolate and raspberry confection.

  “So the date went poorly?”

  The cupcake was almost in my mouth. “What date?”

  “With Seth Morana!” Ellen laughed, nibbling daintily on her cupcake like she couldn’t inhale it in one bite.[24]

  She pulled out her phone and turned it so I could see the screen.

  RED HOT IS MY FAVORITE FLAVOR.

  ...Seth was right, the lighting was perfect. The sunbeams caught the red fire of my hair, made my pink A-line dress with its bright blue hydrangeas stand out in sharp relief against the shadows of the rain-washed street.

  Ellen bit into her cupcake with smug satisfaction. “I am, last I checked, your best friend in the entire world, and I expect an update.”

  “It’s fake.” I turned the screen off and pushed the phone back toward Ellen. The cupcake didn’t sound so appealing any more. “I thought it would make more sense if we went ring shopping as a couple. It looked more natural than me stomping in and grilling people.”

  “But you stomp so well.” Ellen rested her elbow on the wobbling desk and continued nibbling at her cupcake. “And you let him take a picture.”

  “Not of my face. No one will recognize it.”

  “Because everyone in Chicago dresses like you? In custom, hand-sewn dresses? Really? I mean, I didn’t even to need to know it was Morana’s account to recognize you.”

  Yup. I was done eating. “You’re my best friend.”

  “Merri, I love you to pieces, but you can either tell me, or I can call my mom and tell her where to look.”

  My eyes went wide at the threat. “You would not.”

  The Midwest grapevine would end with my family and then I would never hear the end of it. If my mother knew I’d been on a date she’d be picking out wedding invites by Wednesday.

  Ellen turned her phone back on with a flick of her thumb and slowly scrolled through Seth’s social media feed.

  The aesthetic before today was the Slasher brand: black, white, gray... An assortment of hoodies and neon goths and mint tea in his Final Boss mug. Every single shot was done with the precision and care of someone who not only understood light and shadow, but who loved playing with them. Seth was an artist with an artist’s soul and love for his medium.

  And then there was the shot of me in the sunlight, turning away. The classic Slasher colors but with something more added. A warmth that added something like ginger giving a cake an extra pop you never knew was missing.

  More photos followed. Rings. The necklaces. Pieces of me falling in between the shots of Seth’s life as if I’d always been there. The captions were all complimentary with a teasing, flirtatious tone that came across as sincere affection.

  “So Seth writes good ad copy. He knows how to work a camera. We knew this already.”

  “Did he ask?” Ellen’s jaw was tight. She didn’t like confrontation, but if I told her that Seth had taken those photos without consent, she’d march up to his office and all the police would find later would be a suspicious hint of bleach in the air and a missing tarp from the props warehouse.

  I put on my prettiest smile. “He did. And I said yes, because it’s all work related.”

  “Hmmm.” Ellen put her phone away.

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “Liar.” She finished her cupcake while I stared at mine. “You like citrus flavors when you’re stressed, chocolate when you’re calm. You went out with Seth, had more photos of you taken than anyone has taken since our eighth grade dance when Jordy had a camera and too many pixie sticks, and you’re eating lemon cupcakes.”

  I folded my hands in my lap, smile undimmed. “It is so much easier to lie to everyone else.”

  “Is that why you didn’t talk to me after high school?”

  The streaks of dirty wall blurred a little.

  It wasn
’t tears. It was allergies. The office was very, very dusty. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch. It was a hard year.”

  “It’s my fault.” Ellen reached out and squeezed my arm above the elbow. “I was busy and I kept telling myself you’d reach out if you needed anyone.”

  “I would have. If I needed help, I would have asked.” There would need to be a shattering reversal in the laws of the universe before I admitted I needed help, but I would ask if I needed it.

  Delegating was different. Research minions and the interns who checked my email weren’t helping to help, they were well paid to share my workload.

  A tiny, treasonous part of me pointed out that I’d asked Seth for help, but I assured myself that was completely different. I didn’t ask for help. I’d invited him to come along to Oretega as a favor to him. His company was involved.

  “It’s just that I know how you think,” Ellen said quietly. “I know you don’t like cameras. And Morana isn’t easy to get along with.”

  “He was an ideal shopping companion,” I said reaching for the lemon cupcake because I was not going to let it go to waste on the twisted pain of my memories. “He knows how to talk to people. He’s charming.”

  Ellen raised both eyebrows. “Morana? Seth Morana? The Dark Lord of Slasher in his oversized hoodie and silent stares? He’s charming?”

  “When he wants to be.”

  Ellen looked at her phone again with a thoughtful frown.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just a thought. You always did notice personality first, didn’t you?”

  “I mean, I appreciate a hot body as much as the next person—maybe more since I think both guys and girls are hot?—but yes, personality is what I care to notice. I notice how people react to me. I do notice aesthetics and beauty too, but if there isn’t a mind to match...” I shrugged. Liking smart people who could keep up in a conversation was not relevant to the case. “Do you want to hear what we found?”

  Ellen dropped the phone in favor of gossip. “I hope it was a big pile of cash marked ‘Cozy Film Budget’.”

  “Not quite, but there are appraisals that were definitely oversold. Props bought, appraised, and sold at a higher value.”