"What all this has to do with the photo, and why Adele wants it back, I don't know. It would make sense if Irving was behind Portia's death. If he was trying to hire Adele, he wouldn't want the photo splashed over the tabloids, where a rival could track her down and make a better offer."
"He'd kill for that?"
"Sure." Hope said it with absolute conviction, as if it was no more in question than whether a rival would make Adele a better offer.
That would mean this guy knew Portia told Robyn to send the picture to the tabs. Maybe he'd been tapping Portia's phone. Or maybe Adele had used her powers and seen Portia type the message. It didn't matter. Adele had killed Portia and was after Robyn, and that was what counted.
Hope and Karl also suspected that this supernatural corporation was involved in the murder investigation, through Detective Findlay.
"He's a supernatural," Hope explained. "One of my powers is that I can detect other supernaturals. I picked it up with Findlay. I confirmed that the Nasts do have employees on the police force. Homicide would be one of the key positions. It's another way to survive unnoticed, heading off exposure threats and squelching the stories."
"Like you do with True News," Robyn said. "So how did I get mixed up in all this? I seem to be the only person involved who's norm – not supernatural."
"It happens. Most of the population has no supernatural powers and we don't live in communes and caves. Imagine what would have happened if Karl hadn't been here to find you Friday. What would you have done?"
Robyn thought about it. "Eventually turned myself in. Then, I guess Detective Findlay would have taken over and I'd have found myself framed for murder. That is, if Adele didn't get to me outside the station."
"And if either of those things happened, would you have had any suspicions that Adele wasn't just a crazy woman? Or Detective Findlay wasn't just another cop doing his job?"
"No." She paused. "So I guess I should thank you guys for being here."
"You might not want to be too quick with that. Wait until after you hear our plan for getting you out of this."
ADELE
Ah, Adele, there you are."
Adele glanced up the stairs to a stocky figure with a ring of steel-gray hair, tucking in his shirt. Niko, the kumpania's bulibasha.
"Are you just getting in?" Niko lifted his arm, as if to check his watch, but his wrist was bare.
"Yes, I just got home."
He beamed an avuncular smile as she stopped beside him. "I guess Jasmine Wills had quite a night."
"I don't know. I kept losing her." Adele rubbed the back of her neck, wincing. She didn't need to fake that. She had spent all night looking for someone. Just not Jasmine. "I didn't get a single picture. I'm sorry."
"Don't be, kiddo. Can't expect results the first night."
He rumpled her hair, as if she was still five. Of course, when she was five, there'd been very little hair-rumpling from Niko. Even now, his touch made her flinch, remembering the beatings – those cold, methodical beatings as she'd lain naked on the cot in the main house basement, strap lashing down again and again until she was sobbing so hard she could barely draw breath to gasp her apologies, to promise she'd stop asking for her mother, stop crying for her, stop trying to run away.
Finally the beating would end. Niko would tell her she was a good girl, his breath coming fast, as if the exertion of the strapping was just coming upon him and he'd stroke her hair, her shoulder, her thigh until he'd abruptly leave the room. A few minutes later, she'd hear his footsteps on the stairs, leaving her alone in the cold, black basement until morning, when Lizette would come with fresh-baked lemon loaf and tell Adele she had to stop being so selfish, so naughty, wishing for a mother who'd abandoned her when the kumpania was happy to take her in, even if she was a durjardo – an outsider clairvoyant.
Once Adele's rebellion stopped, so did the beatings, as if she was a wild horse that had been broken. From then on, all she got from Niko was rumpled hair and avuncular smiles and, occasionally, a wistful look, as if he wished she'd show a little spark again, so he could take her back to that basement room and strap it out of her.
Now his hand rested on her shoulder as he talked to her. She didn't know about what, and faked a yawn, stifling it and saying, "Sorry, sir. It's really been a long night. What was that?"
"I said you might find getting photographs of Jasmine Wills easier than you think. Seems she's a fan of yours."
"Fan?"
"Her publicist called True News. With Portia dead, Jasmine is very interested in your – " He flashed a smile of too-bright veneers. " – creative talents. Now, you can't meet with her; that wouldn't be in the kumpania's best interests."
"No, of course not."
"And what's not in the kumpania's best interests…"
"… is not in my best interests."
The rote response came automatically, and earned her another smile. "That's my girl. I left the publicist's number in your room. You may want to call her, see if you can get Jasmine's schedule. It would be a nice shortcut. Save you from long nights chasing her."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."
Niko's chest puffed, as if he'd arranged the whole thing. Adele thanked him again – with Niko, there was no such thing as too much gratitude.
As Adele passed Lily's door on the way to her bedroom, she glanced in and saw the young woman sitting on the edge of her bed, smoothing her rumpled skirt, her eyes red, her underwear a white ball at her feet.
Adele glanced back at Niko's balding head as it disappeared down the stairs. Then she looked at Lily's nightstand, where his watch lay.
She smiled.
For a moment, she enjoyed the scene, then she erased the smile – or most of it – and leaned against the doorway. "I guess the phuri finally decided Hugh wasn't up to performing his husbandly duties."
Lily looked up and swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "They gave him longer than they had to, and we're grateful for their consideration, but it's my obligation to provide the kumpania with children and I'm happy for the chance."
Puling idiot. Even now she didn't have the guts to complain. Adele would have preferred sobbing rage, but her quiet tears were enough. By the end of her fertile period, she would be sobbing, curled up on the bed, with cold compresses between her legs. The thought cheered Adele, if only for a moment.
"I'm all right," Lily said, misinterpreting Adele's reason for lingering. "But thank you for stopping in. You're a good sister, Adele."
Sister, my ass. If Adele had a sister, she'd be a lot brighter than this twit, who'd thanked Adele for bringing her coffee every morning, never noticing the bitter aftertaste of birth control pills. At the last meeting, when Niko had declared they might need to take the next step to impregnate Lily, Adele had watched the men's faces as they struggled to console Hugh, to act as if resigned to an unpleasant task. For the next year, the kumpania would monitor Lily's cycles and, when her time came, she'd be confined to her room for three days, while the men streamed upstairs to take their turn.
Adele excused herself and backed into the hall. As she turned, she saw Lily's cousin, Bernard, top the stairs, his corpulent frame quivering from the exertion, the crotch of his pants already straining with anticipation. Ah, duty.
"She's waiting for you," Adele said, as he lumbered past her into the room.
Adele's good mood lasted only until she closed her bedroom door and caught a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror. Thoughts of Lily's impregnation made her consider her own predicament. She pulled her shirt tight and turned to survey every angle. Nothing. She lifted the shirt. Her stomach still looked flat.