Alison fights a laugh. “Hey—you gotta fight cheese with cheese.”
“Bibbidy bobbity bullshit.” I bite the inside of my lip. It doesn’t work for holding in my laughter, and within seconds, it’s spilling out of me.
My laughter triggers Alison’s, then Amelia’s, and finally, Bek herself is laughing.
Bibbidy bobbity bullshit.
Just when I thought I’d heard it all, I heard that.
Fucking awesome.
Another day, another dead-bodiless morning.
In fact, there’s even a bird chirping outside my office window.
I slam the pane down to shut the fucker up, and he falls off the ledge before recovering and flying off in the direction of the park.
I don’t make it a habit to come to the office on a Sun—oh, who the hell am I trying to kid? I’m always in my office, even if I do have one stinkin’ hell of a hangover.
That’s the last time the quiet-and-reserved Amelia mixes the margaritas.
My greatest feat today—and it’s only ten a.m., thank you—is that I haven’t had to answer Nonna’s barrage of questions about the wedding being called off. Mostly because I set her personal ringtone to silence and turned off notifications for text messages.
Now, I understand that the last one could bite me in the ass, but texting isn’t the only way to get ahold of me. Besides, getting me to actually reply to ninety percent of my texts is a miracle. I have to be in the right mood. Like teasing Drake or something.
Still, I have work to do, and that’s the end of that.
Obviously, that’s why I have Victoria’s Secret pulled up in my web browser. Because I don’t have enough underwear.
It’s becoming increasingly apparent that I am a very skilled procrastinator.
Reluctantly, as the thought crosses my mind, I click the X in the corner, and the window shuts down. Unless I’m looking up Satan or my e-mail, I don’t really need the browser open. The Internet is full of distractions. Like Facebook. And BuzzFeed.
Oh, sweet, sweet BuzzFeed.
Dammit, Noelle. Focus your ass.
Okay.
This isn’t going to happen. Maybe I should take a nap instead. I’m still pretty tired, and everyone knows that sleep cures all.
“Oh good. You’re here!” Carlton steps into my office with a bright-red, plastic folder. “I finally pulled everything you asked for. It took a while to actually track down most of the satanic sects because, although they’re registered, a lot use false addresses for fear of getting their asses kicked.”
“Asses kicked by what? Christian and Catholic Texans wielding holy water, a Bible, and a few scriptures? Terrifying,” I reply dryly. “What about the victims? Brook Meyers?”
“Everything down to the fact that Brook Meyers was”—he coughs—“circumcised.”
“Next time, leave that detail out.” I shudder. Way too much information, thank you, Carlton. “Good work though. Did you read anything?”
Guiltily, he glances down. Then he runs his hand through his hair and looks at me with a sheepish smile. “Some. Mostly to pass the time.”
“Notice a connection with any of the girls?”
“Other than that they all went to high schools in the Holly Woods or Austin area? One thing. Their religion. They’re all…” He hesitates.
“Catholic,” I state. “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone will try to get my grandmother any time soon.”
I wink, and he shudders. Oh yeah. Nonna has terrified the poor guy too. Asked him if he was Catholic and explained several sins when he confirmed that he isn’t. The number-one sin? Not being Catholic.
I’m going to look into care for the elderly once this case is finished. Preferably one that provides extensive psychiatric care, because who knows how long this case will take to solve? Right now, we have a big, fat nothing for evidence.
And without evidence…
I shake off that thought and turn back to Carlton. “Do you think it could be that simple? The connection between the girls is their religion?”
He shrugs, color heating his cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe. That’s the most obvious reason. There may be something else I couldn’t find out. Even hackers have their limits.”
“Borrowers.” I point a pen at him. “You are a borrower.”
“Fine. Even borrowers have their limits.”
I grin. “Thank you for this. If this could be it, I’ll see if anyone can go down to the church and keep an eye out for suspicious behavior. Stands to reason that, on a Sunday, at least one murderer would be scoping out possible targets in a Catholic church.”
Carlton grimaces. “And to think—I could have taken a job at Subway.”
“You can always make me a sandwich if you want.”
“Uh…I think I’ll pass. Do you need anything else?”
“Not right now. I’ll call if I think of anything. I’m going to run these files down to the station.”
The station is eerily quiet when I open the main door. There’s no bustle of people meandering through tables, no ringing phones, no yells to another person.
I don’t like it.
Charlotte is sitting behind her desk, filing her nails, her stockinged feet resting on the surface in front of her. She jolts when she sees me, smiles sheepishly, then points toward Drake’s office.
“He isn’t alone,” she adds, wincing as she does so.
And it just gets better, doesn’t it?
“Remind her where the door is before I get a chance to,” I mutter, clutching the files close to my chest. I walk over to his office and rap my knuckles against the door, not caring that I’m interrupting.
The door swings open. Jessica is the woman filling the space, and Drake is sitting at this desk, his fingers pressing into his temples. Oh yay! He’s pissed as well.
Sunday, you’re a bitch.
“Oh, Noelle!” Jessica’s voice is sickly sweet. “So nice of you to stop by.”
“For Drake, perhaps, but not for you.” I respond, matching my tone to hers. I even add a smile for good measure.
Drake drops his head back and rubs his hand down his face.
“What are you doing here?” Jessica asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Last time I checked, I have more of a right to be here than you.”
“I was just—”
“Leaving,” Drake interrupts her, pushing back. His arms strain against his shirt, and I swallow. “You were just leaving, Jessica. Your so-called evidence isn’t evidence at all. Unless you have something that will actually help…”
Jessica purses her lips and looks between us. “I’ll call you.”
“Don’t bother. He won’t answer.” I shrug. “Last time you called, I tried to answer, and his phone had a near brush with the toilet bowl. Next time, I won’t miss.”
With the phone or her head. I’m not afraid to shove her face into a toilet.
Jessica sighs dramatically and hooks her purse over her shoulder. She flicks her hair back and looks down at me. Without my heels, she has an inch on me in height, and the evil glint in her eye says she loves that.
“You’re kind of short, aren’t you?”
“I don’t need to be tall to shoot you and hit you. You wanna see?” I reach beneath the skirt of my dress.
Her bravado falters as my words register.
Charlotte hollers with laughter across the floor.
Jessica doesn’t bother to reply as she barges past me, deliberately smacking me in the arm with her purse. Oh fuck no. The bitch does not get to do that and get away with it.
“Hold my shit.” I turn in the direction she’s stalking off in and shove my things at Drake.
Unfortunately, he intercepts me before I can take a single step forward. “In there. Now.” He manhandles me into his office and kicks the door shut. “And don’t even think about going out there.”
“She hit me!”
“With her purse.”
“Deliberately!”
“Noelle…”
“Are you taking her side?”