Wolf at the Door

chapter Forty-seven


“Right! Okay.” He took a few seconds to get his bearings. “So, in closing, don’t you dare even waste half a minute arresting mah woman—I always wanted to try pronouncing it like that—when she’s not guilty. Mah woman!”

Edward was watching the others carefully; he was the only one standing. Not even the cop had stood. They were just sort of sprawled in their chairs around the table, sipping smoothies and watching him.

Good. Maybe they were going to stay cool. That’d be unexpected and lovely. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Worse, nothing like this had ever been written about in a movie or graphic novel or book before, as far as he knew, so he had no idea where to go from there.

“Rachael, Detective Beriberi said it himself, it’s not even his jurisdiction. So you and I are going to get up and walk out of here and then you’re gonna call your cousin and get the cavalry out here to find the real killer—”

“We’re pretty sure we know who that is,” Detective Berry said, “so if you need a name or address, just let me know.”

“—so you can clear your name.” Wait. What? “Wait. What?”

“Well, let’s see. If you have a name, that means not only did you find my DNA,” Rachael guessed, “you found proof that it was planted DNA. Something I couldn’t have left behind by accident. And since I wouldn’t go to the trouble of planting my own DNA at a crime scene when I’m a good source of my own DNA, you knew someone was trying to frame me.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty good . . . hmmm.” Okay. Well, he knew Rachael was as smart as she was hot. Good to have further verification on that. “Uh, what have you guys all figured out that I don’t know yet?” It was gonna sound vain, but he was sort of used to being the smartest person in the room, in most rooms . . .

“I didn’t figure anything out,” the queen said, looking sympathetic. “Honest. They had to explain it to me, too.”

It worked! He smiled at her and said, “Hey, thanks, that actually cheered me up. I’ve been standing here wondering how long I need to keep the dunce cap on.”

“The DNA was Rachael’s,” the detective said. “But it had been planted by someone who isn’t that good at such things.”

“Fingerprints, maybe moved with something like Scotch tape?” Rachael guessed.

“How the hell do you even know that?” Edward demanded.

“Because I forgot and then forgot I forgot.”

“In English, por favor?”

“I left my travel guide in her office.”

“Whose?”

“Mrs. Cain’s. The woman at the chamber of commerce. The one who got things ready when she knew I was coming. The one who set me up for murder. The one who lifted my DNA from anything in her office I’d touched and brought it to crime scenes and”—Rachael spread her hands and looked wry—“spread the wealth.”

“But . . .” He looked around. The rest of them looked just as blank as he felt. “But why?”

“I don’t know.” Rachael moved—flowed, almost—to her feet. If he’d blinked, he would have missed it. Girl could move when she wanted to. “But I’m going to go ask her.”