It was fully dark outside when I woke, starving and smelling something with a strong protein base. Beef maybe. Hopefully not roasted salamander. I got up, checked for leaves and vines—none—and pulled on my boots. I had kicked them off at some point. Stumbling to the locker room, I folded the blanket, stuffed my linens back into the locker I had chosen, and staggered into the break room.
They had finished with the autopsy and cleaned up the goo. Now there were paper cartons and bowls all over the table, with packets of soy and duck sauce, and chopsticks, which I had not learned how to use. If I hadn’t been so hungry I might have felt icky about sitting at the recently disgusting table. As it was, I accepted a bowl and let JoJo ladle Chinese soup into it. The broth was thin and clear and had lumpy things in it that I was unfamiliar with, but it smelled and tasted wonderful, of onions and herbs I didn’t recognize.
“This is fabulous,” I said, slurping it down, drinking it straight from the bowl.
“Yeah, yeah. Eat up,” JoJo said. “Soul wants you and Occam back at the senator’s mansion to talk with the guests—Occam to get a good smell of Justin and any other Tollivers and Jeffersons he can find, and you to shake Justin Tolliver’s hand and get a feel for him. Human or not human? That is the question.”
“Hamlet,” I said, checking my cell for the time. “It’ll be after eight before we can get there.”
“Good enough. Occam will be driving. You two okay together?”
She had a strange tone, one I’d heard in the church, when a new pairing was being considered. You’un thinking about becoming Obadiah’s second wife? Or, You’un and Luke thinking ’bout marrying in a new wife? It’s always harder the first time. Or, You’un and Zebadiah really marrying Isolde? She’s got a temper on her. The tone was kind but nosy.
I slurped again and, without looking up, asked back in a similar tone, though maybe a little more provoking, “You okay with Tandy?”
JoJo flinched, visible in my peripheral vision. “I’m not . . . How did . . . How did you know?”
“I got eyes in my head. And yeah, I’m fine with Occam. We’re working through a lot of things.”
“He saved your life today. It’s in the report.”
I smiled. “Yeah. He did. And I gotta tell you. When you’re used to fighting for your own life, it’s nice to have a man help out. Or a leopard.” I shrugged.
Occam flew into the break room like a cat with his tail on fire. “I smell Chinese. Fried rice? Beef with broccoli? Oh yeah. Feed me, Mama.”
“I ain’t your mama, white boy.” JoJo swatted the back of his head. Occam laughed and filled a plate. The others who were still in HQ filed in and joined us.
I tried three different Chinese dishes I had never heard of: lo mein noodles with shrimp, beef with broccoli, which seemed to be everyone’s favorite, and chicken with cashews. It was all good, the sauces thickened with cornstarch and as gooey as the slime from the salamander egg. I tried not to think about that comparison as I ate.
? ? ?
The traffic at Senator Tolliver’s home was not as bad as I expected, though there were a lot of cars. Many of the vehicles had DC plates, marking the occupants as Washington bigwigs. Occam and I sat in his fancy car and drank coffee as the moon rose and the crowds thinned more. Occam’s eyes glowed too bright, and Pea (who had not been in the car when we set out, I could almost swear, not that I ever swore—that was one church teaching I hadn’t left behind) was mworing and chittering and exploring every square inch of the interior, moving and sounding like a kitten. Only her neon green coat and the rare glimpse of her ridiculously long steel claws gave her away.
Occam said, “We never did identify the shooter. Or recover his weapon.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Search and rescue teams never did recover Clarisse Tolliver’s body.”
“No.”
“We still got no DNA on Sonya or Abrams.”
“No. But we know Abrams isn’t human.”
“So two women salamanders, three if we count the nanny, may be on-site.”
“Could be,” I agreed.
“We could get shot tonight.” When I didn’t reply he added, “And I still ain’t given you that improper kiss.”
I blushed in the dark and dropped my mouth to the sealed lid of my travel mug to hide my smile. “Drink your coffee,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
We sat, not talking, spending the minutes catching up reading reports and files from the interagency investigation. When there were only two visitor cars left, we got out and spoke with the private security types who were trailing around the property. They were packing up gear and writing reports themselves, having been informed by their boss, P. Simon—Peter—that their services would no longer be needed. Which seemed a tad strange to me. Simon was there, in charge, sending his men away, staring out over the house and grounds. His body language seemed particularly angry, tense, and something else. Something odd, like, maybe possessive. I touched Occam’s arm and nodded toward Simon.
Occam made a rumbling noise in his chest, a catty sound of interest.
Inside, we spotted Justin in a formal dining room, talking to two Washington types, one younger, one older. The older, gray-headed man said, “Whenever you’re up to it, we’d like to begin substantive talks on the possibility of your taking over the office and then, next year, your run.”
“Your family name would be a strong bonus in any campaign,” the younger man said. “We know it isn’t something you had ever considered, and it’s far too soon, but the feelers we’ve put out suggest that the seat is yours if you want it. But don’t wait too long to decide. People forget too soon.”
Occam and I eased away, into the living room. He leaned down and put his mouth to my ear, murmuring, “Motive? Kill your brother—who isn’t really your brother—and your wife—who wasn’t human and maybe you just figured it out—and your brother’s wife—who might be offered the Senate seat—and take over his high-powered political position?”
I said softly, “Stretching a lot. Why kill them now? We don’t have an instigating event for that line of reasoning to fit the parameters of the crimes.”
Occam reared back and gave me a look that said he hadn’t expected me to talk cop-speak. Which was mildly insulting. I scowled at him and he grinned and shrugged. “Sorry, Nell, sugar.”
“We need to get a look at all the Tollivers’ wills. Double-check who might have seen a divorce lawyer. Go over the financials again.”
“I’ll text HQ,” he said, pulling out his cell and tapping with his thumbs.
The grieving Tolliver showed out his last two guests. We approached Justin, offered IDs, and shook hands. I could see Occam sniffing the man out—literally—and I held Justin’s hand a moment too long, feeling for the metallic, sour scent and feel of blue blood, now that I knew what it felt like.