A miserable sound stumbled out of her mouth, barely audible. Her head swam with lies she could tell, but none that Costin would believe.
“I also found a bottle of Brave Maker at the scene. Your favorite brand—imagine that,” he said. Her heart blasted at her ribs. He was playing with her, she knew, waiting for her to break. She had never been the type to balk under interrogation—and she had been interrogated a time or two in her day—but she was ready to break then. She wanted to tell Costin everything like she would a priest. “There was also a child’s hair clip in the field, expensive by the looks of it, and right next to the bottle. I thought it a funny thing seeing those two items beside each other. A little girl out in the field getting drunk and killing animals.” He shook his head. “Children these days.”
Westie raised her head to look at him. He was smiling. A cruel, amused smile. He enjoyed watching her squirm.
His black eyes stayed on hers as he continued. “Then, when I saw two sets of footprints in the field heading toward the river, I realized the girl wasn’t alone. Olivia’s prints were easy. The other set was more confusing. Was the set of prints from an older child? Or were they from a little man? Imagine my surprise when I realized the larger set of prints had the boot heel of a woman’s shoe. Once I was closer to the river, I picked up on a scent I knew very well. . . .” Costin looked down at Westie and smiled.
“It was an accident. She fell into the river and I tried to save her.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “You have to believe me. As much as Olive deserved a good swat on the hide for what she did to those animals, I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” She slapped the water with the flat of her hand, getting soap in her eye. “Why are you smiling? A little girl is dead. That seems mean even for you.”
Costin tried to remove his smirk but failed. “Oh, I’m not smiling because a girl is dead. That really is tragic. But you humans, you think those who are different from you, those you call creatures as though we’re some subspecies, are no better than animals. You think we kill for pleasure, that we are incapable of love. If I smile, it’s only because I enjoy watching humans behave badly.”
“I’m not behaving badly!”
He waved it off. “It’s of no concern to me. You know I’ll forgive you anything. But I doubt Nigel and Alistair will be as generous.”
Costin stood. He reached toward Westie. She thought he would take her face into his hand again. She would have let him. Instead he took the towel from her lap and dried his hands.
She was on the verge of hysterics. “I’m in trouble, Costin. Nigel will think I killed Olive when the mayor tells him about the bottle and the set of prints from a woman’s shoe. Once he learns the only thing missing from the store is the bottle of Brave Maker, my life is ruined.”
Costin gently moved the hair from Westie’s face. “They won’t find that bottle or the prints, or the manzanita tree. I’ve dealt with the evidence. And besides, a bottle of Brave Maker wasn’t the only thing missing from the store.”
“What? But—”
“Turns out the thief took many things: horse grain, bedrolls, cigarette makings. Things an outlaw would take. What’s peculiar is he left gold on the counter, enough to pay for the things he stole and the damage to the building.” He dropped the towel beside her. “Oh, by the way, the investigation came to a close this morning, and Olive’s death was ruled an accident,” he said before walking out.
The first day of autumn fell on the same day as Olive’s funeral service. Fall was a beautiful time of year in Rogue City, everything bright and full of color. The maple trees surrounding the church boneyard looked like paintings of fire.
The entire town—except for the creatures—showed up for the occasion, even though the Fairfields were strangers to most. Olive’s death had somehow made her everyone’s little girl.
Westie stood behind the crowd away from the others, observing. Nigel wore black. Alistair’s soft leather dress coat fit snugly to his form, a rebellion when the current men’s fashion could double as sacks to hold grain. He looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him before.
James and Lavina wore expensive clothes to mourn in, while Cain and Hubbard dressed as common as street folk.
James picked at his nails, staring at the ground. Hubbard fell apart, dissolved to tears, not caring what others might say. He made sucking noises, unable to catch his breath until eventually he dropped his head into his hands and buckled to his knees in the stinking mud.