Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

When the doctor emerged, a guy who looked way too young to be trusted with the care of anyone’s favorite aunt, he explained that she’d had a mild attack, brought on by a blocked artery. They’d given her a clot-busting miracle drug.

“She asked for Spencer,” he said.

“Here.”

The physician looked at him. “You a cop?”

“I am.”

“No talking business. I don’t want her worked up.”

“You got it, Doc.”

Spencer entered his aunt’s room. For such a tough bird, she looked pretty damn vulnerable.

She smiled weakly. “I feel like I went head to head with one badass perp.”

“Doctor says you’ve got a blocked artery. Gave you some wonder drug that’s supposed to solve the problem. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about…me. You-”

“Shh.” He found her hand, squeezed it. “I can take care of myself.”

“But-”

He squeezed her hand again. “I’ll be careful. The investigation is on track. Tony and I will make certain it stays that way. You concentrate on getting better. That’s your job right now.”

She dozed off; Spencer stayed with her, watching her as she slept.

Watch your backs.

Those three little words brought back that terrible time when everywhere he turned, he faced suspicion, and everyone seemed to be gunning for him.

Why had he caught the attention of the chief and PID?

The nurse poked her head into the room. “Time’s up, Mr. Malone.”

He nodded, brushed a kiss across his aunt’s forehead and returned to the waiting area.

Tony and several of the other guys had arrived. They had all paid their respects to Uncle Sammy and were huddled together, talking.

Spencer took Tony aside. “Tonight, Aunt Patti said we’ve attracted the attention of the chief. And PID.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“She didn’t know. They were questioning her about the White Rabbit case.”

The older man scowled. “Friggin’ Pogo had to surface at the French Quarter.”

Spencer nodded. “Thing is, that still doesn’t explain PID’s involvement. They’re usually interested in improprieties.”

“Let me nose around. See if anybody’s heard anything.”

John Jr. waved Spencer over. Spencer started for him, then looked back at his partner. “You do that. And keep me posted.”

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

9:30 a.m.

Alice popped into the kitchen. Her gaze touched on Stacy, then jumped to the housekeeper. “I’m going to run to Café Noir for a moccaccino.”

Stacy searched her memory. Alice frequented Café Noir? Had she ever seen the girl there? A lot of kids hung out at Café Noir, mostly at night and right after school. She didn’t remember having seen her.

The housekeeper, standing at the sink, looked over her shoulder at the girl. “What about your morning lessons?”

“Haven’t started yet. Mr. Dunbar’s pukey today. Asked if I’d mind a late start.”

Clearly, Alice was delighted. The thought crossed Stacy’s mind that poor Mr. Dunbar may have been poisoned.

The housekeeper sent Stacy an uneasy glance, then turned back to the teenager. “Your parents left strict orders that you’re not to go out alone. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll-”

The teenager flushed. “Café Noir is less than six blocks away! Surely they didn’t mean-”

“I’m sorry, hon, but with everything that’s happened-”

“This is so freakin’ bogus!”

“I’ll go with you,” Stacy said, standing. “I could use the walk.”

“No, thanks.” Alice glared at her. “I’d rather do without.”

“Your choice.” She shrugged. “But I really do need the walk. Shall I bring you one back?”

The teenager stared at her a moment, eyes narrowed. “Fine. But I’m not going with you. You walk behind me.”

Somebody, it seemed, did not like to be thwarted.

Stacy hid her amusement. “Whatever.”

Within minutes, the two were nearing Café Noir. As promised, Stacy had stayed several paces behind Alice. She hadn’t promised to keep her distance at the coffeehouse, but she planned to spring that fact on the teenager when the time came.

When Stacy entered the coffeehouse, Alice was already at the counter ordering. Billie looked up and smiled in greeting.

“Hey, girl,” she called. “Long time no see. What gives?”

“Been busy.” Stacy reached the counter; Alice scowled at her. “Billie, this is Alice, Leonardo Noble’s daughter.”

Billie smiled at the teen. “No kidding. Now I can put a name with the face.”

Alice stuck a straw in her super grande frozen moccaccino. “See ya.”

Stacy watched her walk away, then looked at Billie. “It’s the teenage version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

Billie arched an eyebrow. “More Hyde than Jekyll, apparently.”

“She come in here much?”

“Sometimes.”

“She and Cassie ever talk?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Stacy didn’t know which surprised her more, her own uttered thought or Billie’s answer. “She and Cassie knew each other?”

“They weren’t friends, but I think they spoke. The usual?”

Stacy realized Billie meant her usual drink, and she shook her head. “An iced coffee. Tall.”

Billie nodded, made the drink, slid it across the counter and waved away her attempt to pay for it. “On the house.”

“Thanks.” She frowned, thoughts still on Cassie and Alice. “When you say they talked, do you mean more than ‘Hello’ and ‘How are you?’”

“They discussed gaming.”

RPGs. Of course. After that thought came another. Could Alice be the one who promised to introduce Cassie to White Rabbit?

“What’s going on?” Billie lowered her voice. “Where the hell have you been? And don’t give that ‘been busy’ crap.”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that no one was within earshot. “Life’s gotten a little weird since we last talked. The White Rabbit openly claimed a victim, a woman named Rosie Allen. From the calling card he left the Nobles yesterday, two more victims are on the way. And did I mention, I was welcomed to the game?”

“The game?” she repeated. “Back up, girlfriend. Way, way up.”

“You remember me telling you that Leo Noble believed someone, maybe a troubled fan, had begun playing his game White Rabbit for real? That he had received disturbing cards that indicated he had been entered into the killer-takes-all scenario?”

The other woman said she did, and Stacy continued. “One of the cards depicted a mouse-like creature drowning. A woman named Rosie Allen was found drowned in her bathtub. The killer left a message at the scene. Poor little mouse drowned in a pool of her own tears. The woman had a connection to Noble. She did alteration work for the family.

“Saturday, he left another calling card at the Nobles-‘The roses are red now.’ The message was written in blood.”

For a long moment Billie was silent. When she finally spoke, her tone was hushed, as if to keep an employee or customer from hearing. “Stop screwing around, Stacy. You’re not a cop. You don’t have the support of a police force behind you.”

“Too late. Apparently, I’ve caught the killer’s fancy. Thursday night he welcomed me to the game. Left me a cat’s head. The Cheshire Cat, I’m assuming. I’ve temporarily moved in with the Nobles to keep an eye-”

“Dammit, Stacy, you’re playing with-”

“Fire? Tell me about it.” She glanced toward the front porch. Alice was sitting at one of the outdoor tables. “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait!” Billie caught her hand. “Promise me you’ll be careful or I swear, I’ll kick your butt.”