Лорел Гамильтон - Obsidian Butterfly

"No, Detective, nothing's wrong."

"Please call me Hernando."

That made me smile more. "I'm Anita."

The smile flashed bright and wide. "Anita, pretty name."

"No," I said, "it's not, and we're investigating a crime, not out on a blind date. You can tone the charm down just a touch, and I'll still like you, Detective Ramirez. I'll even share clues with you, honest."

"Hernando," he said.

It made me laugh. "Hernando. Fine, but really, you don't have to work this hard to win me over. I don't know you well enough to dislike you yet."

That made him laugh. "Was it that transparent?"

"You make a good good-cop, and the little boy charm is great, but like I said, it's not necessary."

"Okay, Anita." The smile went down a watt or two, but he was still open and cheerful somehow. It made me nervous. "Have you seen the entire house yet?"

"Not yet. Officer Norton was trailing a little too close for comfort. Made it hard to walk."

The smile closed down, but the look in the eyes was real. "You're a woman and with that black hair probably part something darker than the rest of you looks."

"My mother was Mexican, but most people don't spot it."

"You're in a section of the country where there's a lot of mixing going on." He didn't smile when he said it. He looked serious and a little less young. "The people that want to notice will."

"I could be part dark Italian," I said.

A small smile that time. "We don't have a lot of dark Italians in New Mexico."

"I haven't been here long enough to notice one way or another."

"Your first time to this part of the country?"

I nodded.

"What do you think so far?"

"I've seen a hospital and part of this house. I think it's too early to form an opinion."

"If we get a breather while you're here, I'd love to show you some of the sights."

I blinked at him. Maybe the boyish charm wasn't just a cop technique. Maybe he was, gasp, flirting.

Before I could think of an answer, Edward came up behind us in his best good ol' boy charm. "Detective Ramirez, good to see you again."

They shook hands, and Ramirez wasted a smile on Edward that looked just as genuine as Edward's. Since I knew Edward was play-acting, it was sort of unnerving how similar the two expressions were.

"Good to see you, too, Ted." He turned back to me. "Please, continue looking around. Ted's told me a lot about you, and I hope for all our sakes that you're as good as he says you are."

I glanced at Edward. He just smiled at me. I frowned. "Well, I'll try not to disappoint anybody." I walked back out into the living room trailed by Detective Ramirez. He gave me more room to maneuver than Norton had, but he watched me. Maybe he did want a date, but he wasn't watching me like a potential date. He was watching me like a cop to see what I did, how I reacted. It made me think better of him that he was professional.

Edward had lowered his sunglasses enough to give me a look as I passed by him. He was smiling, almost grinning at me. The look said it all. He was amused at Ramirez' flirting. I flipped him off, covering the gesture with my other hand so only he would see it.

It made him laugh, and the sound seemed at home here in this bright place. It was a place meant for laughter. The silence filled in behind his laughter like water closing over a stone, until the sound vanished into a profound quiet that was more than quiet.

I stood in the middle of the bright living room, and it was as if it were a display home waiting for the real estate agent to come through with a tour of potential home owners. The house was so new, it felt like a freshly unwrapped present. But there were things that no real estate agent would have allowed. A newspaper was spilled over the pale wood coffee table with the business section folded into fourths. The business section had New York Times written across the top of it, but some of the other pieces said Los Angeles Tribune. A business person recently moved from Los Angeles, maybe.

There was a large colored photo pushed to one corner of the coffee table. It showed an older couple, fiftyish, with a teenage boy. They were all smiling and touching each other in that posed casual way photos often use. They looked happy and relaxed together, though you can never really tell with posed photos. So easy to fool the camera.

I looked around the room and found smaller photos scattered throughout on numerous white shelves that took up almost all available wall space. The photos sat among souvenirs, mostly with an American Indian theme. The smaller more candid shots were just as relaxed, just as smiling. A happy, prosperous family. The boy and man, tanned and grinning on a boat with the sea in the background and a huge fish between them. The woman and three small girls covered in cookie dough and matching Christmas aprons. There were at least three photos of smiling adult couples with one or two children apiece. The little girls from the Christmas photo; grandchildren, maybe.

I stared at the couple and that tall, tanned teenager, and hoped they were dead because the thought of any of them up in that hospital room turned into so much pain and meat was … not a comfy thought. I didn't speculate. They were dead, and that was comforting.

I turned my attention from the photos to the Indian artifacts lining the shelves. Some of it was touristy stuff: reproductions of painted pots in muted shades, too new to be real; Kachina dolls that would have looked just as at home in a child's room; rattlesnake heads stretched in impotent strikes, dead before their murderer opened their mouths to appear fearsome.

Put in among the tourist chic were other things. A pot that was displayed behind glass with pieces missing and the paint faded to a dull gray and eggshell color. A spear or javelin on the wall above the fireplace. The spear was behind glass and had remnants of feathers and thongs, beads trailing from it. The head of the spear looked like stone. There was a tiny necklace of beads and shells under glass with the worn edges of the hide thong that bound them together showing. Someone had known what they were collecting because every piece that looked real was behind glass, cared for. The tourist stuff had been left out to fend for itself.

I spoke without turning around, staring at the necklace. "I'm no expert on Indian artifacts but some of this looks like museum quality."

"According to the experts it is," Ramirez said.

I looked at him. His face had gone back to neutral, and he looked older. "Is it all legal?"

That earned me another small smile. "You mean is it stolen?"

I nodded.

"The stuff we've been able to trace was all purchased from private individuals."

"There's more?"

"Yes," he said.

"Show me," I said.

He turned and started walking down a long central hallway. It was my turn to play follow the leader though I gave him more room than either he or Norton had given me. I couldn't help noticing how nicely his dress slacks fit. I shook my head. Was it the flirting, or was I just tired of the two men in my life? Something less complicated would have been nice, but part of me knew that the time for other choices was long past. So I admired his backside as we walked up the hall and knew it meant nothing. I had enough problems without dating the local cops. I was a civilian surrounded by police, and a woman, too. The only thing that would earn me less respect in their eyes was to date one of them. I would lose what little clout I had and become a girlfriend. Anita Blake, vampire executioner and preternatural expert, had some ground to stand on. Detective Ramirez' girlfriend would not.

Edward trailed behind us, but far enough back that we were at the far end of the hallway when he was barely in the corridor. Was he giving us privacy? Did he think it was a good idea to flirt with the detective, or was any human better than a monster, no matter how nice the monster was? If Edward had any prejudice, it was against the monsters.