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There’s also no other trace of her. No Facebook. No Instagram. No social media, at all, which isn’t exactly strange to me, seeing as I don’t keep up with that myself. Mostly, I’m just struck by how little there is on her death.
Just another junkie.
It’s sad to me, that someone can live and work hard, and the most anyone can say about her is that she died of an overdose.
Aunt Midge enters the office, the concern on her face creasing her forehead as she sets the food down on the desk. “Hey, there’s a man out there. The one I was telling you about, who came in with that girl. Says he’s an investigator. Wants to ask you some questions about her, I guess. If you don’t want to talk to him, I’ll throw him out. Must’ve known you two worked together, or something?”
“I’ll talk to him.” I push up from the chair and follow Aunt Midge into the bar, taking note of only a handful of regulars scattered about, though it’ll soon be packed with tourists.
Standing off from them is a heavyset man with gray hair and glasses, exactly as Aunt Midge described, who waves with what seems like a friendly smile. As I approach, he holds out a hand toward me, which I shake with some reluctance. “Al Goodman. You’re Isadora?”
“Izzy is fine.”
“Nell told me a lot about you. Can I have just a quick minute of your time?”
“Sure.”
We find a booth toward the back, and I scan the room to make sure Makaio hasn’t wandered in. The last thing I need is to have him report back to Lucian that I met with the same investigator Nell was fired for chatting with.
Aunt Midge shuffles over with my fries and Sprite, setting them down on the table. “Can I get you anything?” she asks the stranger.
“Just a Coke.” As soon as she walks off, he leans in. “I’m assuming you’ve heard about your co-worker, Nell?”
“It’s a small town. I’d venture to say most know about it by now.”
“I’m just going to get straight to the point.” His eyes scan the room, before he leans in closer. “In spite of what you’ve been told, Nell didn’t die specifically from a heroin overdose.”
Branches of ice climb my spine as I stare back at him, searching his eyes for a lie. “She told me she abused drugs in the past.”
“She did, yes. Which made this awfully convenient. But she did not overdose on heroin. My sources are sketchy, at best, but that much was confirmed. On the streets, it’s called gray death because it looks like concrete. It’s heroin, fentanyl, and an elephant tranquilizer. Dangerous and deadly. Therefore, I have reason to believe she was murdered.”
“By?” My heart gallops inside my chest, and I wonder if he’ll come out and tell me it was Lucian.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now.”
“You think I know who killed her?”
“I think if anyone has insight into who might’ve wanted to kill her, it’s you.”
“I hardly knew her. We worked together for a few weeks, is all.”
“And I know the nature of your working together, for the most part. What I don’t know is what led to her being fired.”
I don’t even know if this guy is the real deal. He could be a reporter. “She was skimming pills and spreading rumors. Look, I’ll admit, I only have a vague understanding of what you do from old eighties shows, but don’t you have access to police reports and stuff? I don’t think the Blackthornes decided to show up at her motel room and pump her full of drugs.”
“She didn’t rent that room. It was under a different name. One I can’t seem to track down, because it doesn’t seem to be associated with an actual body. And in this case, the police haven’t been playing nice with me.”
“Can you just … tell me what you’re thinking, then? Because I really hate puzzles.”
“Are you familiar with Schadenfreude?” Once again, his eyes make a sweep of our surroundings, and he’s practically stretched across the table, leaning into me.
“No. What is that? German, or something?”
“It’s a German word, yes. In essence, it means finding pleasure in another’s suffering. It’s also the name of a secret group I’ve been investigating for a while now. Would you know of any group that might pay for the pleasure of watching someone suffer?”
Again, I find myself contemplating how much I want to tell this guy, and thoughts of Giulia and her daughter pop into my head. “I might’ve heard of it. But I wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Assuming you did hear about it, how would you have learned of it?”
As paranoid as Giulia was, I’m not going to throw her into this guy’s lap. “Who hasn’t heard of it?”
“A number of people, that’s who. They happen to be very good at keeping themselves hidden below the radar. I’m only privy to their name through a contact who was found dead in a New York hotel room, a month ago. I’m here to investigate the activities of this group.”
“Who hired you?”
“I can’t divulge names, but it’s the family of a girl who ended up dead.”
“Local?”
“Again, I’ll not go into detail, except to say, I believe she may have somehow gotten tangled up in this group.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Tell me what you know about Lucian Blackthorne.”
At the mention of his name, I instinctively look away, for fear he’ll see the obsession written all over my face. “I don’t know anything about him. He’s not a very transparent man.”
“I know that you and he have become quite close.” Jesus. Did Nell tell this guy everything? “I did a bit of digging into your background, as well.”
Trying to keep a poker face, while my whole body is screaming from the inside, is impossible.
“I know there was an incident a few months ago at a party. I know you spent some time in a therapist’s chair.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with your investigation.”
“I know you live with your aunt, because your mother is a drug addict who gave up parental rights when you were ten years old.”
Pushing the plate of food away, I slide along the booth to leave, and at a grip on my arm, a flare of panic explodes through my muscles. All I have to do is scream, and damn near everyone in this bar would be on this guy.
He reaches into a bag that’s on the seat beside him and pulls out an envelope. “I have a feeling you’ll be quite interested in knowing what’s inside.”
Gaze on the envelope, I suddenly wish I had X-ray vision, because no way this guy is about to hand over whatever he seems to think would be important to me without some condition. “What is it?”
“Tell me what you know about Lucian.”
“You’re asking me for information, when I don’t even know that what’s in that envelope is worth it.”
“It’s worth it. And I’ll assure you, this offer doesn’t come without risk to me. I’ve more to lose than you in this exchange.” Which means my curiosity just ratcheted up a notch, just not enough, until he says, “It contains information about your father.”
Shit.
No. No way he’s privy to that.
All my life, I’ve yearned to know the answer to that question. I’ve inquired and dug around to no avail.
But what if it’s true?
My gaze falls to the envelope again. What if my father’s identity is right there? Practically at my fingertips.
Rubbing my hand across my brow, I close my eyes and shake my head. I’m not telling this guy jack about Lucian and risking someone watching me, like Giulia. But for information about my dad, I’ll tell him what I know for certain. “He didn’t kill Nell. He was with me the night before she was found dead.”