Tempest Court. Jan Walters
on. After the past couple of years and those strange cases, call me skittish.”
Brett popped in a coffee pod. “Nothing is going on, so don’t be imagining things. Once the investigation is completed, you’ll see nothing supernatural is going on.”
“Hmph,” Michael muttered. Picking up Brett’s coffee, Michael inhaled, enjoying the tantalizing brew. What he would give for a drink! “I can’t believe you had that damn jar thing in your closet.”
Brett grabbed his coffee from Michael. “We’ve already had this conversation.” Brett rubbed his eyes. “Was there anything else you wanted? I’d like to get a few more hours of sleep before I have to go to work.”
“Lisa’s friend is going to be upset about the murder.”
Setting his cup of coffee on the table, Brett muttered, “I’m sure she’s been notified by now. The murder will do one of two things—keep people away from the exhibit or bring out all the crazies.”
“My bet is on the crazies.”
Brett rolled his eyes. “Can’t you be more positive?”
“I am. I’m positive that busloads of crazies will be checking out the Egyptian exhibit.” Michael plopped his hat on his head as his figure shimmered into glistening particles barely visible to the human eye.
Brett glanced around the empty kitchen and sighed. He set his cup in the sink, dumping out the remainder of his coffee. Suddenly, his mouth tasted like sawdust. Instinctively, he checked the lock on the back door. A glance at the clock showed he had two hours of sleep left. He crawled into bed and wrapped an arm over Lisa’s waist.
Even though he closed his eyes, there was no way he’d get back to sleep after hearing Michael’s grizzly details. Was it a coincidence that a mummy was on site at the time of the murder? After punching his pillow, he flopped on his back. Instead of relying on logic to keep him from worrying, he saw shadows where there were none.
* * * * *
Brett stepped off the elevator, stopping by Marge’s desk. The silver-haired secretary pounded away on the keyboard. He cleared his throat to get her attention. Her fingers continued to fly.
“O’Shea. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy? That boss of yours has been on a rampage all morning.”
He glanced over his shoulder. The door to Foster’s office was closed. Brett leaned down, whispering, “I heard we had a murder last night.”
Marge’s hands dropped to her lap. She peered over her purple glasses, assessing him. “How do you know that? I just found out when Foster tossed some reports on my desk ten minutes ago.”
His mouth opened and closed. Marge shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. There’s always been something odd about you, O’Shea.”
“Geez, Marge, I thought you liked me.”
Her gaze lit up. “O’Shea, you know if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’m just saying there’s something strange about you. It’s like you’re out of step with everyone else.”
He chortled. “My mom would agree with you, but don’t tell Foster.”
Marge’s smile grew. “So you don’t want Foster to know?”
“Yeah, I could…” His words drifted away as someone came into the line of sight. Fuck!
Foster’s steely gaze pinned Brett to the floor. The head of detectives leaned closer. His growl filled Brett’s ear. “Don’t want me to know what?”
Brett bit his lip, stalling for time. How much did Foster hear? “No, sir. Marge was saying… And I…”
“Don’t bring me into this. I’m sitting here working.” Marge turned and proceeded to type the reports.
A breath caught in his chest. He turned to face Foster. He had known Foster for years. His grim, military look put off most of the officers on the force. Foster wasn’t one of those happy-go-lucky guys. Underneath, Foster was an okay guy. He supported his men—something he couldn’t say for all the brass. He and Foster worked the vampire case last year. Once Foster got beyond the shock that paranormal killers and ghosts existed, he was a killing machine. The man didn’t show any mercy…to anyone.
“My office. Now!” Foster bellowed.
Not a good way to start his morning.
Brett stood before Foster’s desk. Foster slammed the door behind him. Brett grimaced.
“Sit.” Foster pointed to a chair. “We got a problem. A murder occurred at the Art Center last night. The mayor and the city council have already called Anders. They want this case solved ASAP.”
“I heard it was bloody.”
Foster’s brows winged upward. “How the hell did you hear that?”
“You remember Michael, my great-grandfather? He stopped by the place last night.”
Foster glared at him. “Stop right there. What was he doing at a crime scene?”
“He was checking out the new exhibit. A few odd things have been occurring.”
Foster shook his head and wagged his finger in Brett’s face. “No! No, we’re not going there.”
“Sir, I’m not saying anything supernatural is going on. We had a canopic jar in my closet, and Michael seems to think it was making noises, that’s all. Nothing abnormal.”
“A what jar?” Foster stood, running a hand through his short crew cut. “What the hell is a canopic jar?”
Brett inwardly groaned. “From what I can gather, when people were mummified, body organs were stored in little jars. The one I have was for the stomach.”
Foster noticeably jerked as his face wrinkled in what looked like disgust. Brett rushed to continue. “I took the jar to the Art Center to be examined. Nothing more than that. I don’t have any reason to believe that we have another supernatural killer in town.”
Foster jerked forward. “There better not be any supernatural killers running around Des Moines. For God’s sakes, O’Shea, what is it with you and this weird shit?”
Brett stood straight, unmoving. How was he supposed to respond to that? It’s not like he requested these unique challenges to come to him or prayed for hocus-pocus shit to happen. He believed in heaven and hell like most people. He was just a cop who was trying to protect the citizens and put the bad guys away.
“I don’t know, sir. Believe me, if I had a choice, none of those weird cases would have happened.”
Foster marched to his desk. “Hmmm. Well, Anders has assigned you to the murder case.” In a low voice, he warned, “Details of the coroner’s report is highly confidential. I want you to keep it quiet. Got it?”
Brett nodded, wondering what was going on. He’d always kept details of a case under wraps. Why is Foster warning me about this case?
Forster slapped a folder on his desk. “I’m putting Donnellson with you. You can let him know since I’m in training for the rest of the day and I’m already late.”
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