Out for Blond

CHAPTER ONE

You’ve never met him, said Laura Hopper, who was sitting across from me in my office, looking earnest. Laura was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and not exactly pretty. She wasn’t ugly, just plain and a little mousy. She had the kind of face that most women would drown in makeup, trying to draw something spectacular onto its averageness with eyeliner or lipstick. But Laura wasn’t wearing any makeup.

I guessed they didn’t much go for makeup at the Clayton Farm.

I haven’t met him, I agreed. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve met murderers before and not known they were murderers.

He’s not a murderer, said Laura, lifting her chin. She was wearing a plain navy blue t-shirt and a long, gray skirt, also made from t-shirt material.

Well, the police think he’s a murderer, I said. They’d arrested him. The him was Gunner Bray, officially the president of the Clayton Society for Sustainability. The press was calling him a cult leader.

They’re wrong, said Laura.

If so, I suspect they’ll prove that in the trial, I said. Honestly, I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Laura was doing here.

That’s what I thought. She leaned forward. "When I spoke to our lawyer, however, he laughed at me and said that I’d been watching too much Matlock. He said lawyers weren’t detectives. But you’re a detective. You found that serial killer last fall."

Ah, yes. To be fair, it was more that I had gone to meet that serial killer to fuck him and realized at the last minute that he was a serial killer. But I generally left out the part about being on a booty call when the whole thing went down. I’d gotten a lot of extra business from that case, since I’d gotten good publicity afterward. Nowadays, though, the fervor had faded to mostly nothing.

I did, I said. But you don’t need a detective, Ms. Hopper—

Call me Laura, she said. And I do need a detective. I need someone to find out who really killed Tess Carver.

I raised an eyebrow. But the police have already arrested—

The police are wrong, she said. And they won’t look anymore. Between Gunner and the rest of them, they’re sure they have the whole case tied up.

After Gunner Bray was arrested, four other members of the Clayton Society—not a cult, but a nonprofit farming organization, according to Laura—all turned themselves in for the murder, claiming that Gunner couldn’t have done it because they did. The police didn’t release Gunner, though. They just arrested the other four members too. I had barely been following this on the news, so I wasn’t sure exactly what the thinking was, but it was something like they’d done the murder on Gunner’s orders or something.

I considered. Maybe things were a bit convoluted. Maybe there was something there. I’d been taking the news reports at face value, assuming that this whack job had actually killed this girl, but maybe there was something more to the story.

So, Laura continued, I need someone to investigate for the real killer. That’s why I decided I would hire you.

Listen, Ms. Hopper—

Laura.

Right. Laura. How do I put this? Um… I’m not cheap. I didn’t particularly like discussing rates with clients as a general rule. That was why I hired an administrative assistant, to do that kind of thing for me. But in this case, considering that Clayton was a nonprofit, I didn’t want to get into a whole mess of investigating and not get paid.

Don’t worry about money, said Laura. We have some very generous benefactors at Clayton. This is important, and the board has authorized me to use whatever funds necessary to procure your services. We have to clear Gunner’s name.

And the others that turned themselves in for the murder? I said. Do you think they did it?

She furrowed her brow. I’m not sure. I know them all, and I would never have thought that of them. So, no, I don’t think they’re responsible either.

I tapped my chin. I had to admit, I was starting to get intrigued. When you say ‘whatever funds necessary,’ do you mean that you could cover my standard rate? I told her what it was.

She wasn’t even fazed. Absolutely.

And what if I poke around and come to the same conclusion as the police have? I said. What if I conclude that Gunner’s guilty?

You won’t, she said. No one could believe that about Gunner.

Obviously, people do.

Yes, but they don’t know him, she said. If you want to start on the case, I’d insist that you come and meet him right away. Once you sit down and talk to him, you’d understand. There’s a… light deep within him. He’s good through and through. There’s no violence or hate in him.

I’d seen pictures of the guy on the news, and I had to admit that he was good looking. But the stuff that Laura was saying wasn’t convincing me that he was a good guy. Instead, it was raising my hackles. I didn’t like all that mystical stuff, and I wasn’t about to start worshiping a guy who’d been arrested for murder.

I shook my head. No, I think I’d rather start with the victim. I don’t know much about her, or about the details of her death. They’ve been keeping pretty quiet on that. That’s what I’ll need to know up front.

Does this mean you’ll take the case?

I took a deep breath. Let me dig around a little bit, okay? Let me see what I can find out before I make a decision like that.

She bit her lip. But if you could just meet Gunner—

I promise, if I take the case, I’ll meet him. Okay?

* * *

You know, said Brigit, my administrative assistant. I never thought that those Clayton people would ever hurt someone.

Me either, I said. We weren’t in the office. Instead, we were in a bar in downtown Renmawr, the town where we worked. We were sitting in the back of the room, tucked in the corner, so that I had a good view of the whole place. I was drinking a Miller High Life, because that was what I liked to drink. It was the champagne of beers, after all. I wasn’t much of a beer snob. I liked beer to be sort of… tasteless.

Brigit was drinking a hard cider. I mean, I sometimes ran into them at parties and stuff in college.

Really? I peered over her shoulder at the door of the bar. This bar was frequented by people from the Renmawr Police Department, and I was dead sure that the guy I was looking for would stop by. He had to. Because I thought Clayton was all drug free and sober and stuff. Clean living.

Oh yeah, she said. But they still would come out and hang out with the college kids. Not at the bars and stuff, but at the bonfires down by the river. They were always inviting people to come visit Clayton Farm.

Recruiting, I nodded. And they say they aren’t a cult.

Do you think they are? she said.

I kept my eye on the door. They’re not normal, that’s for sure. It’s some kind of commune, no matter how much they want to call it a nonprofit farming community or whatever they say it is.

Yeah, but they always seemed nice, said Brigit. I was kind of stunned when I found out that they were killing people.

Maybe they aren’t killing people, I said. That’s what I’m going to try to find out, I guess.

I don’t know, she said. I mean, the police proved it, right? This guy? What’s his name? Gunter?

Gunner, I said, still watching the doorway. A few people had just come in, but they were just uniforms, not the person I was waiting for. Did you ever meet him at a party?

No way, he’s old, she said, making a face.

I shot a glance at her. He’s not that old. I figured Gunner Bray was around forty. I looked back at the door.

You only think that because you’re old too, said Brigit.

I’m not old, I muttered. I was thirty-four. That wasn’t old.

Whatever, said Brigit. Anyway, he’s creepy. He had that whole big farm, and he was sending out his people to try to get college girls to come there. He probably had like a harem or something.

You think so? I was still watching the door. Another group had come in, but they didn’t seem to be cops.

Look, why are you staring at the door? said Brigit.

Hmm? I turned to her.

And why are we in a bar in Renmawr?

I shrugged. No reason.

Yeah, I don’t believe you, because the last time I asked you to come out and have a drink in town, you gave me this whole long lecture about how you didn’t want to drink here, because you might run into an old client, or you might run into someone that you arrested when you were a police officer, or you might run into people that you worked with at the police department, all of which hate you or something. She twisted in her chair. And this place is like full of cops. So what the hell, Ivy?

I might be, you know, looking for someone in particular.

Who? she said. That guy Pike? Your ex-boyfriend?

No, I said. I don’t want to see him. The mention of Miles Pike was almost enough in itself to put me in a bad mood. Pike and I had a… complicated relationship. We cared about each other, but we couldn’t make it work, due to our irreconcilable views on sex. He was an asexual virgin. I was probably what you’d call a nymphomaniac. It’s not a personal thing, Brigit. It’s about this case.

What case?

The Clayton thing.

I didn’t think you’d taken it yet.

I haven’t, I said. I just want to root around a little bit.

I don’t get it, she said.

You don’t have to, I said. The guy I was looking for had just walked through the door. I started unbuttoning my shirt. I unbuttoned it all the way down to expose my cleavage and a hint of my bra. Not that my bra was anything exciting. I was a simple kind of girl. I didn’t wear makeup. I didn’t use a curling iron on my hair. I didn’t wear uncomfortable lacy underwear. I didn’t need to do those kinds of things.

What are you doing? said Brigit.

I grinned at her. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right? I picked up my beer and upended it into my mouth. Then I stood up.

You’re leaving me here? She looked around the bar. I don’t know anyone here.

You were the one who wanted to come with me, I said. I was fine coming here alone.

She glared at me.

Have a good night, I said, and gave her a little wave. Then I made my way up to the front of the bar, where Porter Farley, the coroner for the department, was standing at the bar, squinting at the beers on tap.

I sidled up next to him, setting my bottle down on the bar. How about a shot?

He turned to me. Uh…

Hi, Porter. I smiled at him.

Ivy Stern, he said, swallowing. He let his gaze skim over my face and down to my cleavage, just like I’d known he would. He jerked his head away.

I grinned. Porter had always had a little bit of a thing for me, but I’d never wanted to play that game. He was married, and he tended to flirt a lot and then play innocent. Hide behind his marriage as if he’d done nothing wrong. I knew better. Porter was a pushover.

Or he would be, anyway. I was going to push tonight, and I’d never really pushed before.

Seriously, I said. I’m buying. What’s your poison? Whiskey? Vodka? Tequila?

He fiddled with the edges of his sleeves. I was just going to have a beer.

Oh, come on, I said. Live a little. Besides, I haven’t seen you in ages. Have a shot.

He gave me a nervous smile. It has been a while, hasn’t it?

My smile broadened. Miss me?

* * *

I had a little bit of a reputation when it came to the Renmawr Police Department, basically because I got fired for having sex.

Well, it wasn’t that cut and dry. They called it conduct unbecoming an officer and they were pissed because I was supposedly conducting an affair with a married man during work hours. But basically, what happened was that I had sex with this guy who was a lawyer in town and who was married to a court transcriptionist. I didn’t particularly want to have sex with him ever again, but he felt differently, so he kept texting me on my work cell phone. That was all the evidence the Internal Affairs guys needed, apparently.

That was the end of my career as a homicide detective, and the beginning of my sojourn as a private eye.

If I let myself think about it too long, I got pretty bitter about it. I didn’t think it was strictly fair. And I was convinced that if I’d been a man, this would never have happened. No matter what century this was, people were still uncomfortable with a woman who slept around.

Of course, the department threw around all kinds of bullshit. They said that I had a sex addiction and that my proclivities were getting in the way of my doing my job.

Whatever.

I didn’t have a sex addiction.

Really. I didn’t.

So, the point was that I had a reputation. I mean, hell, even before I got fired I had a little bit of a reputation. When I was on the force, I did my best not to get involved with guys I worked with, but sometimes, you know, it happened. I got drunk. They got drunk. It wasn’t like I had sex with the entire police force or anything. Maybe… I don’t know… ten of my co-workers or something.

Eight.

Whatever. The only reason I was going into this was because of Porter. See, Porter saw me as a certain kind of woman, and I was determined to play that role for him this evening. Sometimes, as a detective, I had to use every advantage that I had.

So, I plied Porter with a few shots of liquor. Not too many. (I didn’t want him getting whiskey dick on me, because I fully intended to seduce him.) But enough to loosen him up. He was a little shy at first, hesitant to talk to me. I was the scarlet woman of Renmawr, after all, and a lot of people were angry with me.

They didn’t like the fact that I’d slept with the transcriptionist’s husband. Her name was Melly, and everyone loved her, mostly because she made a lot of baked goods. They also didn’t like the fact that I’d cheated on Miles Pike, the homicide lieutenant. They didn’t understand that Pike and I had an understanding when we were together, and that I was allowed to sleep with other men. They just thought I was kind of a dirty ho or something.

Porter thought that too. But Porter was intrigued by it. He was disgusted too. He didn’t like me, not really. But he wanted me. I symbolized freedom to him.

It was ironic, I supposed. I didn’t feel free. Sometimes I felt like the desires controlled me. I felt the opposite of free. I felt trapped.

Not in the moment, though. In the moment, sex was freeing.

After pumping Porter full of just the right amount of alcohol, I asked him if he wanted to go on a walk with me. It was early spring, and the night air was just warm enough that we could wander around in the darkness and still feel comfortable.

We walked around the block, and I made a show of being cold, shivering and huddling inside my jacket.

You cold? said Porter. He was a bright one, wasn’t he?

A little bit. I smiled at him. I stopped walking.

He stopped moving too. He peered into my eyes. Man, it’s crazy to see you again, Ivy.

I backed up on the sidewalk, backed into the building, trapping myself—his body in front of me, the building behind.

His gaze swept my body.

I shivered again. Why is it crazy?

He was drunk, and his movements were exaggerated as he moved closer to me. I guess I just felt like… when you left… that there were things between us that were… unfinished.

I nodded. Yeah, I did too. That’s why it’s good too see you again.

"It is good to see you." His voice dropped several octaves, and he moved even closer.

I shivered again. I really am cold.

He looked into my eyes. You want to go back to the bar?

I shook my head. No, I like it just the two of us.

He swallowed. You know, Ivy, I don’t want you to get… ideas.

Ideas? I batted my eyelashes at him.

Just because we’re hanging out like this doesn’t mean that I’m going to…

Going to what?

You know I’m married.

Damn it. I shoved away from the building. Right. Okay, he was going to need more of a push. I sighed. It was stupid of me to think that you’d be attracted to someone like me anyway.

He laughed. I didn’t say I didn’t think you were attractive.

I patted him on the cheek. You’re sweet, Porter. I let out a long sigh. Look, forget it, okay? You think you could just walk me to my car?

Sure, he said.

We started back down the sidewalk. I made sure to stay very close, so that our shoulders brushed occasionally.

Porter didn’t pull away.

I glanced sidelong at him.

He was watching me as we walked.

I looked away, smiling a satisfied smile. Maybe he wouldn’t need much of a push after all.

When we got to my car, which was in a remote part of the parking lot behind the bar (Brigit had been really confused by my parking job, wondering why I was parking all the way back where I was), I made a show of stumbling over my feet, nearly falling down.

I stumbled right into Porter, forcing him to catch me, forcing us close, my body pressed into his, his hand clutching my arms to keep me upright.

Crap, I whispered. Maybe I’m a little drunker than I thought. I don’t know if I should drive.

He didn’t let go of me. You did put away a few shots in there. And you’re such a tiny thing.

That was nice to hear. I didn’t know if it was strictly true. I wasn’t overweight or anything, but I definitely wasn’t as thin as I’d been in my twenties. I grinned at him. Maybe if I just give it a little while? Would you sit with me until I seem sober?

Sit with you?

In the car, I said.

I don’t know, Ivy. He still hadn’t let go of me. I really should be getting home.

Not for long, I said. I pressed my body up against him. I squirmed a little bit, let him feel my breasts and hips move against his flesh.

He swallowed again. He closed his eyes.

Just for a little bit, I murmured. It would be a real favor.

He let out a shallow breath. The thing was that Porter expected me to be this sexual dynamo—someone who he couldn’t resist. That was my reputation, after all. So he didn’t much try to resist. It became a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.

We settled into the car. He didn’t protest again. Then we were sitting next to each other in the dark, both very close. I could hear the sound of his breath, and he sounded excited.

I put my hand on his knee. You know, I always wondered about you, Porter.

What do you mean? His voice was hoarse.

I mean, that I thought about you. I wondered what it would be like to… be close to you.

I could hear him swallowing in the darkness. He was nervous and guilty, but he was curious too.

My fingers traveled higher, over his thigh. Did you ever wonder about me?

Oh fuck, Ivy, he muttered.

My lips curved into another satisfied smile. I was pretty sure I had him.

I let my hand travel even higher. I ran my fingers over his crotch.

He groaned. He grabbed me, pulling me close, his mouth seeking mine in the darkness. His hands were inside my shirt, seeking the soft curves of my breasts, and I was lighting up, a fire was igniting inside my core.

I surrendered to his mouth and his touch.

And I reached over to the dashboard and switched on the camera I’d planted there.

CHAPTER TWO

Porter’s face was white. He wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore, and his pants were unzipped. I was in a similar state of undress. The sex had been good, which was a nice bonus, because it would have sucked to have crappy sex all in the service of blackmailing the coroner. He reached for the camera.

But I pulled it out of his grasp. I plugged it into my phone and hit a couple buttons. I’m backing up the video right now.

Why are you doing this? he said.

I want to see a body, I said. Tess Carver. You’re going to take me in to the morgue and show me her body and let me snoop through all the records you guys have on the murder. Or else I’m going to send this video to your wife.

Porter gave me a disgusted look. You bitch.

I shrugged. People have been known to say that about me.

Why didn’t you just ask me about the body? he said. Why’d you go through this whole game and act like you liked me?

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Porter. I know you. You’d never show me that body if I asked. And besides, I do like you. I really enjoyed fucking you. That thing you did with your tongue on my ear? That was nice.

He glared at me. Don’t patronize me.

I shrugged. It’s no secret I like sex, Porter. I’m not patronizing you.

He turned away from me, dragging a hand over his face. Fuck.

Listen, it’s not so bad. I’ll be in and out of the morgue. One hour, two hours, tops. Then you can go home and pretend this never happened.

If anyone finds out that I let you see the body of that girl, I’ll lose my job.

And if you don’t let me see the body of that girl, you’ll lose your marriage.

He slid down the seat. Fuck. I can’t believe I did this. He stared at his hands. If Liz ever found out…

Liz is your wife?

Don’t you say her name.

I rolled my eyes. Fine. I don’t give a shit about your wife. You’re the one who’s in love with her.

I must not be. His voice cracked. If I could do… this, then how much do I really care about her?

Oh, that’s a common misconception, I said. Lots of people do that. They think that if you cheat on someone, you stop loving them. Trust me, I make a living catching cheating spouses, and that’s not the case. People cheat for all kinds of reasons, and it’s only rarely because they don’t love the person that they’re married to anymore.

He shot me a venomous look. This supposed to make me feel better?

Take me to the morgue, I said.

* * *

Tess Carver’s last name seemed very unfortunate in light of what had been done to her body. I stood over the slab in the morgue, cocking my head from one side to the other as I took her in. What happened to her arms?

Porter was on on the opposite side of the slab. You said that you wanted to see the body. You didn’t say anything about picking my brain on the murder.

Okay. Well, apparently, he was still pissed off. Honestly, he’d lived up to his side of the bargain. It wasn’t as if Liz was going to find out about his indiscretions. Why was he in such a bad mood?

Tess had been dead for several days at this point. Her body was preserved by refrigeration, but she had been badly mutilated. There were marks carved into her arms. They looked deliberate, but they also looked sloppy. They didn’t seem to be representative of anything. They weren’t letters or pictures or anything. Still, the positioning of them suggested some kind of meaning. On one arm, she had two circles with a line going down through both of them, cutting it in half. On the other, three overlapping circles.

I pointed at one of them. These. What are they?

Porter raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

Oh, come on, I said. Give me something here.

Something? he said. I just brought you into the morgue after hours and showed you this body. I’m not supposed to do that. I’m taking a lot of risk here. So I think it’s pretty rich for you to demand that I give you something, when I’ve already given you—

All right, all right, I muttered. You think they’re symbols of some kind?

Maybe, he said. No one’s been able to identify them as of yet, though.

I smiled. See, now was that so hard?

Stop asking me questions, he said in a sullen voice. He turned away from the body and from me.

I started taking pictures of the symbols carved into Tess’s limbs.

Hey. He whirled back around. You didn’t say anything about photos.

Well, it’s not as if I can memorize this, I