Stacy Justice 05 - Obsidian Curse by Barbra Annino

Author:Barbra Annino [Annino, Barbra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2014-05-13T04:00:00+00:00

Leo was visibly conflicted when we left his office, but he gave us the report anyway, along with the crime scene photos. Blade gave Leo the note and told him about the shots through my window. He wasn’t too happy about being lied to, but Blade was able to smooth things over with the promise of free signed copies of all his books for life. Leo said he’d be at my place as soon as he could to investigate the “vandalism.”

Back at the cottage, Blade and I spread the photos out on the counter and I looked at those while Blade read the report. There were a few suspects. A handyman who had installed a deck on the back of the home, two petty criminals, and a man who Blade’s father had gotten into a heated altercation with at a local sporting event. All of them had alibied out.

I said to Blade, “Did the police know if the hammer that was used belonged to your parents?”

He flipped through the pages of the report. After a minute, he shook his head. “It doesn’t say. No fingerprints were found on it, though.”

“So it was either wiped clean or the killer wore gloves.”

“Looks that way.”

“Hmm,” I said.

Blade tossed me a glance “What are you thinking?”

“If I were going to kill someone in their own home, I wouldn’t bring a hammer to do it, would you?”

Blade got my meaning. “No. I’d bring a gun, maybe a knife.” He thought for a moment. “So it had to be in the room. It had to belong to my parents.”

“Right. And your mother was an artist. Your dad was struck from behind, so maybe he was hanging a picture.”

“Which means it could have been a weapon of convenience. Maybe they knew the person. Invited whoever it was in while they were in the middle of hanging some artwork.” He thought for a moment, walked over to the far wall where a photo hung of my parents. He twisted his neck to face me. “Do you have a hammer?”

There was one in the junk drawer in the kitchen. I grabbed it and handed it to him.

Blade took the hammer and stood in front of the picture. “I’m about my dad’s height, so if I were hanging a painting, I’d take the nail about here”—he pretended to hold a nail up—“and then swing like this.” He feigned hammering a nail into the wall. “Now, the doorbell rings.” He paused and looked at me.

I ran to the cottage door, opened it, and reached around to press the bell.

“Come in,” Blade said, still holding the hammer.

I did.

“So maybe they talk for a while. Dad insists he doesn’t have whatever the killer was looking for. The killer gets angry. Decides to try to find whatever it is, steal it, but in order to do that, my parents have to die.” He looked at the wall, feigned hammering a nail. “Now step behind me and try to grab the hammer.”

I tried, but I couldn’t reach.

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