Accidentally Demonic (3 page)

Or a brutal serial killer.

Whichever came first.

Yet those moments she’d only heard bits and pieces of as they were booking her remained a complete blur. The only thing she did remember was the aftermath. The aftermath that included hog-tying her and hurling her like a sack of potatoes into the back of a police car while Lola and Lita stood mortified on the outskirts of the biggest crowd she’d seen since the last Flock Of Seagulls concert she’d gone to as a teenager.

“Casey? Care to explain that statement?” Wanda pressed, giving the visitors area the once-over with a scathing glance. “Because here you are. In jail not remembering how you got here.”

“Here I am,” she confirmed. In jail. To say anything else, to defend herself without all the details, would just be stupid. She’d clearly blacked out, but the how and why was a big, honkin’ blank.

“Did you have a drink?” Marty asked, her eyes warm and clear with concern. “I read an article a long time ago about how dangerous it can be to set one down in a bar. Freaks put all sorts of things in them—like maybe psychotropic drugs or something. You can’t ever be too careful these days.”

“I didn’t have anything to drink,” Casey said, thwarting that idea. There was never enough time to do anything as self- indulgent as get your own drink when you were too busy finding the best champagne in the house for the demon twins.

Wanda’s one hand went instantly to Casey’s forehead, prying one of her eyes wide-open with the other to gaze into it. “Did you hit your head? Are you having some kind of neurological issues you haven’t told me about?”

She shrugged off her sister’s fingers, forcing down her irritation. “No.”

“No,” Wanda repeated plainly. “That’s all you have. Just no.”

Yep. That about sized it up. “Yes.”

Nina stuck her head between the two of them. “Am I outta line here or would it be too much to ask you two to worry about the explanations and memory recon missions later? You know, after we get the fuck out of here,” Wanda’s friend Nina said, saving Casey from having to offer any further explanations. “I hate to rub salt in the wound, but we are in the slammer. And I’m not much likin’ the seedy dude over there in the corner who, if he keeps eyeing my booty and thinking the shit he’s thinking, is gonna be pulling my fist from his throat by way of his ass. I know I said I’d almost rather do anything than go to that fucking spa slash B and B with you two wing nuts, but this wasn’t high on my list. So can the interrogation, Wanda, and let’s get Casey home before I beat the fucking snot out of that freak.”

Wanda gave Casey one last sympathetic glance before she nodded her head in agreement. “For once, Nina, you have a point. They have to out-process you or something police-ish like that, is what I’m told. Paperwork, I guess. We’ll meet you out in front of the
jail
,” she said with intended emphasis. “In the parking lot.”

Casey watched her sister tuck her purse between her arm and side, her short, quick steps brisk and efficient as she and her friends exited the visiting area’s locked doors. Just as Nina passed the “seedy dude,” she leaned in with a narrow gaze of her black eyes, letting loose an odd, menacing sound from her throat.

A shiver ran the course of her spine.

The Nina chick was scary.

How she’d become friends with her sister, meek and about as confrontational as Mother Teresa, escaped her.

When she broke out of the big house, Casey made a mental note to make nice with the scary chick at all costs.

 

 

“OFFICER?”

“If you’re here ta file a complaint, sit over there.” The police officer pointed a finger to the left without looking up, his Brooklyn accent distinct. “If you’re here ta bail somebody out”—he thumbed over his shoulder—“it’s the room on the right.”

Clayton Gunnersson stuck his hand under the officer’s nose, giving him a cheerful grin. “I’m not here to file a complaint.”

“Then it’s the room on da right, buddy,” he offered distractedly.

“Actually, I was wondering if the Unabomber has visiting hours. I baked a cake for him. Chocolate. It’s his favorite.”

The officer’s head snapped upward, eyeing Clayton. “Yer a funny guy.”

“Now that I have your attention, I’m not sure exactly where I need to be. So before I take door number one or two, I was hoping you could help me.”

“Look, pal . . .” He drifted off when Clay captured his eyes, holding them in a stare.

Clayton leaned over the high desktop and smiled. “I only need a moment of your time. Promise. I’m looking for someone who was involved in an incident at Crimson Lips. I don’t have her name, but there was only one arrest, so it shouldn’t be difficult to locate her.”

The policeman began to move his head in an “absolutely not” fashion, but Clayton caught him, directing his attention back to his eyes. “Nuh-uh-uh, now, don’t go all rules and regulations with me. Be nice and help a guy out. Ready?” Clay motioned his fingers up and down, and the officer’s head followed with obedience. “Nice. Now, where’s the girl who was arrested at Crimson Lips?”

His eyes were shiny and glazed, but his lips moved in a sluggish response. “Posted bail—her sister, I think.”

Clay smiled once more with approval. “Excellent. And what’s the young lady’s name and address?”

“I can’t give you that inf—”

Clayton gave him a mock pout. “Oh, Officer Kilpatrick, you do know it’s pointless to deny me, don’t you?”

Kilpatrick nodded, transfixed by Clayton’s stare.

“Perfect. Now, do me this—look it up on your computer, and then write it down on one of those sticky things for me. I forget a lot lately, and this is important.” Clay pointed to the stack of sticky notes, his eyes never leaving the officer’s face. “Use a yellow one, please.”

Officer Kilpatrick gave him no trouble at all, typing in a few words, then transferring the information to the sticky note Clay requested. He took the note from him, sticking it to the front of his jacket and holding it out to show Kilpatrick. “So I’ll remember.”

He nodded again, slow and wooden.

Clay reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good egg, Officer Kilpatrick.”

Looking down at his shirt, he glanced at her name, saying it with a silent movement of his lips, then cringed.

He’d done a bad, bad thing.

With a grimace, he pondered this Casey Louise Schwartz.

She was in for a surprise.

Though the throwing of confetti was probably inappropriate.

CHAPTER 2

Casey led the women to her apartment off the main living quarters and though they remained silent for the most part, the occasional grunt from Nina bounced off the cavernous walls of the Castalano residence.

“Nice digs out there,” Nina commented with a thumb over her shoulder as Casey flipped the light on, illuminating her small living room.

Marty set her purse on the coffee table. “Wanda? Did you see the Picasso? I think it’s real. Like, really
real
.”

“It is,” Casey confirmed, flopping on the couch, drawing a worn blanket over her shoulders. “Worth millions, I think.”

Nina snorted. “That big-assed thing hanging in the hallway? It looks like a kindergartner finger painted it after slam- dunking too many gummy bears.”

Marty sat on the arm of the chair Nina had positioned herself in and flicked Nina’s dark hair. “You’re such a heathen, Nina. You wouldn’t know real art from the pictures in a comic book.”

In anticipation of Nina’s response, Wanda raised a threatening finger. “Shut. It.” She turned to Casey, tucking the corners of the blanket under her chin. “Now, what do you say we talk about how you landed in the pokey?”

A groan escaped her lips. How could she possibly explain to Wanda that she had absolutely no clue how she’d found herself in jail? How could she explain threatening an officer of the law if she didn’t remember doing it? In fact, she only remembered what happened just before she’d apparently offered to kill an innocent man, and she was so embarrassed by the lengths she’d gone to protect Lola and Lita, she for sure didn’t want Wanda to know what she’d been trying to prevent before she’d blacked out. When she finally spoke, her shame kept her words simple. “Let’s not.”

“All right, then. How about we talk about what’s all over your shirt?” Wanda pulled apart either side of the blanket to point at the angry, dark splotch on her white, tailored blouse. “It looks like blood, Case. So what is it?”

The proverbial broken record continued to play when she repeated, “I—I—”

“Don’t know,” Wanda finished in that uppity older-sister tone. “Right. Got that part. If you don’t know what happened—and blood was involved—I hate to be the one to point this out, but that’s a pretty big ‘I don’t know.’ Blood was shed, Casey.You know, the stuff that runs in your veins or, say perhaps, drips from your finger when you have an owie. From the looks of your shirt, there was a lot of it, too. How could that have happened without your knowing? There were witnesses who
identified
you. People in the bar who saw you accost this officer ‘like you were possessed,’ as one man described it. It’s obvious we need to talk.”

Indeed. Talking would be fine, but pointless if she couldn’t remember a damned thing about how she got blood on her shirt. Plus, she just didn’t know if she had any words left in her to talk with. She’d been up all night, hovering in the corner of a damp cell filled with angry hookers and female knockoffs of the Zodiac Killer. All while she gnawed her nails to their cuticles, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. “There’s nothing to explain,” she said once more, for lack of anything valuable to offer.

Wanda pursed her lips. “Um, wasn’t it just me who paid a butt-load of money to get you out of jail? It costs a lot of money for the kind of bail you’re given when you
assault
an off-duty officer and end up in jail.
Jail
, Casey Louise Schwartz. I think I deserve at least an attempt at an explanation.”

Which seemed to be the ever-elusive most popular quest of the day. An explanation. “If I don’t have one, then I can’t give you one, Wanda.” Which was a very logical answer, considering her very illogical position. She avoided her sister’s eyes by scrunching farther into the couch and bowing her head, then found herself face-to-face with the ugly stain on her shirt. How she’d missed that when they’d out-processed her could only be chalked up to exhaustion.

Wanda wasn’t buying it. Her eyes grew determined and her tone no-nonsense. “How could you not have an explanation for being arrested? What happened before you beat the off- duty officer up?”

Cutting Wanda off, Nina snorted with a grin she obviously fought. “And threatened to sacrifice some organ or other while you fed it to a sheep. Believe me, I don’t say this often, kiddo, but I’m not worthy of your kind of creative threats. You da man.” She tilted her head at Casey in apparent admiration.

Marty slapped at Nina’s black leather-clad shoulder again. “That was not what they told us at the police station, mouth. They said she threatened to sacrifice his heart in some satanic ritual that involved sheep. God, Nina, get the facts straight. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

Her mortification made her slide to the edge of the couch, preparing for a quick exit if necessary. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. It
was
true. What those police officers had said was accurate. A farm animal? She didn’t know the first thing about farm animals. The only pet she’d ever had—still had—was a goldfish, for shit’s sake. Not to mention the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about satanic rituals.

This had to be some huge mistake. Huge. Ginormous. Monumental. A disastrous case of mistaken identity.

“And please don’t embarrass yourself by telling me there must be some mistake,” Wanda said, reading her mind.

Hookay. No denial. Instead, she opted for more uncomfortable silence while each of the women stared her down, waiting.

A knock at her door almost made her sigh with relief until she realized it would probably be her boss, who would no doubt fire her. After last night, she shouldn’t much care, but there was the issue of eating. Something she sort of needed to do if she hoped to get all crazy and not
starve to death
.

Casey popped up, racing to the door as fast as her loafer-clad feet would carry her. She cracked it open to peer out only to have Lola, reed thin and dressed in a tight, pink belly sweater, shove her way in. “Omigod, Casey! Thank God you’re okay!”

Crap. She didn’t want Wanda to know the kind of degradation she suffered chasing after her employer’s grown children like she lived in servitude. And she sure as shit didn’t want her to know what had happened before she’d suddenly become a candidate for Amnesiacs Anonymous.

“Yeah,” Lola’s twin, Lita, dressed identically, agreed, stroking the ends of her thick, platinum blond ponytail. “We were soooo worried about you.”

Huh. Last time she’d checked, when you were worried, you didn’t let the cops drag the person you were worried about off like a hog to slaughter without saying word one about
why
the worried for had done this heinous thing she’d done and she couldn’t remember. However, instead of losing her cool, she did what she always did, no matter the trouble the twins caused—even if the trouble now had involved her. She stared blankly at them and waited. It always freaked them out when she expected them to complete a sentence.

Lola played with the earring in her eyebrow, nary an ounce of remorse on her face. “We totally couldn’t believe you were encapsulated.”

Someday she was going to handcuff these two to a chair and force them to read the dictionary. Every frickin’ word. “
Incarcerated
. I was incarcerated, and no, I’m sure seeing me pepper sprayed and handcuffed wouldn’t tip you off that maybe, just maybe, I might be
incarcerated
.” Casey clamped her lips shut to keep from going any further. Again, the eating issue, and maybe even the fear of ending up in a homeless shelter, kept her silent.