Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Time moved both slow and fast and then not at all. State police and the Bay City detectives arrived about the same time; forensics and the medical examiner shortly after. They had to drag me out of the greenhouse. My head spun with the blur of red and blue lights while they asked a million questions that all sounded the same. My answers were no better. Through it all, Desirae barely left my side.

"We'll know more by the morning, Kirby."

Her voice lifted my head from my hands. At some point, she'd coaxed me into the truck. Beyond the windshield, dark water rippled against the ghostly pale glow of the boats along their slips. We were back at the marina already.

"What happens next?" I asked. "With Miles?"

"Once the ME is done with their investigation, they'll release Miles to whichever funeral home their family chooses."

"Chapman's is the only one in town now." I shook my head, trying to clear it. "Miles is Persian. Their family will want them to go to the mosque." I thought about going to visit their grandma to tell her myself, but remembered what Pino had said about Nanna, how heartbreaking it was to have to keep telling her that Artie was gone.

"Chapman's?" Desirae repeated. "Any relation to Cora?"

"Her parents." My head continued to pound. I cranked the window down to let the night air into my lungs. "You said Greg was tracking Cora down, did he find her?"

She hesitated to answer. "I haven't heard from him."

I leaned my head back into the leather headrest and stared up into the ripped fabric of the truck's roof. "If I had gotten there sooner, I could've done something."

Her hand left the gear shift and softly cupped my leg. "Don't do that to yourself."

"It's true." My voice caught in the back of my throat, but no more tears flooded my eyes. My whole body felt drained. "I wasted time trying to avoid the past when I should've just been honest from the beginning. Instead of running from the truth, I could've gotten to the greenhouse in time."

"Kirby, if you'd have gotten there sooner, you'd be strung up with Miles. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but these tableaus are no longer coincidences. Whoever is doing this is deliberately targeting the models who were featured along the museum banners—which means you. And my gut is telling me you've been the main target all along, even if BCPD and Greg don't see it."

"Me?" I turned my head to face her, but couldn't read her expression in the dark. "Why?"

"Please just trust me when I say you're safer if you don't know. Until I have something concrete."

My arms folded against my stomach as I angled away from her to look out the window.

"Whoever is doing this is escalating, but I think you interrupted them this time." Her thumb rubbed against my skin as she thought out loud. "The scene looked rushed, definitely unfinished compared to the first two. And the first two were already embalmed. This was..."

"Fresh?" I mumbled, glancing back at her. "I don't get it Des. Nothing was out of place, other than the plants being moved and the painting was missing. It didn't look like Miles put up a fight and they definitely would have. I've seen them knockout a six-foot MAGA jagoff long before they even transitioned. This had to have been someone they knew. The client they mentioned, maybe."

Desirae hummed in agreement. "Which is exactly why I don't buy Greg's theory that these murders are some mob-related scare tactic. Yes, I've seen elaborate murder scenes from gangs, my husband's included, but these setups are different. Too personal. Screaming for attention. But Greg and BCPD think it's one of the local groups disgracing Artemisia's paintings to get to her father. Apparently, he came home early."