Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (37 page)

I let out a short, bemused snort. “It’s a black
swan.”

“No,” he replied. “Like I just told ya’, it’s
unrelated. Nothin’ ta’ do with this whole deal as far as they can
tell.”

“I know,” I explained. “I don’t mean what you’re
thinking. Black swan is a label given to a theory of improbability
regarding unexpected, hard to predict, high impact events that are
beyond the normal expectations or assumptions.

“We assumed Judith had fallen prey to this
particular killer because she fit the victim profile and because of
the time frame in which she went missing. It made sense. However,
we couldn’t predict that she would in reality be the victim of a
wholly different, but no less heinous crime… Her death is more or
less a black swan.”

“Yeah, well, call it whatever ya’ want, it’s still a
friggin’ homicide.”

“Has anyone told Barbara?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “A coupl’a minutes ago. She ain’t
takin’ it too well, but then, who would…”

“Nobody with a heart.”

“Yeah… So about that whole swan
thing… Ya’ think maybe the
Twilight
Zone
was tryin’ ta’ tell ya’ about
somethin’ else besides our Count Dracula wannabe in there? Maybe
warn ya’ about Albright?”

“I wish I knew…” I mumbled. “All I can say is that
this particular juxtaposition of reality and the ethereal
definitely gives me something else to make my head hurt…”

“Yeah… Well… Sorry about that.”

“I’ll get over it… I hope.”

“Well, maybe this’ll help a bit,” he offered. “The
crime scene guys cleared up one of Doc Sanders’ mysteries. Found a
pair of slip joint pliers with fake vampire teeth epoxied to ‘em.
Pretty much explains the postmortem bite marks with no DNA.”

“Yeah, I guess it does…” I muttered.

“Found a boom-box with a CD of weird-ass chanting in
it too,” he added. “That’d prob’ly cover what ya’ thought ya’ heard
back at the morgue.”

I sighed but didn’t verbally respond.

“You sure you’re okay, white man?” he asked
again.

Eventually I breathed, “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he replied then paused for
a second. “So, what’re you two starin’ at?”

“The moon, Ben,” my wife told him.

“Yeah, what about it? It about ta’ crash into us or
somethin’?”

“Take a good look at it,” she answered.

He was quiet for a moment then said, “Okay, it’s a
full moon. That’s like a big deal for you or somethin’, right?”

“You don’t notice anything else?”

He shrugged with the tone of his voice. “It looks
kinda red and the one edge is kinda dark, so? Fuckin’ air pollution
and clouds.”

“No,” I said. “It’s actually a partial lunar
eclipse.”

“No shit?” he mumbled.

“No shit,” Felicity replied.

“That kinda rare or somethin’?”

“What rock have you been living under?” she asked.
“It happens anywhere from two to five times each year.”

“Hey, the moon crap is your thing, not mine. But if
it’s that common, what’s the big effin’ deal?”

Still staring upward I asked, “Would you like to
know what else it’s called, Ben?”

“Lemme guess, the moon?” he replied with audible
sarcasm.

“A
blood
moon,” I said.

He was quiet for several heartbeats before he
muttered, “Fuck me…”

“Yeah. That’s closer to the words I had picked out,”
I replied.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “So it’s weird and all, but
coincidences happen. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Maybe…”

“You don’t think it is?”

“I really can’t say,” I told him. “But the
alternative isn’t a pretty thought.”

“You’re soundin’ all doom and gloom there, white
man.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“You absolutely certain he’s okay, Firehair?” he
asked after a substantial pause.

“He’s just tired, Ben,” she answered. “Like he said,
it’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, no shit. Speakin’ of which, are you two ready
to get outta here? I can get ya’ a ride.”

“You’re staying?” Felicity asked.

“Kinda hafta,” he told her. “But you two are free
and clear. And if ya’ wanna just head straight home, I can make a
call, and I’m sure your Jeep will be fine till tomorrow
mornin’.”

“Aye, I think maybe that would be a good idea.”

“Well c’mon,” he said. “I’ll get ya’ hooked up.”

I found it hard to tear my eyes away from the
blushing disk in the sky, but after Felicity tugged at my arm for a
second time, I dropped my gaze and followed her. As we crossed the
yard, skirting past the county medical examiner on his way in to
retrieve the bodies, our path intersected with Sergeant
Madden’s.

“Were you watching the eclipse?” she asked.

“Yes,” Felicity answered for the both of us,
glancing up at it then back to the officer.

Madden glanced upward quickly as well and then back
to us. “My kid is doing a paper on it for school,” she offered
before clucking her tongue and regarding us with a quizzical look
dressing her features. “You know, maybe it’s none of my business,
you being with Major Case and all, but mind if I ask exactly what
kind of consultants you two are?”

“Independent,” I said, giving her the first mundane
word that came to mind. “I’m afraid what we do is a little hard to
explain.”

She cocked her head to the side and gave me a hard
look. Then, like the state trooper had done back at the rest area,
she stared at the ground for a second as she twice repeated my
name, as much to herself as us. Looking back up at my face with
recognition flashing in her eyes, she slowly shook a finger at
me.

“Wait… Rowan Gant. I knew I’d heard that name
before. You’re the…”

Psychic… Witch… Neither of the labels really
mattered to me right now. So I cut her off before either word could
pass her lips, and with a lifetime’s worth of weariness creeping
into my voice I said, “Yeah. Whether I like it or not, apparently I
am.”

Friday, April 21

7:49 P.M.

Flipdoodles Restaurant

Delmar Loop

University City, Missouri

“What the hell kinda name is Flipdoodles?” Ben
asked.

“Ben!” Constance quietly admonished, reaching to the
side and slapping him on the shoulder.

“What?” my friend replied, raising his eyebrows and
splaying out his hands in surrender. “I’m just askin’ a
question.”

This was the first time we had been out with the
petite FBI agent since the shooting in December that had left her
in critical condition for a time. She was healed for the most part
and back to work now. The Bureau had her on desk duty for the time
being, but considering how amazingly well she seemed to be doing I
seriously doubted the assignment would be permanent.

“You’re really looking good, Constance,” I said,
picking up my drink and raising it toward her. “Here’s to your
continued health.”

“
Slainté
,” Felicity said, picking up
her drink as well.

“Thank you,” Mandalay said with a smile after
joining us in the toast, then brushed a shock of brunette hair back
from her eyes as she settled her tumbler back to the table. “I’m
feeling good. I still tire a bit quicker than I used to, but I’m
getting stronger. I really think getting back to work has
helped.”

“I was actually surprised you went back so soon,” I
commented.

“I had to,” she replied. “I was going stir
crazy.”

“I heard. You know, we were pretty worried about you
there for a while.”

“Aye,” Felicity agreed. “And I don’t know how I can
ever repay you for what you did for me.”

Constance blushed slightly and shook her head. “You
don’t owe me anything, Felicity. It’s my job. I’m just happy you
weren’t injured. And, it’s good to see you back to your normal
self.”

“Here-here,” Ben announced, lifting his glass and
taking a swig. As he set it back on the table, he looked at us
quizzically. “So… you gonna answer my question or just fawn over
the Feeb?”

“You don’t think she deserves it?” I asked.

“Dunno. She’s startin’ ta’ get a bit demanding.
Don’t wanna feed the attitude, or she might start actin’ too much
like Firehair.”

Mandalay gave him another slap and he jokingly
smirked.

“It’s really just a nonsense name, Ben,” Felicity
told him as she shrugged. “It’s what Ailleagan wanted to call the
place. I like it. It’s fun.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Fun. And that just begs the
follow-up question—what the hell kinda name is Ale-again? Sounds
like someone orderin’ another round at a old timey bar.”

“For your information, it’s Gaelic,” my wife
replied. “It means gem or jewel.”

“Then why doesn’t she just call ‘erself Jewel?”

“Because her name is Ailleagan,” Felicity said. “Not
Jewel.”

“Yeah… So I take it she’s a foreigner like you?” he
quipped.

“I’ll have you know I was born in the United States,
and I maintain dual citizenship.”

“Can’t make up your mind, eh?”

“Don’t make me kick you.”

“Ya’ already did as I recall. Still got a
bruise.”

“
Cac
capaill
. You do not. But I’ll be delighted
to give you one. Maybe two or three if you keep it up.”

“Yeah, whatever. So, anyway, when ya’ get right down
to it, you’re all just a bunch of foreigners, ain’t ya’?” He
grinned and thrust his thumbs back at himself. “I’m the only one
that really belongs here.”

“For someone who denies his heritage on a regular
basis, you sure like to play that Native American card when it
suits you,” I chuckled.

“Whatever works, white man,” he said with a wider
grin then looked around the restaurant and gestured. “So are we
ever gonna get some menus or what?”

“No,” Felicity replied.

“Whaddaya mean no?”

My wife simply smiled and left him twisting in the
wind, so I explained. “They don’t do menus here, Ben. They plan a
meal for the evening and that’s what you get.”

He regarded me with a confused expression.
“Bullshit. Very funny.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Aye, he is,” Felicity added. “Look around. Doesn’t
it look to you like everyone is eating the same thing?”

He gave the dining room another glance then faced us
again and cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, well seems ta’ be a whole lotta
big groups here tonight. They prob’ly got some kinda deal or
somethin’.”

“Actually, they probably aren’t big groups,” my wife
explained waving her finger around. “Normally you just sit wherever
there’s space and eat with everyone else. The only reason we have
this smaller table is because I know how you are, and I asked
Ailleagan for a favor.” She sat back and regarded him with a faux
smug expression. “So, the way I see it, you owe me.”

“Uh-huh. Right. We coulda’ just gone someplace else,
ya’know,” he replied.

“It wouldn’t be as good.”

“Yeah, back ta’ that. So you’re really tellin’ me I
don’t get ta’ order what I want?”

“Correct,” I replied. “But, you get the pleasure of
eating what they serve you.”

“That’s just great,” he snorted. “So what if it’s
somethin’ I don’t wanna eat?”

“Then I guess you go hungry,” Constance
interjected.

“I’ve never been disappointed by a meal here, Ben,”
I replied. “Seriously. Ailleagan is an amazing chef.”

“Don’t worry,” Felicity spoke up. “When I called
this afternoon I asked what she was making. They’re serving Spring
Chicken Wellington tonight. It’s her signature dish, and it’s
absolutely wonderful.”

“Yeah, says you, but is it gonna have somethin’ in
it I don’t like?”

Constance shook her head. “Who knows when it comes
to you.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he objected. “There’s just some
stuff I don’t wanna eat.”

“Unless it’s a donut?” I asked.

“Yeah, right. Very funny.”

“Or anything that isn’t a hamburger or a pizza?”
Mandalay quipped.

“Not true. Now you’re makin’ me sound finicky.”

“You are.”

“Yeah, so what about you, Little Miss
Sprouts-and-Tofu?”

I chuckled again. “I see the two of you are getting
along just as well as usual.”

“Yeah, well I’m cuttin’ ‘er some slack, ya’know,”
Ben replied.

“I think I’m the one cutting someone slack here,”
she countered. “I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t asked
them if they want to see my scars.” She waited a beat then added,
“Yet.”

Felicity looked at her with a mildly stunned
expression. “He did that?”

“Just once, so far,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
“And he was talking to my SAC no less.”

“Ben!” my wife scolded. “That’s just
insensitive.”

“Feebs got no sense of humor,” he returned.

“I didn’t shoot you, did I?” Constance asked.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ben chuckled.

“So, Constance,” Felicity said, leaning across the
table toward her. “If you don’t happen to have any duct tape handy,
in a pinch a washcloth and a nylon scarf make an excellent
gag.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled.

“Yeah, you would know somethin’ like that, wouldn’t
ya’?” my friend said.

“I can’t imagine you’re surprised,” my wife told
him.

“I’m not, but you both know I ain’t inta’ that kinky
shit,” he huffed.

“Are we embarrassing you?” Constance asked.

“Yes.” He emphasized the terse answer.

“Good,” she replied with a wicked grin. “If we keep
it up maybe I’ll be even with you by next year.”

“Uh-huh,” he grumbled. “So can we talk about
somethin’ else?”

“Okay, what would you like to talk about?” she
asked.

“Well, you comedians never did tell me what was in
this spring chicken thing…”