Something Wikkid This Way Comes by Nicole Peeler Read Free Book Online

handbags while cleaning their offices. But, as usual, the effort was worth it.
    “Fernando’s on the move,” Moo says, frowning down at her laptop as I start up the Bronco. “He’s headed to town.”
    I drive down the block before turning on my lights, then race toward downtown Springfield. I admit I’ve always liked Fernando as a suspect. He’s too good-looking, too suave, too charismatic not to suspect in a case like this. And what’s he doing in Springfield anyway, teaching at a girls’ school? I know jobs in music education are rare these days, but still. He’s the Chicago type, not the Southern Illinois type.
    Following Moo’s tracker, we find Fernando at a fancy downtown restaurant. Peering through the door, we have a perfect view of his table. He looks gorgeous in a tailored black suit, and I wonder where he gets the money for those clothes. My eyes move to his companion. He’s sitting with a woman who might be his mother. She’s elegant and silver-haired, with an innate authority that has the waiters prancing around her, eager to please.
    I gesture to Moo to stay put as I look around. No one’s watching us, and I pull my glamour and camo around me. I wait until I can follow another couple that walks inside the restaurant, so no one wonders how the door opened by itself. Then I sidle carefully up to Fernando’s table, wondering what I’ll hear.
    It’s not what I expect. It rarely is.
    First of all, the woman isn’t Fernando’s mother. She’s a state senator, whom the solicitous host—who checks up on the couple constantly—calls Mrs. Campbell.
    Secondly, and more importantly, Fernando’s head over heels for her.
    “I love you,” Fernando says, for about the fifth time in a row. He sounds frustrated, adamant.
    The woman shakes her head. Fernando says it again.
    “You can’t,” she says. “You’re just a boy.”
    He laughs. “I’m thirty-five, for God’s sake.”
    “And I’m fifty-seven. I could be your mother.”
    “But you’re not my mother. And age doesn’t matter.”
    “You say that now.”
    “I’ll say it forever.”
    “What about those girls you work with? They’re closer to your age than you are to mine. They can offer you things I can’t.”
    “Like what?” Fernando scoffs.
    “Like youth. Children. A lifetime together.”
    “They offer me nothing. They’re not even women. It’s you I want.”
    The woman looks down to where Fernando’s taken her hand. Her eyes are wet; she’s holding back tears.
    “Why?” she asks.
    “Because you are what you are—because you’ve seen so much and done so much. You know who you are. I love your strength, your experience, your wisdom. I love that you’re not a girl. I love that you’re someone I can learn from. I don’t want a child; I want a woman.”
    Fernando sounds so sincere, because I suspect he is sincere. The passion in his voice and the expression on his face are too raw to be faked. He’s desperate, and desperately in love. He’s not off seducing young girls; he’s off trying to marry someone twenty years older than himself.
    Shit , I think. There goes my best suspect .
    I can’t be certain, of course, but we’ll do our homework the next day and check up on Mrs. Campbell’s schedule. But I’m pretty sure the senator will be able to fill the mysterious gaps in our Fernando’s alibis.
    Not bothering to find out if the woman reciprocates, I head outside to Moo. We’re done here.
    After I tell her what I heard, Moo and I are silent on the drive home. We swing by McEachern’s just in case, but he and Stacey are still sitting there, silhouetted perfectly in the picture window.
    I’m stupidly frustrated by the time we get back to the hotel, so I’m not too pleased to find Shar lying on the bed in my room. We have a suite, but there she is in my space, reeking of sex and Ed Hardy perfume. I’m about to yell at her when I take a deep breath and smell something else.
    Blood.
    Shar’s sitting up, watching my