The Unknown Beloved(42)

The Butcher killed the people he killed because he could. Because no one would really care if they were gone. And after Andrassy, he’d never made the same mistake again; he’d never killed anyone with a family who might come looking for them, raise a fuss, or even know they were missing.

No, the murders weren’t about the victims. Malone was convinced the murders were about the killer himself.





10


Malone put the lists away, needing space and perspective, but he didn’t want to sleep. Instead, he took out his gun and the rifle he’d brought back from France. It’d been at Molly’s with his suits, and he’d brought it along for the hell of it. He hung his white dress shirt to keep it from getting stained and sat in his trousers and his undershirt, taking his weapons apart before he cleaned and reassembled them. He put his revolver away but took his rifle apart and reassembled it once more, this time faster. It was something they’d done in the army. It narrowed his focus and emptied his head, allowing him to stew without thinking and relax without drinking. He hadn’t held the rifle in years, and he enjoyed getting reacquainted.

Snap, click, click, snap. Crack, snap, bang, smack. He repeated the process over and over again until a tapping at his door pulled him out of his rhythm. He put down the rifle and checked his timepiece with a frown.

It was midnight.

The tapping came again. He rose, walked to the door, and opened it reluctantly. His suspenders were still keeping his pants up, but his undershirt was a little informal for company.

Dani stood on the other side, covered from neck to toe in a pale blue dressing gown, even more informal than he was. Charlie the cat was in her arms, a witch and her familiar with matching gazes.

“Do you think you might be done soon?” she asked hesitantly. Her hair was a tangle of coppery curls, and he was reminded of the girl who’d greeted him the morning after her parents died. Her multicolored eyes had been just as heavy then, and he felt instant remorse. Her room was above his, and he hadn’t tried to be quiet.

“I’ve kept you awake, haven’t I?” he asked. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded, acknowledging his apology, and turned to go back up the stairs. The cat had other ideas. He bounded from her arms, shot through the open door, and disappeared under Malone’s bed.

“Charlie,” Dani groaned, her arms falling to her sides.

“I’ll get him,” Malone said, but when he kneeled down and peered beneath the bed, he couldn’t make out a thing, and the cat didn’t budge. When Dani knelt beside him and tried to coax the stubborn beast to come, cooing into the darkness, Charlie ignored her too.

“He goes wherever he pleases. I’m sorry.” Dani sighed. “If I don’t get him now, he’ll yowl at your door in a few hours, demanding to be let out.”

That sounded unpleasant. Malone wouldn’t sleep a wink if the cat was in his room. The cat reminded him a little of Zuzana.

“You could sleep with your door open,” Dani suggested. “Then he could just let himself out.”

No. He couldn’t. He pictured Margaret arriving in the morning and watching him sleep, that is if he was able to sleep at all. He did not go to bed with his door open. Ever. He tried fishing the cat out once more. When he was unsuccessful, he got his rifle and used it to extend his reach. He got nothing for his trouble but a stiff neck and squeals of protest from Dani.

“I’m not going to shoot him, Dani. I just want him to get out of my room.”

Dani left and came back later with a bowl filled with cream. She set it down on the floor and tapped a spoon against the side, trying to lure the cat with food, but the cat ignored her kindness and Malone’s threats and stayed put.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “This is new for all of us. He’s been spoiled all of his life and had full run of the house.”

He stood and put his rifle away, tidying his space and retreating to the bathroom to ready himself for bed. When he returned, washed, with a fresh undershirt beneath his suspenders, Dani was still sitting by his bed, her legs folded beneath her, her head against the side. She looked tumbled and tired and a little too young, in her dressing gown and bare feet, for his comfort.

He turned the chair at his desk toward her and sat down, his elbows to his knees, his hands clasped.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll let him out when he decides to show himself.”

She’d seen his hesitation before and could not be convinced that he was sincere.

“Do you have work to do?” she asked. “I’ll just sit here quietly while you do it. Or . . . if you’re tired, I’ll come back in an hour or so and check on him. I’ll just open the door a little, and if he doesn’t come, I’ll try again an hour after that.”

“You know this is ridiculous, right?”

“I really am sorry,” she said, but she didn’t go, and for a moment silence fell between them.

“Why are you still here, Dani?” he asked softly.

She frowned at him, not understanding, and he clarified his meaning.

“Why do you live with your aunts? Don’t you want a home of your own? You’re a beautiful woman. Charlie can’t be the only man in your life. Surely you’ve had a string of young men lined up for your attention.”