The Infernal Detective Sample Chapter

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THE Infernal DETECTIVE

Kirsten Weiss

The Infernal

Detective


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Chapter 1

Riga checked her watch.It was thirteen oclock, and her feet hurt.Shed never liked high heels, shouldnt have

worn the over-priced, strappy black pumps. Rigahad been almost relieved when one of the heelssnapped, relieved for the excuse to slip upstairs,

relieved to escape.A roar of laughter, punctuated by shattering

glass. On the stairway, Riga winced, the reliefevaporating. A week to the wedding and shedalready begun to feel proprietary about his things,their new lake house. But the crash was likely only a

wine glass, and Donovan they could afford itFrowning, she looked again at her watch.Nine forty-seven.Riga rubbed her eyes. She had imagined the

thirteen oclock. It wasnt an omen, a portent.She limped up the steps, dangling the broken

pump from one hand, the other hand grasping thehem of her gown, a sweep of formfitting black lace.She looked damn good in it, but the dress was afraction too long for her five-foot-six form, andshed been stumbling over the hem all night.


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At the top of the steps, she walked down thewood-plank hallway to a tall door swagged with

holly. She pressed her forehead against the wood,and released her hold on the dress. Riga shut hereyes. Inhaled the scent of Christmas garlands andwood polish.

Thirteen oclock.It had been a trick of the light, a trick of her

brain.It wasnt magic. Not here. Not so close to her

wedding.Shed told Donovan that the wedding was the

least important part of a marriage, and Riga was oldenough to believe it. Donovan needed good press

after a recent unfair pummeling to his reputation.So shed pretended enthusiasm when his PR teamplanned their celebrity wedding, invited namesshe recognized but didnt know, sent out pressreleases.

Soon theyd be married, and free. Riga smiled

broadly. She could do this for him and in a week,the tumult would end. Her thumb found the bandof platinum that circled her third finger, explored itsedges.

A draft of cool air pebbled the flesh on her arms.


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Idly, she wondered if the place was haunted, ifsomeone had opened a door, or if they needed new

insulation. Donovan had closed on the gabledmanor a month ago, and any and all options werepossible. Riga was coming to learn that just becausesomething cost a fortune, it didnt mean it was wellconstructed.

Escaping? Donovan asked from behind her.

She turned, leaned against the door, her auburnhair pillowing about her head.

Donovan prowled up the stairs, his green eyesgleaming, a great cat in black Armani. God, he wasgorgeous. Wavy, raven-black hair, broad shoulders,chiseled features. But he had other, more important,

attributes that attracted her. And he was easy, oh soeasy, to love.

She held up her shoes, dangling from a slenderfinger. Regrouping.

Hm His broad hands traced the curve of herhips and he bent, kissing her, slow and intoxicating.

He smelled of wild things, deep forests. When hepulled away, her lips burned.

Have I told you how beautiful you looktonight?

Once or twice. She laughed. Tell me again.His lips quirked, tugging at the small, cross-

shaped scar on his chin. I saw your expressionwhen that heel broke. His fingers traced a linefrom her jaw to her collarbone, and her skin tingledbeneath his touch.


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Annoyance? She tugged lightly on his crimsontie, pulling him toward her.

Relief. His voice was a low rumble.I just came up here for my Jordan McCall CD.

Do you think hed sign it for me?Donovan chuckled. Star struck?A little. So far, the only thing thats stopped me

from asking him is embarrassment. I dont have any

of his wifes CDs.Liar. Deep in that dark little heart Ill bet youre

an Annabelle Lee fan.A sucker for country love songs? Guilty. She

arched toward him, her soft curves molding to thehard contours of his body. Its a lovely party.

I know. He pressed against her, one handexploring the small of her back. His mouth grazedher earlobe, his breath uneven upon her neck. Letsditch.

I thought youd never ask. She reached behindher, fumbling for the doorknob. The metal chilled

beneath her fingers, iced, cold enough to burn. Shegasped, jerking away.

Donovan took a step back, releasing her.Whats He trailed off, brow furrowing.


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Ice crystals spread from the knob across thesurface of the door and the wall beside it, expanding

outward in a circular pattern. The temperature inthe hallway dropped. Riga shivered in her thingown. Another ghost. And she had a good ideawhose. After years of exposure, shed gotten used tothem. But Donovan had only recently gained theability to see ghosts, and if Riga was right about this

particular ghost There were issues.Donovan groaned, his lips twisting into a snarl.

Dad. Hes more irritating as a ghost than he was asa live father. Dad?

But no specter appeared.Show yourself, Donovan said in a low voice.

Ive got some things to say to you.A breeze gusted mournfully down the hallway.Maybe I should leave you two alone, Riga

said. Both Donovans parents had died when hewas a child. He never spoke much about what hadhappened after, but Riga was a detective and had

pieced together a rough sketch court dates andfoster homes until Donovan came of age, and couldmanage a casino the state-appointed custodian hadrun into near-bankruptcy.

No. I need to talk to him. But this is our time,and Im fed up with him knocking things over,

chilling rooms, slamming doors, and not telling mewhat he wants.

Rigas teeth chattered. They may not be games.This may be the only way his spirit cancommunicate. If we understood what he wanted


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Right now, I dont care what he wants. Hes themaster of bad timing. Donovan glanced at her, and

whipped off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders.Grateful, she slipped her arms inside, and pulled ittight around her.

He rattled the knob, gripped it with both hands,muscles straining. He stepped away, wiping hishands on his slacks. Hes been dead for decades.

He tackled the door again, grunting. And insteadof acting his age, the man plays poltergeist. Hishand slipped off the knob, and his knuckles bangedthe door frame. Wincing, he sucked on the brokenskin. Cant you? He jerked his head toward thedoor.

Use magic? She shook her head. The last timeI tried that I melted the doorknob. I could burn thewhole place down. Or worse.

Worse than burning down our new home?Riga didnt respond. She wasnt sure what was

more depressing being haunted by her future

father-in-law or the fact that her magic was still adisaster. That missing piece of her was like awobbly tooth she couldnt stop probing with hertongue. She told herself she could live withoutmagic, but the loss nagged.

Right. He nodded curtly, took a step back

from the door.Riga backed away, alarmed. She recognized that

look. Dono


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He raised one knee and stomp-kicked the door.The wood splintered, and the door crashed inward,

ricocheting off the far wall. Donovan stopped thedoors return flight with one hand. He looked atRiga. Were you saying something?

No. Nicely done. There was a trick to kickingin a door. She felt irrationally pleased that he knewit.

He strode inside, and Riga trailed behind, wary.The ghost had frozen the door for a reason asymbol, a sign, a warning. But as she followedDonovan down the short hallway into the masterbedroom, she didnt sense anything wrong. A kingsize bed faced the darkened window, a faded kilim

arranged artfully upon the hardwood floor. Glassdoors looked out upon Lake Tahoe, a black pool atnight. The waning moon was a mercury trail on thewater and reflected lights glittered along the farshore. Above it, snowcapped mountains rosedarkly.

Enough games, Donovan said. When therewas no response, Dad? Do you hear His voicedropped. Oh, hell.

Riga stumbled to a halt beside him.On the far side of the bed was a reading area

with a stone fireplace, wide, cozy chairs, and

bookshelves. Before them lay a mans body, a plasticbag wrapped tightly about its head, clouding hisface.

Oh my God, Riga whispered, swaying. It hadto be murder.


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Donovan knelt beside the dead man, andgrasped his wrist. He shook his head, pressed his

fingers to the mans neck. Donovan looked up ather, his expression grim. Hes gone.

Even with his features distorted behind theplastic bag, Riga knew the man was dead, couldsense his spirit had fled. The body was just aninanimate object now, an empty vessel. Of late,

death seemed less an old acquaintance and more anannoying relative who visited too often, stayed toolong, drank her best wine and hit her up for money.She stepped closer, swallowed. That looks likeCam Mitchell.

The photographer? A pulse beat in Donovans

jaw.His wife is downstairs. Riga leaned one hip

against the bed and grasped the post, feeling sick,out of balance. We have to tell her.

Shes pregnant, you know. Donovan stood,not looking at her, and she knew he was thinking

about his childhood loss, the years in foster homes.I didnt know. How did you?He was crowing about it to anyone whod

listen. He slipped his cell phone from his jacketpocket, thumbed the keypad. Lets call the Sheriffbefore we notify anyone else.

Riga nodded, ashamed at her relief at the delayin giving the widow the bad news.

King. Donovan here, he said into the phone.Im at my lake house. Riga and I found a body.


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Riga shot him a questioning look. He knewSheriff Kings direct number?

No, Donovan said into the phone. Someonehelped him along Right. Fifteen minutes. Hehung up. His eyes were hard, cold. I should staywith the body until the police arrive. Why dont yougo downstairs, meet the Sheriff when he gets here.

She approached the body, knelt on the soft white

throw rug, placed one hand on the arm of a nearbycream-colored chair for balance. Donovan Thekiller had to be one of the guests.

I know. His words were clipped. What Idont understand is what the photographer wasdoing up here.

I dont see any drag marks on the rug, no signof a struggle. And to do this She motionedtowards the photographers head and the plasticbag wrapped tight around it. He wouldnt have letsomeone do this without a fight. Unless he wasdrugged, somehow incapacitated first.

Were getting married in a week, he said.She flushed. And the police will take care of

this. Sorry. Habit.Riga backed out of the room, closing the

fractured door quietly behind her. She turned andfaced two elderly women, dressed in black.

Gagh! Riga clutched her chest, breathingheavily. Aunt Peregrine, Aunt Dot. What are youdoing here?


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Dot peered up at her through coke-bottle lenses.They inflated her blue eyes to the size of silver

dollars. Her black dress sagged and bagged aroundher, two sizes too big for her rotund frame.Looking for you, dear.

Peregrine, a good foot taller than her niece,peered over Rigas head at the broken bedroomdoor, drifting open. Her shoulders hunched,

vulture-like, and she clutched a massive black pursein her hands.

Riga hastily grabbed the knob and yanked itshut. She smiled. Well, now that youve found me,lets head back to the party.

You look jumpy. Peregrine lowered her head,

studying Riga. Is something wrong?No. No. No, nothings wrong. She felt sweat

bead upon her lower back. Why did her auntsterrify her? She was an adult, dammit, and this washer house.

Dot tapped Riga on the arm, and Rigas skin

twitched from the contact. Well, of course shesnervous, Peregrine. Shes getting married in aweek!

Yes, Peregrine regarded Riga narrowly.Awfully short engagement, if you ask me.

Dot swatted her sister. Youre so bad! Of course

shes not pregnant? At her age? Really!At my Im only forty four!


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Not exactly a spring chicken, Peregrine said. Ihope youre not rushing into things because of the

tick-tick-tick of your biological clock? Sometimes, itreally is better to be alone.

No, Aunt Peregrine, Riga said throughclenched teeth. Thats not why were gettingmarried.

Dont feel bad, dear, Dot said. What bride

doesnt feel occasional jitters? Poor cousin Lettie?What a mess she was. And then her bridesmaidfainted dead away. Knocked the ring bearer flat.What was his name? Wasnt that Harolds son?

That wasnt Letties wedding, Peregrine said.That was Als daughter, Suzy. And the groom

fainted, not the bridesmaid.Dot covered her mouth with her black gloved

hand. Was it? I was certain it was Lettie and thebridesmaid. Dont you remember? The bridesmaidended up marrying the best man.

No, no. Peregrine shook her head. She

married the father of the bride. Such a scandal.Oh. Dot patted her hair, tied neatly in a silvery

bun. I dont like thinking about those things.Neither do I, said Riga, her desperation

growing. So lets go downstairs. She hooked theirelbows and steered them toward the steps.

Dot neatly twisted away, moving toward thebedroom. But isnt there a ladies room in here?

Not there! Riga dodged between Dot and thebedroom door, pointed down the hallway. Theresa guest bathroom, second door on the left.


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Dot clapped her hands together. You have somany rooms! I do love this house. She winked. I

suppose the casino business must be very lucrative?Your Mr. Mosse must love you very much to buysuch an extravagant home.

Isnt there another bathroom in the bedroomthere? Peregrine motioned with her purse and Rigaducked to avoid its arc. Id rather not wait for Dot.

She takes forever.Donovans in that room now, Riga said.

Theres another bathroom in the guest room acrossthe hall.

Peregrine nodded briskly and clumped away.Riga watched Dot dart into the guest bathroom,

then glanced at the bedroom door, still hanging ajar.All she needed to cap the evening was for one of theold dears to find the body and have a heart attack.Awkwardly, she shifted her weight, and realizedshe was still one-shoed. She wrenched off thesecond pump, placed it on the banister, and slipped

downstairs. How much time had she wasted? TheSheriffs station wasnt far nothing was really farat Lake Tahoe and he would be here soon.


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She darted past the wide, arched doorway to theliving room, not daring to look left for fear of

catching someones eye. The room inside was filledwith celebrities and relatives and friends mostlyDonovans. Their laughter and the tinkling ofglasses flowed toward her, a contented warmth,scented with cinnamon and wood smoke and sweat.She shied from it, through the stone-floored foyer

with its massive Christmas tree decked in red andgold, and ducked through a nondescript doorway,into a claustrophobic, windowless room.

The uniformed man seated at a bank of videomonitors swiveled in his chair to face her. He wasmiddle aged, with a comb-over and a paunch, but

shed seen him in the boxing gym. The man,Thomas, was lightning with his fists. He lumberedto his feet. Evening, Miss Hayworth. Can I helpyou?

Yes. The police will be arriving shortly. Couldyou let the man at the gate know?

He grabbed a handheld radio off the narrowtable. Something I should know about?

The floor here was stone too, and cold, and shecurled her toes. We discovered a body upstairs.

But youve called the police, not an ambulance.Foul play?

Possibly. Definitely.


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He glanced over his shoulder at the videomonitors behind him views of the exterior,

doorways, windows dripping icicle lights. No shotsof the inside. I havent seen anyone come or go forthe last two hours, but Ill check again.

Thanks. She shoved the door shut with herfoot. Mind if we check now?

He rolled his padded chair toward her. Have a

seat.She sat, watched him queue up the videos with

one hand while he radioed the gate with the other.Thomas grunted, eased himself into a swivel

chair, and they watched the videos from the lasthour on high speed, the sounds of revelry drifting

through the closed door. Nothing caught her eye.Aside from the guard patrolling the exterior,nothing moved. No one entered or left the house.

Riga released a slow exhale. So that was it then.The killer was one of the guests. She didnt realizeshed clung to the hope it had been an outsider until

it was snatched away, leaving behind a weight oflead.

Frowning, she checked the slim gold watch agift from Donovan that circled her wrist. Fifteenminutes had long gone. What was keeping theSheriff? When the police arrive, will you show

them upstairs? The bodys in the master bedroom.His expression flickered, but he nodded.She exited, pausing in the doorway to make sure

the coast was clear, then hurried past the partiersand up the stairs, stumbling near the top.


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Cold. Sickening.An invisible miasma flowed out the bedroom

door, coiled sluggishly on the stairs. Her stomachtwisted, and she clutched the railing.

Corpses. Rancid things. Decaying flesh.Her skin crawled.Donovan? She called softly, forcing herself

forward.

She was used to ghosts. This was somethingdifferent.

The hallway chandelier flickered above her,brightened. Fingers trembling, she touched the slimsilver cross that hung from her neck, gathered theforces from above and below. Fueled by her fear,

the energies rushed through her and outward,creating a bubble of safety around her, cutting apath through the rot and horror.

She pressed her fingers against the bedroomdoor. It swung open at her touch and she sidledthrough, barefoot and silent. Her fingers curled,

palms ready to strike as she prowled down thetruncated hallway, turned the corner into thebedroom.

It was empty.

Want to read more? You can buy the InfernalDetective onAmazonathttp://bit.ly/InfernalD
http://www.amazon.com/The-Infernal-Detective-Hayworth-Series/dp/098551034X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369332840&sr=8-1&keywords=the+infernal+detectivehttp://www.amazon.com/The-Infernal-Detective-Hayworth-Series/dp/098551034X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369332840&sr=8-1&keywords=the+infernal+detectivehttp://www.amazon.com/The-Infernal-Detective-Hayworth-Series/dp/098551034X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369332840&sr=8-1&keywords=the+infernal+detectivehttp://bit.ly/InfernalDhttp://bit.ly/InfernalDhttp://bit.ly/InfernalDhttp://www.amazon.com/The-Infernal-Detective-Hayworth-Series/dp/098551034X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369332840&sr=8-1&keywords=the+infernal+detective


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About the Author

Kirsten Weiss worked overseas for nearly fourteenyears, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep inthe Afghan war zone. Her experiences abroad notonly gave her glimpses into the darker side of

human nature, but also sparked an interest in theeffects of mysticism and mythology, and how bothare woven into our daily lives.

Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormalmysteries, blending her experiences andimagination to create a vivid world of magic and

mayhem.

Kirsten has never met a dessert she didnt like, andher guilty pleasures are watching True Blood anddrinking good wine.

Follow her on Twitter @RigaHayworth or on herblog at http://kirstenweiss.com, where you can signup for her newsletter.

The Infernal Detective Sample Chapter

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