Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais

18

“You?You’re supposed to be my uncle?” I eyed my professor in his T-shirt and chinos. He filled them out nicely and looked about a decade too young to be related to me.

“According to the backstory we’ve created online, your grandfather never knew a one-night stand he indulged in resulted in me.” Professor Santino winked. “As part of an experiment, I submitted to a few of those DNA places. Lo and behold, I found family.”

“Why the fuck would you lie about being related to me?” I exclaimed.

“I’ll explain shortly. Jag needs to get out of here so I can get you up to speed.” The professor stood aside, an invitation to get my butt inside, but I glanced at Jag.

“Shouldn’t we stick together?” I hadn’t forgotten about the fact that he’d slugged Erik for me.

He offered a lopsided smile. “I’ll be good. I’ll do my best to slow down the cops so you can get your stories straight.” Jag straddled his bike and gunned it, leaving me stranded with my new—hot—uncle.

“Let’s get inside.”

I blinked at the professor. “Please tell me the explanation comes with booze.” Because I needed a shot of something stiff.

“Given we’ll soon be dealing with law enforcement and the media, you should remain clearheaded.”

“I know,” I grumbled as I stepped past him into his house, “but I think I deserve a break. Uncle.”

“I agree. Hence why we put the cover story in place. Given we’ll be spending a lot of time together, we needed to ensure I wouldn’t be accused of inappropriate relations with a student.”

“And why will we be spending time together?”

He offered me a wicked, very un-uncle-like smile. “Because you’re interesting, Abby.”

“You want to use me?” I stood in his front hall with its gleaming wood floors, a table in the middle of it with a vase of flowers.

“Very much so.” He made it sound dirty.

“Doing what?”

I expected some kind of perverted demand and did a bit of a double take when he said, “I am going to write a book about your experience.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my life isn’t entertainment.”

“It will make money. Lots of it that you’ll get a portion of.”

I snorted. “If I wanted dollars, I’d write it myself. It’s more that I’m not interested in being dissected by asshole strangers.”

“What if I told you this book will exonerate your parents?”

That froze me. Filled me with such hope, I almost killed him because I just knew I’d end up disappointed. “You’re just saying that to get me to cooperate.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need your cooperation. I don’t even need you to write this book. But I’d like to see justice.”

“Why?”

“Because even if we never met, he was my brother. And you’re my niece.” He put a hand to his chest and looked so sincere, I gaped.

Then I laughed. “That was some epic acting.”

“Act or not, we should be ready in our parts when the police come.”

“How is having you as my suddenly discovered uncle supposed to help keep me out of jail?”

“Because I won’t let you get railroaded by bureaucracy.”

“You realize having me around will bring scrutiny on you.”

“Yes. And I plan to document all of it.”

Did he truly grasp what he’d willingly invited into his life? I’d warned him. I’d done my duty. “How will you clear my parents’ names?”

“By finding the real killer, of course. Because if your parents are dead, then it stands to reason this new Pentagram Killer is either a fake, or the true killer was never caught and has now resurfaced.”

“Why start again? They were free.”

“Because people who kill can’t help themselves. Eventually, the urge becomes too strong. And I suspect your resurfacing might have been a catalyst. What better cover for new crimes than the daughter of those accused before?”

I wanted to refute his logic, and yet he offered an explanation. Maybe this was the chance I’d been waiting for to finally clear my name.

“Let’s get you settled into a room before the cops get here. If questioned, you spent last night under my roof.”

“If the cops ask Kalinda and the others, they’ll know it’s a lie.”

“Already taken care of.”

“You’re making them lie?”

“Not exactly. They suggested it.”

I grimaced. “I can’t believe you’d do this. Pretend to be related to my family. I’ve done what I could to disassociate myself.”

“And how has that worked for you?”

“Not great,” I had to admit.

“Then time to try something new.”

I followed him to a second floor down a hall.

“How many people live here?” Because the house was huge.

“Just me. And now you. I have staff maintaining the place, so if you need anything, hit the star on the room intercom.”

“Being a professor pays, I see.”

“Being a professor who writes books does.”

“You’re an actual author?” My fake uncle had suddenly gotten cooler. I frowned. “I’ve looked you up and never saw any books published.”

“Because I write under pen names. My crime fiction tends to skew very adult.” He winked over his shoulder. Definitely not an uncle wink.

Nor even a teacher.

And my next thoughts were wildly inappropriate as he flung open a door. “I hope this is adequate.”

I gazed upon the cream and light blue room. “Were you expecting a princess?” Because the opulence was astonishing. Thick, lush rugs over hardwood. A massive king-sized bed with pillows of all sorts. An oversized window with a cushioned seat, the bottom full of books. A fireplace flanked by deep chairs. A dresser topped with a basket of treats. I could see marble through an open door.

“There are toiletries in the bathroom. More clothes arriving before the end of the day.”

“This is too generous, Professor,” I declared.

“First, call me Joseph. Second, having you here is more than enough payment if that makes you feel better.”

His ulterior motive actually did help because I understood why he acted.

“When should we expect the police?”

“Given they’ll go after your known address first? Hours. Your roommates all have a busy day today. Meaning it will take the police a while before they track them—and then you—down.”

It took them until dinner, which was chicken and sauce that had me groaning.

The professor’s phone pinged. “It’s time.”

“For what?”

“Remember, say nothing unless you have to.”

He’d given me pointers over dinner. What to say, what I could hold back.

My ice cream melted over my brownie as the seconds ticked by and stretched. I grew restless.

Santino eyed me sternly. “Hold it together.”

When the knock finally came, I almost screamed.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He put his napkin on the table and rose to go answer. I heard the murmur of voices then his loudly spoken, “Abby, we have company.”

My turn to stand and toss my napkin onto the table. I pretended surprise as the professor—shit, Joseph…that would take some getting used to—walked in ahead of my two favorite cops.

My mustached friend Walters was back. “Again? What is it now?” I didn’t have to feign annoyance. “I thought we already ascertained the fact that I have an alibi for your stupid drawing.”

“We’re not here about the pentagram. Someone’s been murdered.”

“And, of course, you thought of me,” was my sassy reply.

Jenkins, who remained silent, dropped a hand to his gun.

My new uncle noticed. “You will not do violence in my home, Officer. Keep in mind, I have cameras watching, and my niece is offering no threat.”

“Niece?” Jenkins snorted. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

“The DNA doesn’t lie, Detective.”

“No, it doesn’t. Which is why, despite missing its head, we know the body found on campus grounds this morning was that of Erik Jerome.”

“Ouch. Sucks to be him.”

“Abby!” my fake uncle admonished.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry that twatwaffle died. He wasn’t nice.”

“So you admit to hating him?” Walters pounced.

“I totally hated him. A hundred percent. But I didn’t kill him.”

“Going to lie and say you were with Jag again? We know he’s your accomplice.” Jenkins really had the bad-cop routine down pat.

“Officers, are these kinds of accusations necessary?” Joseph smiled and spread his hands.

“They are when we’ve got Slaughter Daughter on campus. It came to our attention that you and the victim had an altercation,” Walters stated.

“You mean the video where he attacked me?” I made it clear.

Walters cleared his throat. “You defended yourself quite capably. Might have wanted revenge.”

“I managed to escape only because he was distracted. He outweighed me. I don’t know how you figure I’d have the strength to actually overpower him.”

“Because you had help. You lured Mr. Jerome away so your lover could kill him.”

I blinked at him. “Are you on drugs?”

Santino cleared his throat. “What my niece means to say is that your theory is baseless, and you know it. Or do I really need to make you look foolish by having you watch the hours of video I have from last night showing she never left the house?” The cops said nothing, and Santino smiled coldly. “While you’re trying to cram square evidence into round holes, the real killer is out there, probably planning his next kill.”

“Want to bet if we lock her up, no one else dies?” Jenkins rocked on his feet. You could tell he was itching to handcuff someone.

“I think I’ve heard enough. Leave.” The professor crossed his arms.

“Not until we ask Ms. Baker where she was last night,” Walters insisted.

“Here with me. Having a family reunion,” fake uncle said with a smirk.

“What time did she leave?” Walters asked.

“She didn’t. Given the late hour, my niece spent the night. And before you ask, my security system was armed. She couldn’t have left without my noticing.”

Jenkins wasn’t about to let me go that easily. “Maybe she knows your code.”

“The system wasn’t disarmed until I rose this morning. And I don’t like your tone.”

“This is a murder investigation.”

“You should investigate people without alibis, then. Now, unless you’re arresting someone, leave. And from here on out, if you want to speak to me or my niece, you’ll go through our lawyer first.” My fake uncle put on a cold and haughty expression worthy of royalty.

I wanted to stick out my tongue and give the cops a fuck-you middle finger. Instead, I reached for my untouched glass of water and chugged it. It did nothing to cool the hot anxiety within.

Apparently, my alibi was enough to keep me free for the moment. The professor saw them out and then returned to find me collapsed in my chair, eyeing the puddle of ice cream around my treat.

“What an unpleasant pair.”

“They’re just doing their jobs,” I said dully.

“They’re biased and close-minded.”

“I agree. What can I do, though? Even I have to admit, given the circumstances, it makes sense they’re targeting me.”

“Which is strange in and of itself. Why would someone want to frame you?”

“What makes you so sure it’s a frame job?”

“Because I know you didn’t make that pentagram.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because I know who did.”