“Shit.”

“You know him?” Kingsley raised his eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, I know him. And I’m going to fucking kill him.”

She kissed Kingsley on the cheek, grabbed Cyrus by the arm, and marched him toward the door.

“Bad news,” Nora said. “We have to commit a murder.”

“Save it for the car,” he said, glancing around. “Too many witnesses.”

They walked quickly to the parking lot.

“Pierre Capretz? Really?” she asked when they reached his car.

Cyrus opened the car door. “Only French guy I could think of. Now who we killing?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

God damn motherfucking Doc.

Cyrus should have known. He should have. Nobody was that squirrelly just ’cuz. Doc had been putting on a show for them, a song and dance routine, but Cyrus had fallen prey to his prejudices against the man and ignored his gut that warned him Doc was something other than a nut.

Never play cards with a man called Doc.

And Cyrus had done just that.

“We could be jumping to conclusions here,” Nora said. “It’s possible—maybe—that Doc wasn’t the man who engraved Father Ike’s cage.”

“I know it’s him,” he said. “I knew then he wasn’t telling us everything.”

“You did?”

“You know your own face when you see it in a mirror, even when you don’t like what you see,” Cyrus said. “The way he was all over you, that’s how I used to be with women. I mean, not that crazy, but, you know, I’d play like that, go over the top like that. Make them think I was playing a game with them when the whole time I was just playing a game on them.”

“He played us. Both of us.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why would he lie to me? If Father Ike bought something from him, got it engraved even, why wouldn’t he just tell us? I mean, he told us about seeing him in a class.”

“I don’t know,” Cyrus said. “But he better have a damn good, excuse or I’m gonna be the one tying him up and working him over with a whip.”

“He’ll probably still like it.”

“Yeah, but so will I and that’s all I care about.”

Doc worked from home, according to Kingsley Edge. Big garage out back of his house. His made custom kink pieces, did engraving, repairs, that sort of thing, but it was a cash-only business, completely unlicensed and unregulated. Nora wondered out loud if that was why Doc had kept his trap shut when they asked him about Father Ike or if he had a more sinister reason for lying.

His house was exactly what Cyrus expected. A Victorian, of course. One of those sorts called “painted ladies”—blue, pink, and white with gingerbread trim and a wraparound porch, rocking chair included. Perfect for a retired art professor. Nora rang the bell and knocked on the door. The porch light was on, but there was no answer.

Cyrus nodded toward the driveway. “Light’s on out back,” he said.