Tailed by Brian M. Wiprud Page B

‘to live.’ He was run through the chest with an elk horn just before you left Seattle without saying good-bye.”
    â€œWhy didn’t Stella tell me that?” Why didn’t Gabby tell me about Fowler being my uncle? Why was everyone keeping me in the dark? The frustration of my predicament was giving me prickly heat. “So, I guess now they think I killed TV’s McGlaggart, too—is that it?”
    â€œBingo. Yet another person whose collection you appraised is dead….
Stella?
Christ, you didn’t tell Wilberforce/Peete where you are, did you?”
    â€œI spoke to her just before I spoke to you last. I didn’t tell her where I was. But she wanted me to come back to New York, said Wilberforce/Peete would protect me. I said I’d look after myself.”
    â€œAtta boy. There’s good money to be made in appraising, but don’t kid yourself—the insurers look out for themselves first and foremost. And Stella is sly, probably throw you to the wolves as soon as she could. You’re a liability to them now. To the FBI, you’re the common link. You not only were in town during each of the murders, you had entrance to the victims’ homes. Now they only need a motive, and maybe a witness.”
    â€œHow do I get into these things?” I massaged my forehead. “When the FBI questioned you, did they mention anything about our grandfather?”
    â€œYup. Didn’t know what that was about. Do you?”
    â€œNo. And about Fowler?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œJ. C. Fowler. Just look him up, you’ll remember. Seems he knew Gabby and Dad.”
    I held back on the Uncle Werewolf fantasy for the time being. The uncle part, well, I wanted to see if Nicholas’s research came up with anything on that independently. If it was true, he should find it pretty quickly. And the werewolf part…well, that was just too nutty to repeat.
    â€œI just finished seeing Mom again, trying to find out more. She didn’t know much, just that Grandad was a famous big-game hunter and that Fowler was bothering Mom and Dad back when we were kids. Fowler somehow tracked me down, was babbling about coyotes and javelinas and spirits…Gabby seems to think Fowler believes I’m possessed with a demon of some sort. Just insane stuff, Nicholas. I’m hoping you can make some sense of it.”
    â€œYes, Garth, how do you get mixed up in these things?” I heard Nicholas chuckle. “Let me have someone look into it. We’re going to get you out of this, don’t worry.”
    â€œYou going to have Mel research it?” A cute brunette with an even cuter little daughter, Melanie was once his skip tracer—she could hack her way into anyone’s past. Now she was his fiancée.
    â€œShe’s pretty frazzled these days, what with the wedding,” Nicholas said, clearing his throat. “I have someone else in mind, at least for some of it.”
    â€œNicholas, there’s something else you need to know about the murders. Maybe you can dig something up on this. What’s the significance of a white gecko?”
    â€œA white gecko? You mean the lizard?”
    â€œYup, the lizard. Each of the previous victims was found with a dead white gecko. And these geckos only turn white every hundred years or so. The FBI wants to keep that a secret. Gabby said that five geckos together were some kind of bad mojo, and Fowler had a medallion with five white geckos on it around his neck and seems to think they’re the key to all this.”
    â€œSo, let me get this straight. You want me to research the connection between our grandfather, J. C. Fowler, the murder of three big-game hunters, and five white geckos?” He snorted. “Can I get you something else with that, sir? Fries? A shake?”
    â€œI’m just giving you what I’ve got. But what do I do now, Nicholas? I can’t come home.”
    â€œWe have to get you