Sugar and Spice

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Dead blood.

The greasy smell hit Detective Sage Wilson like a bullet in the belly. He had seen the leavings of murder before, but nothing like this. His morning, and previous night, had been spent counting bodies like these two, and it was giving him one hell of a headache. Like any self-respecting cop, he’d denied it, even tried to drown what he knew in shot after shot of rotgut whiskey. But the time finally came when he had to face facts and climb out of his hole and admit that a serial killer was on the loose.

“Let’s get to work, men,” he said grimly, then noticed something and crouched down. He moved carefully along the ground, tracking what looked like fresh animal prints. He looked over at the two men who’d had their throats ripped out. What the hell kind of animal could have done this? His eyes shifted toward the dark woods at the end of the promenade. No animal he knew of would come up out of the woods during the Reef’s peak hours. The bright lights, blaring music, and hordes of tourists would have been enough to keep any animal away.

But not this one.

He felt the cool breeze against his skin and knew it was near that time of year again—the time when the woods needed to be cleaned out. Hunters with guns and rifles would comb the woods looking for crazed, rabid wolves that made the area look like a battlefield of blood and ripped-up flesh, both human and animal.

But that was in the woods, not in the friggin’ parking lot of the Rock Candy Club.

The animal that would do this wasn’t an animal, but a monster. No animal crazed or otherwise, could plan its kill. No animal would have the sense to hide and skulk in the shadows to attack his prey, then leave them like this. He glanced up at a moon that suddenly shimmered as if alive and felt an involuntary chill dance down his back. It reminded him of the rumors of a loose werewolf. There’d been sightings reported, but Sage was sure it was nothing more than the drunken fantasies of men that had seen the Sugar and Spice act performed here at the club.

He sensed the spreading of darkness, so his eyes shifted to the promenade and saw that the lights along the Reef were slowly blinking out. In a few more hours, the strip would be dark and haunting.

Then is when the animals would come out.

He saw them frequently, lingering and sniffing along the grounds, looking for half-eaten hot dogs, scattered popcorn bags, and sticky candy wrappers that scooted along the promenade in the breeze. These animals were relatively harmless unless threatened. None of them would stay around when a human showed up, and they sure as hell wouldn’t rip someone’s throat out during the Reef’s peak hours.

Sage remembered when Gypsy Reef was nothing more than a place for Gypsies to park their caravans. At night you could see their bright campfires where they read palms and sang their Gypsy melodies. Later the carnivals came. Tents, sideshows, and gaming booths were set up. From there it grew into one of the most frequented playgrounds along the eastern seaboard. Because of its sudden growth, it had become a hotbed for murder, drunkenness, prostitution, and every other kind of vice he could think of. He hadn’t yet spotted any drug trafficking, but that really wasn’t his beat. No, his beat was homicide, and Gypsy Reef, like the big city of New York, was quickly becoming known for its bloody slaughters and crime sprees. Tourists from all over the country haunted the Reef whose coastline was rough with many inaccessible promontories. After years of bloodthirsty tales, these haunted peninsulas that stretched far and wide had gained a reputation and became known as The Devil’s Doorway. Every year the curious visitors swarmed into the souvenir shops, the bars, restaurants, gambling casinos, as well as having their bodies painted, pierced, or tattooed.

Occasionally even a Christian crusade would come along and set up a revival tent for all the lost souls that visited the Reef. That reminded him of the church that crouched all alone at the edge of the Reef. Its presence was almost unnoticed as it sat among thick shrubbery and trees that refused to let the rays of the sun or moon invade its shadows. It had a graveyard beside it and a rectory in the back. It was occupied by Father Jonathan Becker, a holy man with a quiet disposition who kept up the building and the grounds as best he could. Sage would see him walking around the outside of the church on occasion, inspecting the building. Since his parish was so small, he served alone, dividing his time between his ministerial duties and keeping the grounds in good shape.

The church and the reverend seemed to fit.

Both were lonely, dark, and deathly quiet.

While Gypsy Reef was closing, Sage had the bodies carted away, the motorcycles impounded, and then assisted the uniforms in collecting all the evidence they could find. By the time they were through, Sage had found a ripped-up pair of panties and a stiletto heel. He bagged them as possible evidence. They could belong to anyone since the area behind the club was frequented with couples hiding a liaison or two. It reminded him of a cute chick named Sugar, but it was doubtful it was hers since she was known for being somewhat aloof.

Still, it raised a few questions in his mind.

He saw blood, hair, grit, and gum stuck to the shoe and hoped they gave him something to work with. The throb in his head had finally grown into a migraine. Back at the station, he would take a couple of pills chased down by cold coffee, then map out his strategy for an investigation into—hell.