JACQUARIOUS

"Officer?" I breathed.

He shook his head. "It's Gavin. I already told you that." He walked over to the passenger seat and popped the door. "Get in. We need to pay a visit to your aunt."

"My aunt?" I climbed inside and stashed my phone in the cupholder. "What's she got to do with all this?"

"It's...sorta complicated. My boss thinks her secretary might've known something about Fenton Maverick, and he might've taken it to his grave. But we haven't been able to get in contact with your aunt, and the chief thinks we're running out of time."

I gulped. "So you think the killer might go after someone else?"

"The chief certainly does," Officer Longchamp sighed. "And so does your doting English teacher, Mrs. Cabot. Chief Mercer's giving her everything she wants."

I saw him shift in the driver's seat as he added that last part. "You guys...not getting along?"

He chuckled. "What gave it away, kid?"

I lowered my head. "Well, we all want the same thing, right? Justice for DeWayne and Tyler, to catch whoever did this."

"If that's all Regina wanted, I wouldn't mind it at all. But something tells me she's looking for a scoop."

What? "There's no way, Gavin. I mean, yeah, she works at a newspaper. But she wouldn't put people's lives in danger just to get a cover story."

He sighed again. "I hope you're right, kid. The way she's been inserting herself into everything...it's not hard to tell she likes being front and center. And we can't afford to be headline hunting in the middle of a murder investigation." His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror as he shifted into reverse, pulling between the parking spaces and heading for the main road. "Not to mention Chief Mercer's wrapped around her finger."

"Wait, what?"

He coughed once. "Nothing, it's...nothing. Let's just get to your aunt's place."

I shot him a quick look, one he didn't return. "Right. She's probably still at work right now actually. Benin & Chic's building is pretty big, and her office is onsite. She...doesn't like going remote."

"Those lying pricks," he mused under his breath.

"Huh?"

"The staff at the front said she wouldn't be in for the rest of the day. That's why I came to pick you up. Was hoping you could take me to her." He groaned. "It was Regina's suggestion."

"Sorry, Gavin. My aunt's...really particular about visitors. She says they interrupt her workflow."

He let out a low breath. "It's fine. Not like I can make her talk to me without a subpoena, and the court's still processing our request." He turned to me. "But you think she'll let us in, right? Long as I'm there with you?"

"For sure," I said. "I'll text and let her know we're on the way."

Officer Longchamp shook his head. "Well, Regina was right about one thing, kid. You're magic in a bottle."

****

The Benin & Chic headquarters didn't just rise from the sidewalk—it emerged, like a monument that had always been there, waiting for the world to catch up.

A trio of polished black towers stood intertwined like braided silk, connected at the base by a calyx of shimmering glass arcs that shadowed the main atrium. The building was tall: poised, elegant, unapologetically confident. Like it knew it was the crown jewel of the block and dared anyone to say otherwise.

Officer Longchamp pulled the cruiser up to the curb, his posture stiffening as he scanned the façade. For a second, I thought I saw him tense—shoulders squaring and a bit too stiff, jaw tight with the same kind of cautious awe I'd glimpsed the day he dropped me off at home.

"This the place?" he asked, his voice coming out a practiced neutral.

I nodded. "That's it."

A team of security guards in tailored matte-gray uniforms stood just inside the glass revolving doors, where the Benin & Chic insignia—an abstract B, shaped like the horns of a ceremonial antelope—hovered their heads in silver relief. The marble steps glistened like obsidian, and soft jazz floated through hidden speakers tucked between potted palms. The scent of rose musk and oud swirled in multiflorous refrain, dancing freely but with poise, as if the air itself had been dressed for the occasion.

I'd walked this path dozens of times before; but somehow, this day felt different—more shadowed, even beneath the bright late-afternoon sun. Drenched in smooth palettes and designer gloss, something cold pulsed through the walls, shuttering itself from view as we climbed the steps in silence.

"You're sure about this?" Officer Longchamp muttered, eyes flicking to the cameras embedded in the corners.

I gave a faint smile as I pressed through the door. "Yeah...I'm sure."

The moment we stepped inside, cool air kissed our skin like the hush of a cathedral. Sculptural mannequins lined the walls, adorned in alternating swatches of black and gold fabric that shimmered like oil under moonlight. Above us, a chandelier of curved ivory and suspended onyx droplets loomed like a frozen rainstorm.

A tall woman in an asymmetrical blazer and mirror-flat shoes approached from behind a desk of carved ebony. "May I help you?" She lifted a digital tablet to her chest before narrowing her eyes.

"I'm here to see Cekoda Bennington," I said, my voice almost a whisper. "I'm her nephew."

Her head fluttered briefly to Officer Longchamp, taking in his slicked hair and police uniform with all the grace and charisma of a practiced, disinterested hostess. "One moment." She tapped twice at her tablet screen and stepped aside.

As we strode forward and waited for the elevator, Officer Longchamp leaned closer, lowering his voice. "This place is unreal."

I sighed. "She...likes symmetry."

"She likes power," he replied with a half-grin. "Can't say I blame her."

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, welcoming us inside like a detatched and devoted butler. I stepped forward without hesitation, Officer Longchamp lingering a beat before following.

As the doors slid shut behind us, I felt the floor rise beneath my feet—and with it, the lump in my throat.