Olympus Drive Book 1: Everything is Fine

Chapter 26

Della

"Care to look at something with me?" Detective Stamos is standing over me as I kneel at the base of an old oak in the city park, examining it for rot.

"What have my brothers done lately?" I ask, standing and brushing my hands on my jeans. Today was supposed to be a good day. Jasmine is going with her daddy to eat popcorn and probably go to bed two hours earlier than I normally get her to bed because she listens to him. Ethan and I were going to have a date night and watch grown up TV. A good day. Now the cop is here. I don't think he's a bad guy. He's a moderately good influence on Basil. But he is usually the bearer of bad news.

"I don't actually know yet, that's why I wanted a hand---you got a minute?"

"Sure," I say, suspicious, "Basil texted me he got Hector out of the morgue already." His aunt called me crying this morning. In my defense when she said he'd died and I said 'that asshole' I was half asleep. I managed to play it off like I didn't mean what I meant.

"Oh yeah no we did that. This is something else, come on, let's take a ride."

"I thought it was your day off, Detective," I say, following him.

"It is, that's what makes it so sad. Also, why do you keep track of my days off?" he asks, leading me back to the smooth black Ford.

"Your days off are the days Basil can't buy liquor because he knows you have the time to stop him outside the liquor store so he stocks up or if he's out he comes over to my house to steal my booze, it's very significant to me," I explain, getting in the front seat.

"As the only person taking your brother's alcoholism seriously, I'm not going to apologize," Stamos says.

"Basil's fine," I know he's not though. But that is very, very low on my priorities list. Making myself fine is much higher. It's not like we're not here if he need us.

"He was drinking wine at eight am this morning. That's the opposite of fine," Stamos says.

"This is not an intervention thing is it? I have plans with Ethan," I sigh.

"No, I'm not involving you or your shithead siblings in anything again voluntarily, after you got ridiculously off topic and started a food fight the last time," we are little shits. I forgot about that. Ah I had a two year old that's my excuse.

"I forget how mean we are too you," I say, amused.

"I don't. And it's about your brother—not me. And we're not doing an intervention anyway," he says, as he pulls onto University Drive.

"What are we doing?"

"Investigating a murder."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"That's what I want to know," Stamos says, as he parks outside a row of crappy bars. There's police tape up and uniformed cops going in and out of one of the more run down establishments.

He leads me inside, past the tape.

I'm expecting one murder. Not twelve.

"What the fuck?" I ask, staring at the chalk outlines of bodies on the floor.

"Twelve frat boys, out here partying last night. Never came home. Bartender doesn't remember a thing, copious amounts of alcohol in his system. He and the guy at the door checking IDs don't remember anything other than these guys and a bunch of college girls coming in. Conveniently forgot screaming and loss of life," Stamos says, motioning for the uniforms to clear out so we can talk, "Now is that normal?"

"Definitely not," I say, frowning, "What was the cause of death?"

"Broken neck, broken neck---bloodloss due to severed arm---broken neck—stabbed in eye with knife---stabbed in neck with knife---trampled to death---no cause of death quit breathing---strangled—got another broken neck—and smashed skull," Stamos says.