A Fox from Beacon Hills

Chapter seven

On the ride back from the lake, Sofia, my bike, stutters and nearly stalls. Fuck, I don't have the energy for this today. I pat her side and ease up on the gas, hoping she'll pull through. She does, and I sigh in relief as we continue on. I've had Sofia for a few years, but even though I've taken the best care of her as I can, she hasn't been doing well. We Stilinksi's have bad luck with cars. My brother inherited Roscoe from his mom when it was in good condition, it has since decided to barely work. Last summer Stiles had to get two different jobs because he needed new parts and, being his stubborn self, wouldn't tell Dad and I. We have bad luck in more things than just vehichles. I think we just have bad luck, I've even heard Scotch refer to us as "The black cat family" which is pretty much accurate. With my history, and the medical history of Stiles' mom's family, we pretty much radiate bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, as I drop Scotch off, the stump attached to my prosthetic foot starts aching, which usually means that something bad is going to happen.

There's been another murder. I pull into work ready to do some killing myself. I've gotten the regular tweve hours of sleep of course, but only if you aren't counting consecutively. With the full moon last night, combined with work, I haven't gotten a full nights sleep in over two weeks, and I've been survivng on gingerbread latte's and iced coffee's. I was hoping for a full day of sleep and horror movies, and when work called at nine this morning, a half hour after I made it home, I screamed loud enough to bring the next door neighbors running. Of course, after they saw me stomping out the door with murder in my eyes, they ran the other way. Entering the building, I can immediately tell something is wrong.

"Val!" I bark at Deputy Clark, and she comes running over.

"What's going on?"

"You heard about the murder, right?"

I nod, acknowledging the fact.

"Apparentally the witness told people before we could get them to sign an NDA, and Sheriff's pissed."

I tilt my head, confused as to why my father wouldn't want people to know. Of course it would raise a bit of a panic, but they already know about the victim in Norco, don't they? I pose the question to Valerie, and she looks at me as if I'm insane.

"They don't actually. The department told them it was a hunting accident."

"A hunting accident?!" My raised voice catches the attention of some officers nearest us, so I drag her a few feet away and lower my voice. There's no need for them to hear our conversation. When I'm sure no one can listen in, I continue in a whisper, my voice so low my CI barely picks it up.

"Any slightly mentally capable person could see that wasn't an accident. The body was practically destroyed. They couldn't even use facial regognition on it! And they expect people to believe it was an accident?!"

Valerie shakes her head and opens her mouth to answer, but then the sherrif's door opens, and his voice calls out,

"Detective Stilinski! In my office please."

Shit.