Chapter 38
The drive back seemed to take longer than normal. I tried to distract myself and watch the cars pass by.
When we finally made it back to Monroe's, I breathed out a sigh of relief. The Portland Art Museum really wasn't the best date I'd had in a while. I really hated that all this had to happen while Monroe was trying really hard to show me a good time. What was he going to show me… or tell me? Dammit. Perhaps he was going to say it today. It seemed like I was cursed, so I blamed myself. No, I took that back. I blamed that darn Waschbar.
Once we were out of the VW, I went into Monroe's house, thoroughly disheartened about the day. As I took a seat on the couch I turned to Monroe, who sat close by, watching me.
"So, ya gonna be okay?" Monroe asked.
"Yeah, I'm just tense."
"Would you like a glass of wine? It might relax you."
I nodded appreciatively. It was barely past five, so it was acceptable.
Monroe returned with a bottle of Malbec and two glasses.
"Nick wants me to stop by the trailer tonight," I said.
"Again? You've been over there quite a lot lately," he lightly grumbled as he poured the wine into my glass.
"Yeah, I suppose I have," I admitted, "but this is about what happened today."
"But all the other times had nothing to do with today."
"The other times have been sharing research. Although, Nick just wants to talk more than anything. I have to admit it's nice to have someone to talk with, too."
"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" Monroe retorted.
"Not at all! I am grateful to have you. It's just different with…"
"With a human you mean." He rolled his eyes slightly.
"No, that's not what I mean. Finding out that I'm a Grimm and Nick still learning what a Grimm is… Well, it's good for both of us to have the other to talk to," I reasoned.
"I was kinda hoping to have you to myself tonight. We didn't get to finish our date, you know, with all the theft and death and all."
"I'm sure I can go over there for an hour and then come back."
Monroe shook his head. "It's never just an hour when you're over there."
"Time flies when you're talking Wesen," I replied and then took a large sip of wine. "I can manage my time," I added.
"What time are you going over there?" he asked.
"No clue. We didn't really schedule it. He just asked me to stop by tonight. I'm sure he'll call."
Monroe let out a short laugh. "I'm sure he will."
I finished my glass of wine quickly and Monroe refilled it without hesitation. It wasn't long before the bottle was gone and by the end of the second bottle my cheeks were rosy and warm.
"I have another bottle if you want?" he offered with a smile, pouring the remains of the second bottle into my empty glass.
"Why, Mr. Monroe, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to get me drunk."
"Do I really have to try?" he asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question than anything.
Monroe went back into the kitchen and returned, producing another bottle of wine. He seemed perfectly fine, of course, even though he'd been drinking as much as I had. But if a whole bottle of whiskey didn't faze him, then a few bottles of wine were probably like drinking water. That Blutbad could hold his liquor, no doubt.
"You really don't want me going out tonight, huh?" I grinned as I sat up quickly. The effects of the wine spun my head like a merry-go-round. I leaned back again.
"If you can't drive then you'll just have to stay here," he said while trying to hide his smile. "I want you to be safe."
"But I do need to talk to Nick tonight."
"You can talk over the phone or something if you have to."
"Now to be fair… you wanted me and Nick to be all buddy, buddy. You can't fault me for doing what you asked, right?"
"I wanted him to know, yes, but I also don't like sharing," he replied with a devilish grin. He refilled my wine glass.
"I assure you he's not getting anything like what you get," I replied. Oh, the alcohol was working its voodoo on my replies. I must watch the words I was saying.
"And what is it that I'm going to get tonight?" he asked with eyes like fire.
"Another bottle of wine and you'll have a knocked out Grimm on your couch," I grinned.
"What about a glass or two more?"
I took another generous sip. "We'll see what happens."
"I'm willing to find out," Monroe replied, topping off my glass.
"So, since I'm kinda trapped here in this intoxicated state, what else did you have in mind tonight?" I asked while my eyes submissively looked up into his.
"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something." That devilish grin reemerged. Oh, I'm sure he could.
Monroe leaned over, taking the wine glass from my hand and setting it down on the coffee table. He reached for my hand, lifting me up slightly from the couch, my head still spinning, and kissed me hard on the lips. I let out a slight moan under his mouth.
He let go after a moment and looked into my eyes. "Your lips are more intoxicating than even the finest wine," he murmured, leaning me back against his couch. I wasn't going anywhere tonight. I didn't want to.
My head dipped back on the pillow. "You, Sir, are a poet."
"Then you're my muse," he replied. Oh sly, sexy, Scorpio wolf. He kissed me again. Heavenly, delicious kisses trailed down to my neck.
"God, when you kiss me it's like…" I stopped to give myself time to process the words without just saying whatever was on my mind first.
"No, don't stop," he coaxed between continuing to kiss my neck. "You're interesting to listen to when you're drunk."
"No, I'm incredibly silly when I'm drunk," I replied with a slight slur to my voice. "Nothing good comes out of silly words."
Monroe stopped to look at me. "Oh, I beg to differ. I think your walls come down, and you say what you really mean. In vino veritas, René wine there is truth."
"I know what it means," I said. Holy crap, he was good. "But that happens with any alcohol."
"Yeah, you hit the nail on the head there." He nodded with a grin. "So what do you really want to say?"
"I wanna say… that you take seduction to a whole new level, Mr. Scorpio," I softly laughed. He kissed me again, and I drew in my breath to keep afloat.
Monroe let go of my lips. "What else?"
"You're so…" My cell started playing Dire Straits' 'Private Investigation,' halting my sentence. "Nick."
Monroe shook his head and got up to pass the phone my way. "Interesting song choice," he commented while I searched for the talk button.
"Hey, Nick," I said into the phone. "What's shaking?"
"Whoa, are you all right?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm hunky-dory. How are you?"
Nick sighed into the phone. "You're drunk."
I chuckled. "A clever deduction, Mr. Detective."
"Can I talk to Monroe a second?" The bite in his voice wasn't ready to chuckle along with me.
I held the phone out Monroe's way with a sigh. "He wants to talk to you."
Monroe took it, and I listened to his side of the conversation.
"Yeah, well, she needed it tonight, man... She can come over tomorrow or something… You won't miss her one night… No, I know it's not like that… Jealous? Oh, come on, dude…"
Monroe and Nick talked about Waschbars as I drifted off.
"Hey, don't fall asleep yet," Monroe said nudging me awake.
My lashes fluttered, and I was met with his deep brown ones staring down at me. Foreigner's 'Double Vision' came to thought as I looked into Monroe's eyes.
"My double vision always seems to get the best of me…"
I grinned at him. "Sorry… Just so… cozy, warm, and drunk."
A devilish grin made its way to his lips. "Which is even more of a reason for you to stay awake with me."
"So, did Nick get the info he needed on Waschbars?" I asked.
"Yeah, but if he'd take the time to just, you know, read the books, he wouldn't need to ask as many questions. I'm sure it's so much easier to ask the Blutbad, 'cause I just have all the answers," he said in a mocking tone.
"But you do have all the answers," I insisted. "Your brain is just an encyclopedia of lovely, wonderful things." I ran my hand through his wild, curly hair, scratching lightly across his temple. That sexy brain of his made me smile.
"Ah, I know enough to get me in trouble, sometimes." He chuckled. "But I'm glad it makes you smile." Oh, he'd heard that last part. Crap.
"Nonsense, it's just bulging with ideas and facts," I said.
"I can think of other bulging things that you enjoy, too." His eyes ignited with red.
I edged forward, sliding my hands down his chest. "Oh, do tell."
"Getting closer," he teased as my fingers moved further down.
I looked up into those smoldering eyes of his. "How about there?"
"Yeah, you've found the jackpot." He grinned, leaning down for my lips as I remained near his pot of gold.
Once he finally let go, I said, "God, Monroe, this wine is hitting me hard." I tried to still sound sexy, but the alcohol was keeping that sexiness far away from me.
"I don't care," he murmured while taking off my dress and kissing down my neck. Oh, what amazing lips my Monroe had.
His mouth stopped. "Your Monroe?" Oh, talking outside my head was just happening more often than not. "So, I'm yours, huh?"
I didn't want to answer that. Okay, yes I did. But if I did…
"Well, I already told you I was yours," I replied in my drunken stupor. I thought back to our night in the woods. I meant every word that night. "So if I'm yours… then that means you're mine," I determined in my drunkenness. It sounded logical enough.
"Well, you definitely are mine," he agreed with a sly grin.
I sang Crosby Stills & Nash.
"I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are.
And you make it hard…"
I laughed at the how those words fit our situation. It was so hard…
"And that means…?"
"That's difficult to define."
"It's not difficult… Just say what you're thinking." His tongue ran over my lips. "Let the wine loosen those up. It's so much easier, don't you agree?" Oh, he kept saying just the right words.
"We belong to one another," I resolved.
"So, that means…?" He paused, waiting for me to finish.
I flashed him a drunken grin. "You tell me, Mr. Sexy Brain." I'd just turn the tables in his direction. Maybe he'd say those three words first, and then I'd reply. If he said it I would definitely reply. Was I talking aloud? I didn't hear the words come out, but at this point I didn't care if he heard me. I was drunk. So drunk.
Monroe watched my face, trying to see into my brain. He didn't respond. Perhaps I was just talking in my head. Maybe that was for the best after all.
"Just say what you're thinking, Monroe," I continued, mocking him.
Instead of words, Monroe kissed me again. The kiss was more passionate this time. God, I loved him, but if I didn't watch I would tell him everything… absolutely everything. But thank goodness his mouth was keeping mine shut.
He pulled back and just looked at me, but I wanted more. Darn alcohol.
"God you make me wanna…" Monroe began. Back to the lips and back to no words. "Aw man…" Monroe jerked up and flared his nostrils. "Put your clothes on."
"Huh? What is it?"
"Nick…" he practically growled.
I moved fast to find my dress before Monroe opened his front door.
"Dude, I told you she can come by tomorrow and you guys can talk Waschbars all you want."
I tilted my head just in time to catch Nick walking through the door with a folder in his hand.
"Monroe, this case is priority right now, and I need her to fill in some blanks." He pointed in my direction as he spoke.
"What did you do? Fly over here? We just got off the phone ten minutes ago."
"I was at the trailer. It doesn't take that long to get here, Monroe."
I smoothed down my hair and rubbed my head. God, I was useless right now. What did Nick expect from me all inebriated like this?
Nick moved to the couch and sat beside me. He opened the folder and pulled out his pen. This wasn't an interrogation room, but I was feeling guilty all over again.
"Okay, so this Waschbar… What could you see?"
"She had dark fur that came out as she had a woge. Nick, she either knew what I was, or who I was. But something stopped her from killing me."
"Killing you?" Monroe had moved to the leather swivel chair. "What do you mean by that?"
Nick looked to Monroe then back to me. "What, you didn't tell him about the crossbow?"
I shook my head. "No. But thanks for doing that for me, Nick."
"Renée," Monroe barked, moving to the couch and spinning me around. The spinning didn't stop. "What the hell happened while I was gone?"
I told him about the Ninja aiming the crossbow at my head after killing the guard and being saved by the bell of the alarm.
"But she didn't shoot… It was like… something else stopped her."
Monroe had his hand in his hair. "Man… Renée." Monroe closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I reached for his hand.
"I'm sorry. This was why I didn't mention it, Honey."
Nick tapped my shoulder and I slowly turned back. "Okay, so does she know who you are or what you are? Which one do you think it was?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't associated with many flying ninjas who shoot crossbows and steal art, so maybe I flinched at the woge… again." God, I had to stop doing that. It was so unlike me. "But I met a Waschbar last week at an art gala. But it was a brief encounter, so I doubt she even remembered me. And it's possible I have a friend that might be a Waschbar."
"You mean you don't know?"
"She's never had a woge, but Monroe thinks he smelled Waschbar." Oh, the drunkenness made sentences difficult. "I mean, he smelled a Waschbar when she was over, right Monroe?" I rolled my head back toward him.
"Yeah, about your friend…" Monroe said as his eyes widened. "That combination of Waschbar and Chanel No. 5… Well, I kinda smelled that combo before… at your house… that night."
I sobered up at bit as I sat up straight. "Monroe! Why didn't you tell me that before?" Oh, this was worse than I imagined.
"Sorry, I really didn't think you'd want to know it could be your friend Natalie." He looked back to Nick. "But, I mean, just because Renée knows two Waschbars doesn't mean any of them did it. There's dozens of Waschbars in Portland and, you know, maybe they just like Chanel No. 5."
I rolled my head back to Nick, who was jotting things down on his notepad.
"But you said one of them was at an art gala a week before another piece of art was stolen," said Nick. "That's a little too coincidental not to overlook."
"My friend Natalie was at the art gala, too," I said softly, reaching for a pillow to hold.
"So two Waschbars were at this art gala?
"Well, if Natalie is a Waschbar."
"I think I know a Waschbar when I smell one," scoffed Monroe.
My head rolled back to Monroe again. Oh, I was spinning from all this head rolling. "So, at yoga you smelled the Fuchsbau pretty quickly. Did you smell Waschbar then?"
"Okay, now the Fuchsbau was different. I'd smelled that scent before… on you, if you recall."
I rolled my eyes slightly. "So how does it work, just one scent at a time?"
"We'll update the 'Bluerod' notebook later, okay?" There was a slight glint in his eyes and I buttoned my lip.
"What are you guys talking about?" asked Nick and I moved my head back once more.
"Nothing, sorry."
"Okay. Well, can I get the names of the Waschbars?"
"Johnna Smallwood is for sure a Waschbar, but Natalie White is the one we're unsure about."
Nick was writing the names down as I spoke. He looked up at Monroe and squinted his eyes at him. I turned back and caught Monroe pointing at his nose.
He jerked his hand down once he saw me. "Sorry," he sheepishly said.
I focused back on Nick and gave him Natalie's phone number. "You may want to check with Lydia Swift to get in contact with Johnna Smallwood. They're associates." Nick jotted down the rest of the information. "What are you going to do to validate interrogating them?"
Nick looked up. "I'm not going to interrogate anyone."
"Question them, sorry. You know what I mean."
"I'll take care of it." Oh, I knew what 'take care of it' meant. Crap. I really didn't want my friend involved in this. I really should've kept my mouth shut.
"What was on that card the thief left?" I asked instead.
Nick moved to a few pages from his folder. "She leaves these blue cards at each of the crime scenes. They're usually quotes from books or people. Here's the first one." He passed a page to me. Wow, he was actually sharing info on the case. I refrained from looking impressed. I read over the words while Monroe read over my shoulder.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
"Riches do not exhilarate us so much with their
possession as they torment us with their loss."
– Epicurus
"You only lose what you cling to."
– Buddha
Beware, for law enforcement is filled
with more thieves than guards!
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I glanced up at Nick. "So, the first theft… was that the Japanese exhibit?"
"Yeah, it was a collection of art and weapons from Japan."
"The Buddha quote… It's just…" I closed my eyes. God, the alcohol was affecting my thought process.
"Buddhism has a major influence on Japan's culture," Monroe said as I tried to think.
"But what does Epicurus have to do with Japan?" Nick asked.
"Epicureanism, Buddhism… both those philosophies cater to living a modest life," Monroe explained. "Great excess leads to great dissatisfaction. They have a similar hedonistic approach in finding balance without going over the limits of pleasure. Which isn't a bad way to live, except that I kinda enjoy my stuff."
"The third quote I'm not placing," I said as I opened my eyes.
"Well, we researched the third quote and haven't found anything. She also didn't identify who said it like the other two."
"No quotation marks either," I pointed to the page. "So maybe they're her own words?"
"So, she thinks someone in law enforcement is a thief, too?" Monroe asked.
Nick shook his head. "I guess so."
"What did the one say that was left after the captain was robbed?"
Nick gave the next page to me.
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"A rich man is either a scoundrel
or the heir of a scoundrel."
– Proverbs
Tear away the golden bricks from which
their castles are built, and the mighty shall fall!
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
"That last quote is hers again," I said, noting the lack of quotation marks or name. "But only one other quote this time, not two."
"Is she saying the captain is a scoundrel?" Monroe asked.
Nick shrugged. "The quotes don't make any sense."
"Heirs and castles…" I said. "Are we talking Kings?" I closed my eyes again briefly as I went through my mental filing cabinets that were currently saturated in wine. "Buddha referred to the positions of kings and rulers as that of dust particles and he compared their treasures of precious metals and stones as bricks and pebbles."
"Well, golden bricks are precious metals," Monroe commented.
"How do you know that?" Nick asked me.
"Philosophy and Religious Studies in college," I replied. "What was stolen from the captain?" I asked, turning the conversation back to the case.
Nick hesitated a moment, then finally replied, "It was another piece of art. Apparently the captain owned a Rottmayr painting. He said it was part of his inheritance, but that's all he really mentioned about its history.
"Rottmayr. Is that German?" I asked. "It sounds familiar."
"Are we talking Johann Michel Rottmayr?" asked Monroe.
Nick glanced back at his notes. "Yeah. Why? Do you know the artist?"
"Yeah," Monroe replied. He's not German. He's Austrian. Salzburg if I'm remembering correctly."
"Is the captain of Austrian descent?" I asked. "He was speaking French on the phone."
Nick lifted his eyebrows. "When did you hear him on the phone?"
"When I passed by his office after I left the precinct today," I replied. "He was telling someone in French that La Bella was stolen today. I didn't stop to listen to the rest."
Nick shook his head. "Well, I've known the captain for years, but we aren't close enough to swap family trees. He could be Austrian or French. Maybe both. Why does that matter anyway?"
"Just trying to get the whole picture," I replied. "What did the card say that was left today?"
Nick handed me the last page. "The card today just had a biblical quote, and something she wrote."
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"But man, despite his riches, does not endure;
he is like the beasts that perish."
– Psalms 49:12
The scales have been tipped far too long!
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"Beasts that perish…" I said aloud. "Is she referring to Wesen?" I pulled out my phone and Google'd the Forty-ninth Psalm. "The rest reads about the same; that we all die no matter if we're rich or poor."
"So, it's an equality thing?" Monroe looked at us. "I'm just trying to think outside the box here."
"I was getting that, too," I replied. "But tipping the scales. Tipping what? Power? Wealth?"
"Maybe all of the above," replied Monroe, scratching his chin.
I held my head. "I'm too drunk to think. But there's a puzzle here, for sure." I looked back to Nick. "I'm sorry I don't have any more… But these clues… Anyone who takes the time to leave quotes behind wants you to discover something."
Nick nodded slowly. "And we'll discover what that is."
"I don't get why she was stealing art in the daytime," said Monroe. "Don't these museum thieves ostensibly try to steal this kinda stuff at night? You know, cutting holes through windows and trying not to leave witnesses?"
"She stole the Japanese exhibit in broad daylight, too," Nick replied.
"But she robbed the captain at night," I recalled, since I was at the trailer the night Nick got the call.
"I don't know. This isn't a typical thief. We haven't seen anything like it."
Nick rose from his seat, seeming deflated. I wanted to have more answers to give him, but whoever this Ninja was, she was good.
"I'm going to head out. If you think of anything else…" Nick held up his cell phone to complete his sentence.
I leaned back against Monroe. "Goodnight, Nick."
"I'll just see myself out," he chuckled, sporting that toothy grin.
"You're good at seeing yourself in," Monroe muttered almost inaudibly.
Once the door was closed, Monroe looked down at me. "She aimed a crossbow at you, and you didn't think I might want to know about that?"
"It all happened so quickly."
"Renée, haven't we talked about this before? We gotta tell each other things."
"But you worry so much as it is…" I whined, which I hadn't meant to do.
"Is there anything else you need to tell me?"
"No. You already know all about the other things."
Monroe knew, but I still had Chloe to tell and a round of yelling to endure. Well, I hadn't mentioned the Reapers or the Daemonfeuer yet, so perhaps I ought to just save it up until May. Hopefully this was all I'd need to talk to her about.
"When were you going to mention that Natalie might be the thief?" I countered.
Monroe sighed. "I just didn't, umm… I mean, you really seem to like her and I know she's becoming your new friend here."
"Yeah, but if she's robbing people then that kind of ruins the friendship."
"Well, it may not be her. I mean…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"There's got to be a way to know for sure."
"Nick can handle it," he replied. "That's his job, not yours."
I shook my head. "I really hope it's not her."
Monroe put his arm around me. "Try not to worry about it tonight, okay?"
I nodded as I leaned my head against his shoulder.
"So," said Monroe," what's my ringtone?"
I looked up at him. "Umm, you don't have one," I said as he frowned. "…yet. You don't have one yet."
"Oh. Well, what song would represent me?"
"I'll know eventually," I replied.
"Okay," he replied. "Or is that a song?"
I laughed. "No. That's not a song."
He ran his fingers through my hair. "Well, there has to be one song that fits me now."
"'Time After Time,'" I replied with a slight grin, although, I wanted to say, 'Lil' Red Riding Hood.'
A/N: Monroe is keeping Renée indoors instead of at the trailer. Jealous, or just worried? You be the judge. The crazy 'L' word still hasn't been said yet. Sorry guys. It's not going to happen this chapter.
So we've got a thief who likes to leave cryptic quotes. Sounds like a Scooby Gang mystery to me.
There aren't many Austrian painters. I was rather surprised by this. But check out Rottmayr, I liked some of his work. (Not on the profile this time, but he is on Google.)