No beat? No problem!

Chapter 1.

Tears leaked out from the corners of my eyes as I threw some chopped onions on the frying pan. I choked trying to cough the strong smell of sizzling onion out of my system. "Dad!" I called out over the sound of Elvis Presley singing about wanting to be a teddy bear. "Dinner is almost ready!"

That was a lie, I was nowhere ready. But knowing my father as well as I did (which was very well), I knew it would take an army to tear him away from his archeological catalogs.

I lifted the pan with the golden-brown onions still in it and spilled them out on a tissue paper covered glass plate; all that oil wasn't good for the Dragomir family. I turned around and walked halfway up the polished wooden stairs, "DAD! Come down now!"

All I got was Elvis continuing singing from his study.

I huffed in annoyance. “If I have to come up, then I will have you will be in a lot of trouble!”

I wished Elvis would stop singing.

I entered the kitchen again to cover the onions so they wouldn’t be attracting any small bacterial colonies. The tissue had turned pink. Another red drop fell down from above. I raised my head up and saw a large dripping scarlet stain forming on the roof.

“AH!” I screamed, falling backwards.

I scrambled up, scratching my elbows on the corner of the wooden countertop, and drew a knife from the knife holder. I turned it upside down, found the perfect grip, and ran up the stairs.

The hallway was dark but moonlight spilled inside the house from the door of the study. Inside, the lights were all out.

"Dad?" I stepped inside and the tip of my feet touched something hard; a book. I extended my free hand and moved towards the left until I touched a wall. I found it, then I slid my palm across until it touched the light switch. I turned it on, and saw something that I wished no one would ever see. I saw my father sprawled on the marble floor dead with his throat teared open, surrounded by his now blood soaked research books.

 

I stood over the fresh done grave of Richard Matthew Dragomir Jr. with my paternal aunt. Rubina Moon, doing her very best to console me, "You need to know that the police is doing their best, Tamara."

"Well, then their best isn't that great, is it?" I asked, as I bend down to put a cactus plant with a pastel pink flower growing out of its side, on to the ground. Daddy had fallen in love with cacti just as he love with my mother; slowly. Heck, that's what he had given her when he had told her he liked her.

I smiled at the memory of him telling me the story as if it was yesterday. I wondered if she was watching. I wondered if she had seen what had happened, or had even tried sending an angel down on Earth to help. I felt angry. Of course she couldn’t do anything. She was dead, and so was my father.

"They will find who did this to Richie," she said with such confidence that I almost believed her. "You just wait and watch."

I felt the card in my back pocket grow heavier. "I am tired of waiting."
 

For the next few days, all I did was clean. I scrubbed the blood off the wooden floor, the ceiling and everywhere else the forensics team had managed to get it on. You’d think that they would at least try to behave properly.

Once I was done, I couldn’t tell where my nails ended and the skin on my finger begun. I decided it was a good time to take a shower; I smelled like bleach and grave yard dirt. I still had shampoo in my hair when the doorbell rang.

Oh, shit. Were they here already?

I stepped out and grabbed a towel to wipe myself down. The bell rang again. I slipped into a cotton dress and came out of the steamy bathroom. I went downstairs, trying not to slip, and raced towards the door.

“Maybe they aren’t home,” a voice said. “Should we come back later?”

“Sure,” a slightly deeper voice said. “Why don’t we just leave a client from the Hamptons and go get some coffee?”

“NO!” I yelled yanking the door open. “I am here!”

There were two men standing. The taller one dressed in a black suit with short blonde hair and thin pinks lips had the shorter one with mahogany hair and black in a headlock. They looked up at me from their childish struggle and sprung apart.

“Hello,” the taller one greeted clearing his throat. “I am Xero Knightly.  Xero with a x not a z. This is my assistant, Sweets.”

Sweets waved timidly. “Hi,” I said back. “I am Tamara. Please come in.”

I moved out of their way and they stepped in. “Take a seat,” I told them making my way to the bookshelf.

I took the sealed envelope hidden behind the books and turned to join them on the white leather sofas.

“Now, before we start anything,” I began as I sat across of them, “I would like to know a few things. Does the Knightly Eye has any ties with the police?”

“None at all, ma’am,” Xero answered rhythmically. “Whatever goes down between, stays between us. Unless, the client themselves decides to approach the law enforcement on their own behalf.”

“Great,” I remarked and gave a polite smile. “So, to the case now. Alright. So . . . um, I― sorry, this is just a bit hard.”

“That’s alright, ma’am,” he said comfortingly with kind eyes. “Take your time.”

Sweets nodded furiously.

“I need help with my father . . .” I choked.

“That’s fine!” Xero exclaimed before I had a chance to open my mouth again. “Did he walk out on you? It’s completely normal. We can track him down in no time. You see, most deadbeat dads follow a certain tenancy when it comes to their social behaviours. Drinking, gambling, frequent visits to poorly managed strip clubs―”

“No!” I cut him off, waving both my hands at him. “It’s not like that. My dad didn’t walk out on me. He was murdered.”

“Ah,” both him, and Sweets sobered up. “I very sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I said. I opened an envelope and spilled the photos out on the coffee table. “These are some photos I acquire from the crime scene. I had a man break into the evidence locker room. I would tell you that they are very graphic but you can already see that.”

Xero’s goodhearted smile was nowhere to be seen. Colour had drained from his face.

“A month ago my father, Richard, was murdered in his study. The police were in and out of my house until last two-three days; taking samples, talking to the neighbours. And then poof! Nothing. I have never seen our justice system give up on something so fast.”

“Ma’am,” Xero began running his hand down his face, “We are very sorry for your loss, but we don’t take cases like these. I am sure the police―”

“You don’t understand!” I inched forward. “They are investigating using the wrong angles. My father had his throat ripped apart. Human’s aren’t capable of doing such damage.”

It was Xero’s time to turn pale. Sweets gave an awkward laugh changing looks with his boss. “So what are you saying? You think a . . . machine did this?”

“No,” I told them; my nails dug themselves in my palm. “I saw the tear marks. It wasn’t done by a machine, or other instrument. It looked almost animalistic. I think . . . I think a monster did this.”

Xero stood up so fast that he almost tipped over the small table. “We are leaving,” he said to Sweets, curtly. “Good bye”

“Man, you don’t have to be so rude,” Sweets chided getting up to face. “She needs us.”

 “You need to help me,” I called out, moving up too as he walked towards the front door. “See, I even have our card!”

I took his small, wrinkled, business card that I had been carrying around since after the funeral, out of my back pocket and handed it to him.

NO BEAT? NO PROBLEM!

“Where did you find this?” he snapped, causing me to flinch.

“The priest at my father’s funeral,” I answered. “He said that you’d help.”

“Look,” he started, licking his lips. “I don’t know who told you about us, but they might as hell shouldn’t have. I don’t do stuff like that anymore. Be kind to yourself and get some mental help.”

“Please,” I cried. “I need your help. I will give you as much money as you demand. Just please help me find out who did this to my father.”

Xero didn’t spare another glance on me. He open the door for Sweets to exit through and then followed behind, without bothering to close the door behind him.

That bastard.

“FINE!” I screamed, running towards the door. “RUN AWAY LIKE THE COWARDS YOU ARE! I WILL FIND ANSWERS MYSELF!”