Page 71 of Carnal Wagers

“Yes, all as usual. Elevated levels of digoxin, saponins, and helleborin, consistent with foxglove and hellebore poisoning, with suspected ingestion in a cocktail for this one.”

“Exact amounts?” Brody asked. “Any deviations?”

“I’ll get you the information.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Cake. It appears the victim was forcefully fed cake before her death. Coroner found residue in the mouth, throat, and stomach.”

Frosting coated the inside of the trash, with leftover cake piled inside.

“That’s new,” Liam said.

“The Love Knot Killer has never deviated from her pattern before,” Brody added, typing away on his laptop on the kitchen counter.

“A celebration of some sort?” Liam peeked in at the cake.

“A birthday?” I asked.

“If so, why this year?” Cranwell sighed. “Another piece to this killer’s puzzling profile.”

“What about those candles?” Brody pointed at the plain white, thick, waxy candles at the edge of the kitchen island. “They’re set on the counter with nothing underneath. People don’t usually do that.”

“Right. That’s—that might actually be a good catch.” Cranwell snapped on a glove and unfolded an evidence bag. “I’ll see if there are any prints on this, but I doubt it.”

“These candles aren’t the type for celebrations.”

“Cake and lighting candles,” Brody noted. “That’s more in line with a wake.”

“Question is, who died? I mean”—Liam scratched his head—“besides the stripper.”

“A close death might cause a change in pattern.”

“Or it’s to celebrate a death anniversary,” I countered.

“Again, why this year?”

“Perhaps something upset her annual routine at home,” Liam guessed.

“Any chance someone you know died on this day? Any ideas?”

I rotated my karambit knife around my thumb, racking my brain. Liam shrugged, looking stumped.

“Hold on. I just need to pull up my rosters.” Brody lost himself in his computer files.

My middle brother was organized to a fault, keeping a record of everything he’d ever seen or learned. File by file: rivals (sub-listed by group type, name, and threat level), partners and associates (a folder per business and revenue level), employees, acquaintances, friends, family (clan-affiliated and kin).

“Found it.” We clustered around his screen. “We have two employee birthdays today, the death of one Russian rival out of Miami three years ago, the birthday of the sister of a friend, and the death of Da’s second wife twenty-nine years ago.”

“That one. I bet that’s our link.” Cranwell jotted down notes. “Name?”

“Fiona O’Leary, born Maguire.”

“Relationship to your family?”

“She was the daughter of a prominent Irish family back in Dublin who lost their fortune when her father was imprisoned and killed the month after her marriage to our father. That was when we all relocated to the States, but she didn’t last long in the family. Angus divorced her within seven months, then remarried two months later. She died about six months after the divorce.”

“Right, right, I vaguely remember all this.” Cranwell flipped through his notepad. “The first victim…”