Page 102 of Sincerely, Butterfly

“I’m not touching that,” I grunt.

Wesley takes it. “It’s kind of cool,” he mutters, inspecting it.

“What’s that?” Garrett asks, pointing at something sticking out of her shirt.

Sylas pulls it out to look at it, and I watch as his eyes widen. “Uhhh.”

“Give me that.” I lean down and snatch the photo out of his hand. I look it over, brows furrowed.

“Well, that’s not creepy as fuck or anything,” Wesley mutters over my shoulder.

It’s a photo of the girl on the ground. Based on the lifeless look in her eyes, she’s dead in the picture as well. But she’s not alone. It’s some kind of sick selfie of her and some guy in a mask.

What the hell? Who would do this? And why?

“Looks like a killer's calling card,” Garrett suggests. “Oh shit!” he laughs. “Does New Orleans have itself a killer on the loose? We haven’t had one since The Storyville Slayer, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Wesley asks dryly.

Garrett shrugs. “I know things.”

“They better not turn into a fucking serial killer,” I snarl. “That’s the last thing we need on our plate right now. Some wackjob running around, leaving bodies behind. It’s our job to keep New Orleans under control. If people start showing up dead, people are going to ask questions.”

“What do we do with her?” Sylas asks. “Because I’m guessing we’re not going to call the cops.”

“No, we’re not calling the fucking cops,” I bark. “We’re going to deal with this ourselves. We’ll take her to the morgue and get rid of her body there.” And then I’ll be making some phone calls to my informant at the NOPD and see if anything like this has happened before, or if this just so happened to be the first kill. Hopefully, it’s this psychopath’s only kill.

What I can’t wrap my head around is… why this girl? Why leave her on our property? Was the murderer a guest at the party last night? Did we have a killer amongst us that whole time and not know it?

“Your sister is never having another fucking party at any of our houses again,” I snap at Sylas.

“This isn’t Callie’s fault,” Sylas argues, getting to his feet. “She had nothing to do with this girl and her death. It was probably some crazy boyfriend who found out his girlfriend was cheating on him, so he put a stop to itand her.”

“I would believe that… if they didn’t leave this behind.” I hold up the photo. “And whatever the hell that is.” I look at the bug in Wesley’s hand.

“It’s a butterfly.” He blinks at me.

“I fucking know that,” I snap, glaring at him.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should probably do something about her,” Garrett adds. “It’s broad daylight, and people could possibly see.”

“I vote we stash her body in the garden shed, and get rid of it when it’s dark,” Sylas suggests.

Running my tongue along my teeth, I try to keep it together. I’m at a loss right now.

“Fine.” I hand the photo back over to Sylas. “You three move her. I have some phone calls to make.”

Leaving the three of them to deal with the body, I head back inside the house to grab my cell phone.

“Hey,” Mike White, my informant at the NOPD, answers the phone.

“I need some information.” I head into the living room, taking a seat on the couch.

“What do you need?”

“Has there been any deaths as of late?”

“Gonna have to be more specific,” he grunts. “People die every day.”