It’s time he knows, he said.
“Okay,” she said. Turning her attention back to the PI, she explained, “Bartholomew Quickens is my ethereal Guardian.”
“You mean, like a guardian angel?” O’Fallon asked, his face betraying his confusion.
“Sort of, except he doesn’t have wings; at least, he’s never acted like he does. His job is to keep me out of trouble. He gives me advice when he’s in the mood to be helpful.”
Bart stuck out his tongue. She chuckled at the sight and pointed for O’Fallon’s benefit. “He’s over there,” she said, “but you’ll have to take my word for that.”
O’Fallon stared and shook his head. “You’re right, I’ll have to take your word. Do I have one of these . . . guardians?”
She nodded and pointed just over his right shoulder. “I only see it as twinkle of light. Some of them I can’t see at all.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked, leaning forward, staring in the general direction where Bart sat. “It’d creep me out.”
“You’re being a lot more open than you were a couple of days ago.”
“A lot of stuff has hit the fan. I’ve seen things that . . . well . . . Let’s just say I’ve seen a ghost of my own, so either I’m crazy or I’m psychic. I’ve decided to go with the latter.”
“Sounds familiar.” Suddenly ill at ease, she struggled to her feet. He rose to help her up. “Thanks.” She felt his hand on her cheek, and with the merest hint of pressure, he turned her face toward him. The kiss caught her by surprise. It wasn’t demanding, just a gentle buss on the lips.
“You have the most gorgeous eyes,” he said, gazing at them as if they were fine gems.
“Yours aren’t bad, either,” she said. She could smell his aftershave now, a citrus blend.
The second kiss was longer, more insistent. The Irish guy knew how kiss. She found herself putting her hands around his waist, careful not to touch his sore ribs. He returned the gesture and pulled her in to his warm body. It was impossible not to notice his growing arousal.
“I wish we had more time,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.
The next kiss was more insistent, and Gavenia began to wonder if he’d forgotten about Alliford. The sound of an opening door jarred them apart, followed by Ari’s voice calling Gavenia’s name from the front entryway.
“In the temple,” she replied. O’Fallon’s eyes reflected hers—regret. He gave her a wink as he moved a discreet distance away, pulling his T-shirt back into place.
“Oh, hi; I see you’re still in one piece,” Ari said, flashing O’Fallon a brilliant smile. “That’s a good sign.”
Something about Ari’s smile irritated Gavenia. “We were just leaving,” she said.
“Really? Okay . . . I’m going to lunch with a friend, so I’ll see you this afternoon at the shelter.”
“Oh, Goddess, I forgot,” Gavenia said, tapping her forehead with her finger as if that would help her remember. “What time?”
“Four will do. I’m off to Portland tonight, so you get the dishes.”
Clearly she’d missed something. “Portland?”
An exasperated frown replaced Ari’s smile. “Remember, I told you about that when we were on the flight to Vegas?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m not really with it right now.”
“Par for the course,” Ari murmured, and then turned her attention back to the PI. The smile returned. “Glad to meet you, Mr. O’Fallon.”
“You as well, Dr. Hansford.”
The use of her title made the smile broader. She headed down the hallway, Bastet trailing behind.
“Ready?” Gavenia asked, keen to leave. She didn’t think she could take too much more of Ari’s fawning.
Oh . . . jealous? Bart piped up.
“Be quiet!” she snapped.
“Pardon?” O’Fallon asked, startled.
“Sorry. Bart’s doing Bart-like things,” she said, glaring in her Guardian’s direction.
“Perhaps it’s best I drive,” O’Fallon offered diplomatically.
Gavenia didn’t bother to argue.
* * *
As they drove toward Bel Air, O’Fallon talked about Seamus and how the bird missed her. He announced he was going to Ireland once his cases were complete, and then asked if Gavenia liked Chinese, as he knew a place on the other side of town that did excellent dim sum.
A virtual chatterbox, Bart observed from the backseat.
He’s working up to something, Gavenia replied.
Her prediction was correct. O’Fallon cleared his throat and then leaped into the fray.
“After this case is over and I get back from Ireland . . . I’d like to spend time with you, at the beach, if that’s okay.”
Aww, isn’t that sweet? Bart whispered.
O’Fallon shot her a worried expression and then returned his attention to the traffic.
Bart chimed in, He’s taking this pretty seriously. I suggest you do the same.
It’s not like he’s asked me to marry him or anything. It’s just a damned date, Gavenia grumbled through the mental link.
It’s more than that to him.
Gavenia puzzled on that comment. Her silence was interpreted differently by the private eye.
“If you’re not comfortable with the idea, just tell me,” O’Fallon said, blessedly unaware of the unspoken conversation flowing around him. “I know I don’t have a . . . great track record . . . not with two divorces behind me.”
Honesty. How refreshing, Bart observed.
Gavenia gave her Guardian a sidelong glance and then addressed the Irish guy.
“Okay, on one condition.”
“Which is?” O’Fallon asked in a cautious tone.
“You wear those blue jeans.”
A grin blossomed. “Like them, do you?”
She gave a nod and a low sigh and let a slow stream of air out her lips. “On you, oh yeah.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. I know a great Irish pub. We can get lunch, listen to some good music and drink some fine Irish beer, and then head out to the beach. Sound like an option?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “You’re on, O’Fallon. I might even learn a few words in the mother tongue just for the occasion.”
He fell silent, as if he’d accomplished his goal. In the backseat Gavenia could hear Bart humming to himself. To her horror, it sounded like Mendelssohn’s “Bridal Chorus”. The wedding march.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gregory Alliford appeared surprisingly well. His shirt was ironed, his face clean-shaven, and a glass of water sat next to him instead of something 100 proof. He eyed O’Fallon while consuming a sizable stack of vitamins of various kinds and colors.
“You’re lucky I let you back in the house,” Gregory announced.
Gavenia kept the smile from her face. She heard control in his voice, giving a hint of the kind of man he’d been before Bradley’s death. Maybe this whole thing wouldn’t end like a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Augusta actually fired you?” Gregory continued, still eyeing the PI.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mrs. Pearce isn’t good with the truth.”
One of the vitamins tumbled out of Gregory’s fingers and landed in front of Gavenia’s shoe. She retrieved it and handed it back.
“Sounds like Augusta.” Gregory took another swallow of water. He looked over at Gavenia. “Emily’s staying with me, helping me . . . deal with all this. She took me to an AA meeting last night. She’s been sober for almost two years now.” He rolled the vitamins around his palm in thought.
“Janet’s sister?” O’Fallon asked. Their host nodded.
“That’s great news, Gregory,” Gavenia said.
“God, some of those guys are way worse than I am. I saw where I was headed.” He shook his head and popped down another vitamin.
“Just do it one day at a time,” O’Fallon observed.
“That’s what they said. Are yo
u an alcoholic?”
“No, but I’ve had partners who were.”
Gregory washed the last vitamin down with a gulp of water. “Doesn’t have the same kick as whiskey,” he observed, and grinned like a child.
A furry blur hurtled into the room and pounced on one of O’Fallon’s shoes, attacking the shoelace with a vengeance.
“I hope you can handle cats,” Gregory said. “This is TJ. He’s Emily’s. He’s a whirling dervish. He even wears Merlin out.”
O’Fallon disentangled the kitten from the laces and held him in his lap, instigating a loud purr of contentment. The kitten snuggled up close, grooming O’Fallon’s thumb in short swipes with his abrasive tongue.
“You’ve got a way with animals, O’Fallon,” Gavenia remarked.
“Not only cats.” He gave her a libidinous grin.
Whoa, a genuine come-on! Bart observed.
Gavenia decided to ignore both of them and addressed Gregory instead. “O’Fallon needs to ask you a few questions. Do you feel you’re up to that?”
“If you say he’s on the level.”
Gavenia shot a quick glance at the Irishman. She just had to trust him. “He is.”
“Okay, then ask away.”
O’Fallon handed the kitten to Gavenia and pulled out his notepad and pen. “I’m sorry to bring this up, but I need to know more about your son’s death.”
“Why? The police ruled it an accident.”
“I know, but not everything is clear to me.”
“You read the police report?”
O’Fallon gave a nod.
“Then what confuses you?” Gregory asked, straightening up. He gave Gavenia a quick glance, and she shrugged. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Why hadn’t O’Fallon warned her?
“The police report said your maid had car trouble at the grocery store and that she called the school to let them know to keep Bradley there until she got a ride arranged.”
“Yes. Maria called the neighbor’s maid, Lupina. She said she’d bring Bradley home and make sure he got inside safely.”
“Why didn’t that happen?”
“Bradley left before Lupina could find him. He walked home with Julianne.” Gregory paused, a sad expression covering his face. “Julianne was Bradley’s best friend.”
“Julianne Foster?” O’Fallon asked, pulling the name off his notes from the police report.
“Yes. She lives three blocks from here. They played together all the time.”
“Had Lupina picked him up before?”
“Yes. Bradley knew she was okay.”
“Was anyone else ‘okay’?”
“Only Maria and myself.”
“Not your wife?”
Gregory’s voice grew stern. “No. She wasn’t reliable.”
“But she knew the routine?”
“Yes.”
O’Fallon scribbled a note and underlined it. Gavenia wondered what he’d heard that had caught his notice.
Gregory continued, “If I was in town, I’d walk home with him. We’d talk about his day and–—” The father abruptly halted and jammed his lips together. His eyes glistened with tears.
“Maybe now isn’t a good time for this,” Gavenia said, placing the kitten on the floor, where it launched its second attack on O’Fallon’s shoelaces, then flew out of the room in search of new prey. “I’ll see if I can find you some juice, Gregory.” As she left the room, she gave O’Fallon a stern look that counseled against pressing much further.
He ignored the unspoken warning. “Was Merlin usually outside?”
“Yes. He has a kennel.”
“Could Bradley let him out?”
“Yes.”
“Could your son could get into the house if he needed to?”
Gregory nodded. “We taught him the security code and he had a little step stool so he could reach the alarm panel.”
“A bright little boy,” O’Fallon observed. “So he came home, let Merlin out, and then walked with Julianne to her house. Then what happened?”
Gregory leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. “Dear God, he was only a few blocks from home. . . .”
Gavenia returned at that moment, bearing a glass of orange juice.
“Here. Drink this,” she said, setting it next to the distraught father. “Emily says it’ll help.” She glared at O’Fallon, but he disregarded her.
Gregory downed the juice like it was pure vodka, his hands clutching the glass so tightly that O’Fallon thought it would shatter into a thousand tiny missiles.
Though he hated what he had to do, he pressed on. “Would your son have accepted a ride from a stranger?”
That earned him another brilliant blue glare from the witch. “I think he’s had enough for—,” she started.
Gregory answered over her. “No. We taught him it wasn’t safe.”
“Was Merlin protective of him?”
“It depended on the person. With most people he’s just a big lovable lump.”
O’Fallon paused and then shifted directions. “Does your wife owe anyone money?”
“What are you suggesting?” Gregory asked, setting the glass down with a clunk on the end table. He leaned forward, more in control now. “I really don’t understand what you’re after.”
“I’m just covering a few bases, Mr. Alliford.”
“I need know why you’re asking these questions,” the father said, his frown returning.
Stalemate. O’Fallon shifted his eyes toward the witch. She was going to be pissed, but he had no choice.
“I think your son died during a botched kidnapping attempt.”
“Jesus,” the father exclaimed as he lurched back in his chair. Gavenia’s mouth formed a thin line. Her eyes flashed dark blue. Had she made the connection to the penknife?
Gregory’s expression dulled. “You think Janet’s involved?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But he was her son,” Gregory protested. “I can’t imagine—”
O’Fallon didn’t pull the punch. “She needs cash to feed her drug habit, and you’re the one with the deep pockets. Mrs. Pearce certainly wasn’t going to pony up the cash.”
The father massaged his temples in slow motion. “Ask me anything you want,” he said in a raw whisper.
Treading a fine line around what the vision had revealed, O’Fallon probed into the relationship between Alliford and his estranged wife. It proved an ugly tale: as Gregory descended into the bottle, Janet found her nirvana in the snowy lines of cocaine. The only good thing between them was Bradley.
Now he’s dead. “What about Maria? Is she on the level?” O’Fallon asked.
Gregory seemed startled by the question. “She’s been with us for five years. She’s as devastated as we are.”
“Is she here today?”
“No, it’s her day off.”
“I’ll need her home address. I’d like to ask her a few questions about her routine.”
Gregory nodded and finished off the last of the juice.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to extort money from you?” O’Fallon asked.
“No; no one,” Gregory replied. The answer was too quick, too forced. The truth burned deep in the father’s bloodshot eyes—Alliford feared his wife had caused the death of their only son. “I want to hire you,” he blurted. “Money isn’t important now.”
O’Fallon shook his head, tucking his notebook away.
“This one’s on the house.”
* * *
Though his instincts told him to cut and run, O’Fallon stood by his car, waiting for the witch. Gavenia was going to barbecue him. He should have told her what the vision had revealed, shared the burden, but he hadn’t trusted her. She couldn’t tumble from the pedestal if he never gave her a reason to betray him.
The shrinks had been right about that—trust wasn’t something he gave lightly. Doubly so, when it came to a woman.
“No wonder I live with a damned parrot.”
/> He rubbed his hand across his face, exhausted though it was only midday. Turning his mind to the case only yielded a dozen questions: Why did the maid’s car decide to malfunction on that particular day? Was it just bad luck or something else at work? Why did the boy collect Merlin and go to the girl’s house only to walk back alone?
O’Fallon leaned against the car, crossing his arms over his chest despite a sharp note of protest from the bruised ribs. The moment Bradley’s killer knew he was being hunted, all bets were off—O’Fallon would become a target, as would Our Lady of the Azure Eyes. His gut pretzeled into a knot as emotions waged war within him. He would have liked to believe he didn’t care for Gavenia Kingsgrave; that would be the safest course. He’d never been ruled by his libido, yet there was something about the witch that unnerved him, an exotic attraction he couldn’t deny.
O’Fallon heard the front door close and then the sound of Gavenia’s metal-tipped cane on the stone steps. He steeled himself and met her eyes. They broadcast a merger of boiling blue anger and deep hurt. The hurt he hadn’t expected. Guilt stabbed at him, but he forced it down. He had two tasks: find Bradley’s killer and keep the lady out of the line of fire.
Gavenia halted on the second step down.
“Just what did you see when you touched Bradley’s knife?” she demanded.
Damn, she made the connection. “What I told Alliford—someone tried to kidnap him.”
“No, that’s not everything.” He didn’t reply, and that only seemed to infuriate her more. “Out with it, O’Fallon!”
He took a long, slow inhalation and then released it through pursed lips. “Bradley’s death wasn’t an accident. He was killed when the kidnapping went bad.”
“Good Goddess,” she whispered.
“I don’t want Alliford to know, at least not yet. I need to talk to the investigating detectives.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, moving a step down.
“No, this is something I have to do on my own,” he insisted.
“No, we do this together.” Another step down.