Heart Search (11 page)
“At least two.” There had been a red-gold desk set—and his HeartGift. Feeling as if his face had gone grim and brittle, Laev continued with new information for Primross, “I am not sure when my late wife began removing Family items from the Residence. Neither my FatherSire nor the Residence itself informed me of the matter. My FatherSire left few notations in his journal.” He drank from a cup of caff that had cooled. “The items were not pieces my FatherSire considered valuable or important to the Family.”
“But you do,” Primross said.
“Yes. I do.” That Laev had brought a woman into the Family who had stolen lacerated his feelings. He wanted
everything
she’d taken back. “There’s no record of the exact objects Nivea took.”
everything
she’d taken back. “There’s no record of the exact objects Nivea took.”
“Your wife, as the lady of the Residence, didn’t keep an accounting journal?” Primross’s tones were even.
“No. I wish to speak to you about something of a more personal nature. Are you available for an appointment tomorrow at MidMorningBell?”
Primross’s eyes flickered as if he internally consulted his own schedule. “No.”
“I would like to speak as soon as possible.” Laev knew damn well that he was the highest-ranking—and paying—client Primross had. If the man wanted his business to grow, he’d give Laev what he wanted.
The private eye stared at him, finally muttered, “I can be at your place in about a septhour and a half.”
“Fine. I can send a glider—”
“I’ll teleport to your front gate,” Primross said gruffly, words Laev had hoped to hear. He didn’t have a glider without the Family arms tinted on the side, something he was considering remedying right now.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Primross nodded. “Merry meet,” he said formally.
“Merry part,” Laev returned.
“And merry meet again.” Primross ended the scry.
Laev scrutinized the invoice. All had little logos beside the entries—the Sunflower’s Family arms, business logos of the shops. He’d seen one of those logos last night, embroidered on shirt cuffs. The man who’d pounced on his vase. No doubt Primross had already winnowed everything there was to know from that source, but . . .
“Nivea went to the Salvage Ball more than once.”
Brazos stopped licking the pads of his paw.
Took your best gift there.
Took your best gift there.
Laev’s HeartGift. “Probably. The women we met last night attended that party for years, too. They seemed sharp.” Between the three of them, they might have memories of objects left on the tables. A few of the missing items showed the Hawthorn arms.
Mica said they talked a lot about the party, what was there and what wasn’t. Mica is a smart Cat, too.
“Residence, scry the Temple directory and ask for Tiana Mugwort.”
A couple of minutes later, the Residence said, “She is unavailable today.”
Laev recalled the avid curiosity of Glyssa Licorice.
Brazos leapt onto his lap, looked up at him, and purred loudly as he kneaded Laev’s thighs.
Mica and her FamWoman are at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart.
Mica and her FamWoman are at Darjeeling’s HouseHeart.
“What?” He hadn’t thought GraceHouse Darjeeling had an intelligent Residence.
The TEAHOUSE.
Teahouse. Yes, he’d heard of Darjeeling’s Teahouse. The connection between a rare tea set and the teahouse snapped together.
Brazos leapt from Laev’s lap and strolled over to the teleportation pad.
Follow Me. I know the coordinates.
Follow Me. I know the coordinates.
Laev stared at the cat. Did he really want to put his life in a cat’s paws? He stood. “You fail and I die and you won’t be welcome here in the Residence.”
“No, he will not be welcome,” the Residence boomed.
Laev figured it was only upset because he didn’t have an heir yet. But since that was the first sentence the Residence had offered independently since the previous T’Hawthorn died, Laev decided he was making progress. He stepped up on the teleportation pad and picked up Brazos.
He’d thought the cat would send him an image, but the animal teleported them both. They fell a few inches to a rug covering a firm pad, and Laev instinctively sucked in a breath.
He was rewarded with the scent of tea and spices and a whiff of calming incense.
For a few blinks he let his eyes adjust to the dim light as he let the concept of restaurant-as-HouseHeart roll in his mind. All the HouseHearts he knew were secreted in the depths of sentient Residences, closely guarded with the greatest Flair. Usually the Residences belonged to the FirstFamilies—or the FirstFamilies belonged to them. But in the last decade or so, some GrandHouse noble houses had begun to become intelligent.
The place didn’t much appear like T’Hawthorn Residence’s HouseHeart. That reminded him that he hadn’t spent the appropriate amount of hours there this month and irritated him.
Brazos shot from his arms, through tables, and leapt over the counter and through the door to the kitchen.
All the tables were full, so it was doing a good business.
Mica says FamWoman will come see you soon,
Brazos said.
Brazos said.
A young woman dressed in a brightly colored work tunic and trous and a brown bib apron approached Laev.
“Welcome to Darjeeling’s HouseHeart. Please follow me.”
“I’m here for GraceMistrys Darjeeling.” He should have set up an appointment.
“Ah. She’ll be right with you. I’ll show you to the office.” There was a slight hesitation in the server’s voice that made Laev think she was mentally communicating with Darjeeling. Then she turned and led Laev around a pretty fountain, across the room, and behind the counter to an office that looked like it had been converted from a closet. Inside was a small desk with a chair behind it, and another chair jammed between the desk and the wall, with enough room for the arc of the door.
Camellia Darjeeling stood staring down at two cats who lapped from a bowl of milk. She looked up and he caught a smile on her face and something inside him twinged. Pretty woman.
But when she turned fully toward him, her hands were in her opposite sleeves and her smile had faded to one of pure politeness. More, she’d gone pale. “How can I help you, GreatLord T’Hawthorn?”
“Are you all right?”
Her jaw flexed. “A little headache.”
“I’ll be brief.” But he’d wished he’d planned out the meeting. This was beginning to feel like a mistake. Why hadn’t he just scried Primross to handle this? Because the women already had a poor opinion of him and he didn’t trust Primross to overcome that?
“I’d like to ask you some questions about the Salvage Ball.”
“Last night?”
“Can we be private?”
She gestured to the door and it began to slowly swing shut. There was a loud belch and the cats jumped. Both of them hit her shoulders, used them as springboards to leap over Laev and through the door before it closed.
Camellia toppled.
Laev caught her.
Seven
S
hrieks of cat glee and the sound of racing paws came from beyond the
office door and the odor of spilt spiced milk swirled around Laev and Camellia.
hrieks of cat glee and the sound of racing paws came from beyond the
office door and the odor of spilt spiced milk swirled around Laev and Camellia.
There wasn’t much room to move. He held Camellia, noticing that she felt really good in his arms. Womanly supple. Smooth skin over firm muscles.
He liked being close to her. There was a quality about her that soothed . . . or maybe it was just the place, because she pulled away and adjusted the sleeves of her gown. Her lips tightened as she glanced at the milk-soggy carpet.
She bent and righted the bowl, and Laev appreciated how her tunic showed the shape of her ass. Her hips appeared a bit larger than her bustline . . . not a perfect figure, just endearing. Nice and full. He had to curl his fingers to stop himself from squeezing her butt—something that hadn’t happened for a long time. Still he liked the buzz of attraction.
Too bad she was obviously a very serious woman who’d take sex seriously, also.
With a muttered couplet and a flick of her fingers, she cleaned the carpet. He noted that it was a standard pattern favored by the middle class, like most of the furnishings in the teahouse—the menu tables and cushioned chairs. The statues of the Lord and Lady in their individual niches were sold by temples, only the fountain was unique—a very wise choice.
She moved gracefully around the desk and sat on the chair, her expression once again one of courteous inquiry. “The Salvage Ball, you said?”
“Yes.” This was going to be difficult, he wished the priestess had been available. He tried his most sincere smile, spread his hands.
Camellia frowned.
Not good. “I was wondering if you or your friends might have recognized any T’Hawthorn items in previous years.”
“Nivea took things from your home?” Camellia’s voice was sharp.
Laev straightened in his chair. “I realize that I am a relative stranger, and that you and your friends probably have little goodwill toward me and mine—”
“Nivea didn’t believe that goodwill was important. Beauty and status were more—” Camellia snapped her mouth shut. “I beg your pardon.”
“Granted.”
“She was difficult to become close to.”
Laev nodded but was mentally considering statues in his workshop that he might offer as compensation. An instant later, he translocated a forty-five-centimeter-high statue of the Lord to Camellia’s desk. “I am prepared to trade for information,” he said easily.
Camellia’s eyes had widened, deepened to dark gray, her mouth opened a little.
“It’s much like the one you have in front.” Something he’d sculpted as a young man, copying from a standard statue, practicing his technique.
She slid her hand down the brownish marble. Laev tensed, he hoped it was smooth, he hadn’t looked at that particular piece for years.
“It’s wonderful. And a better color than the stock white,” she said.
“An appropriate trade for information.”
She smiled and it appeared almost easy, some strain that had been in her since he’d arrived—
since they’d met
—eased.
since they’d met
—eased.
“Yes, indeed,” she said.
Good. He liked her better when she relaxed. He was pleased his gift hadn’t offended, been more than she’d expect for information. No need for her to know that he’d carved it.
Camellia turned the statue slowly around. Her lashes were lowered and her face impassive as she said, “There was a T’Hawthorn desk set some years ago. Red gold.”
His heart jumped. “Yes? Did you notice what happened to it?”
Her gaze met his briefly, then slid away. “It was the cause of a quarrel—the final quarrel between us and GreatMistrys Hawthorn.” Camellia’s cheeks tinted with color. “We—my friends and I—have strong feelings about objects going missing from homes. Glyssa Licorice was of the opinion that GreatMistrys Hawthorn shouldn’t have brought the desk set—especially since it had a spray of hawthorn leaves in the corners of the blotter and engraved on the writestick and stand.”
An emotional blow. He kept his face immobile.
Again Camellia’s glance flickered on his face, then went beyond him. “Tiana Mugwort remonstrated with Niv—GreatMistrys Hawthorn, who wasn’t pleased at the slight. And since Hawthorn was the highest-ranked person at the Salvage Ball that year, she made it hard on the rest of us and we left early. We didn’t see what became of the desk set.”
“When was that?”
Camellia leaned back and her old comfortchair jerked. Laev’s fingers twitched. He could fix the chair spell for her. But he had to make sure that she felt they were on an equal footing.
After a minute, she said, “It was about six years ago.”
Another jolt. He hadn’t thought Nivea was that angry at him so long ago. And it was too long ago to believe that he could find the set.
He stood and inclined his torso. There wasn’t enough space for a full bow. “Thank you. Could you ask your friends about any memories they might have?”
Camellia stared at him for a moment, her face serious, mystery lurking in her eyes. A corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. Again she trailed fingers down the statue. Laev’s body clenched.
“I’ll do that.” Reaching into her left sleeve pocket, she pulled out a perscry—a personal scry that was a drop of water encased in glass—and addressed it. “Message to Tiana and Glyssa’s scrycaches, come to dinner at my place, half septhour after EveningBell.”
Glyssa Licorice’s face formed in the small sphere. “Dinner at your house. Will you be cooking?”
“Yeah—yes, I will,” Camellia said.
The gleam sharpened in Glyssa’s eyes. “Good. You’re the best cook of us all.”
“Should be, I did all the cooking at the teahouse until I could hire it done. Later.” Camellia rubbed a thumb over the glass and it returned to dark opaque green. She rose from her chair.
“I must compliment you on Darjeeling’s HouseHeart, a well-conceived and well-run business,” Laev said.
Other books
The Ghost Sonata by ALLISON, JENNIFER
The Case Of William Smith by Wentworth, Patricia
Bishop's Man by Macintyre, Linden
Goody Two Shoes (Invertary Book 2) by Henderson, Janet Elizabeth
The Italian Divide by Allan Topol
The Wyndham Legacy by Catherine Coulter
The Lost and Found by E. L. Irwin
Stockyard Snatching by Barb Han
The Other Side of Darkness by Melody Carlson
Queen Mab by Kate Danley
