Tangled Souls (32 page)

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.

“You’re out of this, Gavenia. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you hurt,” he said, straightening up. She wasn’t listening. “Stop being stubborn. If this guy will kill a kid, he’ll be happy to off you if you get in his way.”

“That’s the breaks,” she said, taking another step down the stairs. Only two to go and she’d be on ground level and able to move quicker. “I’m in this no matter what happens.”

O’Fallon had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he had no choice. He strode around to the driver’s side and crawled into the car.

“Dammit, woman, I wish you’d listen,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. He heard her calling to him as she struggled down the remaining steps.

O’Fallon put the car in gear and drove away before Gavenia made the driveway. In the rearview mirror he watched her expression move from incredulity to stern resolve. His heart told him she wasn’t going to back down.

* * *

If Gavenia expected sympathy in equal proportion to the Moonbeam tea, her friend Viv wasn’t serving any. Much to her dismay, Viv had thoroughly enjoyed the tale of O’Fallon abandoning her on Gregory’s doorstep.

“He has the nerve to ask me out on a date and then strands me? Damned arrogant son of a leprechaun,” Gavenia grumbled.

“He’s just watching out for you,” Viv said, puttering around her shop.

“We’ll have to disagree on that one.” Another sip of tea.
Time to move on.
“So how do I find someone down . . . here?” she asked, waving her free hand to encompass downtown LA.

“Check over at the shelter. One of those guys might be able to help,” Viv recommended as she dusted under the crystal pyramids.

“Good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Maybe your brain’s a little clouded by this PI guy?”

“Not a chance,” Gavenia shot back, shaking her head vehemently.

“You’ve mentioned he looks good in blue jeans twice, hon. That’s a clue you’ve got the hots for him.”

Gavenia frowned and shook her head again. “No, that just means I’m missing out in the sex department.”

“Then why not give him a whirl? Maybe his bumper sticker was kosher and Irish do make better lovers. Either way, it’d do wonders for your attitude.”

“My attitude is just fine,” Gavenia growled.

“Providing you’re another mongoose with PMS.”

Gavenia pointed at the pyramids. “Shut up and dust.”

She took a deep inhalation of the tea’s fragrance to steady her nerves. Somewhere O’Fallon had his nose to the ground, hunting for Bradley’s killer. Part of her was pleased he was on the case; the other part wanted to find Bradley’s killer first and make the Irishman eat crow.

Tsk-tsk, so competitive
, Bart remarked from his place by the kids’ fairy wands. He pointed.
You should get one of these. They’re pretty cool.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Pardon?” Viv asked, looking up from her dusting.

“Sorry. Talking to Bart.”

“Is he heckling you again?”

“Of course,” Gavenia replied. She stared out the window in thought.

Viv replaced a large amethyst crystal on a nearby shelf. “I’d say he cares for you or he wouldn’t bother to keep you out of the way.”

Gavenia was momentarily confused. “Bart?”

“No, the PI.” Viv shook her head. “You
do
need to get laid.”

“Change the subject, please,” Gavenia demanded.

“Oooh . . . kay. Word is that some of our fellow witches are pissed that Lucy won’t let them nail that Jones jerk. You know, like rain spells on his head until he glows in the dark.”

“Real tempting. No, his karma will catch up with him.”

“That’s what your aunt said. Though there’s a lot of grumbling, they won’t cross a Wiccan elder.”

“Sensible plan. Lucy doesn’t tolerate insurrection very well.” Her Guardian still stood by the fairy wands, blowing on the feather on the top of one. Why he was so fascinated with the thing? “And ring up one of those wands. Bart seems to think he wants one.”

Thanks, Mom.

Gavenia rolled her eyes and paid the tab. She selected the appropriate wand and Bart grinned. As she reached the door and pushed it open, the triple-belled chime caught her by surprise, as if it were the first time she’d been in the shop. Glancing back toward the bookshelf, she realized she’d not completed her ritual. She’d been too riled when she’d arrived to think of it.

It was a childish thing to do anyway.

Rituals have reasons
, Bart urged. He stood near the bookcase.

“Okay, whatever you want.” She crossed to the bookshelf, uncovered the fairy, and touched the little being with the wand, just to be cute.

“Happy?” she asked.

Blissfully
, Bart responded.

“At least someone is.”