"We should check it out, but I suspect someone's just trying to get in your good books, Savannah. Have you asked Adam to look into it?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd research it myself."
"Let me handle it, then. I'll send the pics to a Druid buddy, see what he says."
I signed off and headed up the walk to confront Paula Thompson.
When I knocked, Kayla answered. She looked up at me, her thin face solemn. "I'm sorry about Detective Kennedy."
"So am I."
She nodded and backed up to let me in.
"Is your grandma--?"
"Right here." Paula rounded the corner, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.
"Something smells good," I said.
"It's for you," Kayla said. "When Mom died, people brought food over, so I told Grandma we should make you something. Usually it's casseroles, but Grandma said you won't want that in a motel room, so we're making muffins. Do you like blueberry?"
"I love them," I said. "Thank you."
Damn. This was going to make what I had to do very tough.
"Do you have a minute?" I said to Paula. "I need to speak to you."
"Of course. Come on in."
She waved me through to the kitchen. History books were spread across the table. As Kayla moved them aside, I could see her work-sheets, her neat handwriting below her grandma's questions, Paula's writing painfully precise, like a schoolgirl's herself. Homeschooling a child couldn't be easy, but Paula was trying. Anything for her granddaughter.
I turned to Paula. "I should really speak to you alone."
"I'm fine," Kayla said, parking herself in a chair.
"It's about the police file on Ginny's murder," I said. "Did you know they took DNA samples?"
"Course they did," Kayla said. "Everyone does these days."
"Actually, no. Someone seems to have gone a little overboard, considering they didn't find any DNA at the scene. They took samples from the victims and they tried to from any possible suspects. Cody wouldn't go for it, but they got them from an old boyfriend of Brandi's, as well as Ginny's landlord, and Alastair Koppel ..."
Paula froze, oven door open, muffin tray in hand. It took her a second to unstick herself and get the tray in.
"We compared samples," I said.
"With what?" Kayla asked, screwing up her nose. "You said there wasn't any DNA at the scene."
"Kayla," Paula said. "I need some brown sugar."
"Brown sugar?"
"To sprinkle on the tops." She dug in her purse and handed Kayla a ten. "Can you get some from the grocery? And, yes, you can buy yourself something. Remember what the dentist said, though, no hard or sticky candy."
Kayla studied her grandmother's expression, then she scowled at me. She didn't know why her grandma was upset, but I was clearly responsible.
"I'm staying," she said. "Whatever she has to say--"
"Kayla." Paula's voice sharpened. "Don't take that tone with Ms. Levine, and don't tell me what you will or won't do. I need you to go to the store. That's not a request."
Kayla shot me an icy look, but she obeyed. Paula went to the front window to watch her go. I stayed in the kitchen. When she came back, she took a seat. I did the same.
"Yes, Alastair is Ginny's father," she said. "But I wasn't lying when I said she didn't know and that she didn't have any contact with him."
"That's splitting a very fine hair, Ms. Thompson. You knew what I meant--was there any relationship between them? I'd consider that a relationship."
"I wouldn't."
She met my eyes, with that same defiant look I'd just seen on her granddaughter. But she couldn't hold it. After a moment, she broke off with a sigh.
"Yes, I'm sure Chief Bruyn would consider it important, too. But I didn't." She caught my gaze again, hers softer now. "Alastair had nothing to do with Ginny, before or after her death. He doesn't know she's his daughter, and I'd like to keep it that way. For Kayla's sake."
"Kayla?"
"I don't want Kayla to grow up in Columbus. She needs schooling--proper schooling, with other children and a teacher who can keep up with her. I go into Battle Ground every week, trying to find work, even head into Portland now and then. But there aren't many openings for a forty-onevear-old cleaning woman with a tenth-grade education. I'm working on my GED. When this recession ends, I'll be ready, and we'll get out. Until then, Kayla is stuck here. With everything she's been through, do you really think she needs the town knowing that her grandfather is the local kook? A dirty old man with a harem?"
"But what if Alastair had something to do with Ginny's death? I know you and Chief Bruyn don't get along--"
"Which is exactly why I didn't tell him. I used to clean the police station. Did reception work, too. Spent four years slapping Bruyn's fingers off my ass, pardon my language. When I found out he was telling people we were having an affair, I quit and everyone knew why. I kept my mouth shut, but that didn't matter. As far as he's concerned, I made a laughingstock of him. If he could tell the town that my daughter's daddy was the local wacko? He would have given himself heart failure racing to the diner to spread the news."
"Well, it looks a lot more suspicious now. Especially when my leads keep taking me back to Alastair's door."
She shook her head. "If they are, then you're looking at someone else in that house. Alastair is a lot of things, but he isn't a killer."
"You didn't want him as the father of your daughter. And that was back when he was, by all accounts, a respectable college student. He got out of town at a damned convenient time. Are you really telling me he didn't know he was about to be a daddy? Because I'm thinking, for a twenty-year-old guy eager to make something of himself, finding out he got a sixteen-year-old girl pregnant would be plenty of incentive to decide it was time to get the hell out of Columbus and never come back."
She didn't answer for a minute. Then she said, "He left before I knew I was pregnant, but I think he suspected it. We'd kept our relationship a secret. His choice. Then I started missing first class every day, sick to my stomach. I wasn't an A student, but I didn't skip. It was a teacher who figured out what might be wrong and persuaded me to take a pregnancy test. That was a month after I started missing classes, and three weeks after Alastair gave me the 'I love you, but I need to grow up, move onto campus, and date girls my own age' speech." She gave a wry smile. "As you can tell, he never quite got to that last part."
"So he left and never looked back. Saved himself a bundle on child support." I looked her in the eye. "Money you could have used."
"Yes," she said quietly. "Maybe I should have asked. He'd have paid. I just--I didn't want to share Ginny with him. I was young and I was hurt and I was stubborn. By the time things started going wrong with Ginny, Alastair was already on his third wife, so I knew there wouldn't be any money and I couldn't see how bringing her father into her life would help. I'd go from being the whore who got knocked up by a stranger to the bitch who'd kept her daddy away from her. I decided to stick with my first role. I was used to it."
"So twenty-five years later Alastair returns to find his ex with a twenty-five-year-old daughter ... and doesn't connect the dots?"
She didn't answer. Just sat there until the oven timer chimed, took out the muffins, and began scooping them onto the cooling racks. Then she said, "I imagine the thought crossed his mind. But if he asked, then he'd have to face the truth. Alastair isn't good at facing truths, Ms. Levine. He's built his own world and that's where he chooses to live, blinds drawn to the rest of the universe. In his mind, he's still a twenty-year-old stud. Having a daughter older than the girls he beds up in that farmhouse? That wouldn't do at all."
She pried out a stubborn muffin. "Whatever Alastair is, he still considers himself a therapist. He thinks he's helping those girls and I'm sure sometimes he does, and that makes him feel good. How long would those girls keep coming to him if they found out his own daughter lived a mile away, an alcoholic drug addict who lets her boyfriend use her
for a punching bag? No. It wouldn't do at all."
Wasn't that what we'd call motive? Alastair had himself a sweet deal here. What if Ginny figured out who Daddy was and threatened to expose him? I didn't say that to Paula. She might not have wanted Alastair Koppel for her baby's father, but there was obviously still something there, an exasperated affection.
When I made a move to go, though, Paula stopped me.
"Can you wait and talk to Kayla?" she asked.
"I'm not sure she wants to talk to me--"
"That's why I'm asking. I need her to know that everything's okay. She likes you, and you're a good role model for her. A smart young woman working at a good job, living on her own in the city. She doesn't see a lot of that here."
"Um, sure. Okay."
"I'll get those muffins ready for you to take. Kayla really wants you to have them."
KAYLA SHOWED UP shortly after that. Her grandma didn't say anything, but showed by her mood and her actions that we were good, and Kayla relaxed. We talked about her homework and ate a couple of the muffins, and for the first time that day, I forgot about Michael.
It was nice that Paula thought I made a good role model for Kayla, but I couldn't help wishing I could do more. Kayla was a bright kid. She deserved to go to college. I thought about my trust fund. Was there away to help her without insulting Paula? I'd have to think about that, ask Paige for some ideas.
I had the money. I didn't need all of it. Maybe this was something I could do with the extra. Something good.
twenty-six
I was walking away from the house when my phone started playing "Light My Fire." I grabbed it so fast I nearly sent it flipping onto the sidewalk. Then I took a deep breath and answered.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey yourself," Adam said. "It's 12:01 and I missed my morning update."
I clutched the phone tighter and didn't answer.
"Savannah?"
"Can--Can I call you back?"
"What's wrong?"
I considered going to the motel and phoning him back. That's where I wanted to be when I told him, curled up in a chair, imagining him there, listening. But I couldn't wait that long. I'd been holding back the dam all morning. So I stopped walking and said, "There's been a murder."
"Shit. Another girl?"
"No ... Michael."
Silence.
"Michael Kennedy," I said. "Claire Kennedy's brother. The Dallas detective--"
"I know who you mean. He's dead?"
I told him what happened.
"So--Wait--You--" He stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay, let me see if I understand. Michael Kennedy called you last night and asked for your help. You went out, found his body, and were accused of his murder. And I'm just finding this out now?"
"I wanted to handle it myself."
"A guy you were working with died. You found his body. I don't care if you can handle it yourself. You shouldn't--Damn it. Hold on." A rustle as the phone moved. When a fire half-demon gets mad, things get a little warm, including whatever he happens to be holding at the time. Adam goes through a cell phone a year, usually shorting them out when I'm on the other end.
I resumed walking and forced a light tone. "I keep telling you, you need travel-sized oven mitts."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. Another rustle as he wrapped something around the phone.
"That's what I'll get you for your birthday," I said. "Not a new top for your Jeep--"
"Don't change the subject," Adam said. "I'm serious, Savannah. You should have called." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "So how are you making out? No, stupid question. You're not okay, but you sure as hell aren't going to admit it. Where are you? No, that's another stupid question, isn't it? You're working. Haven't slept. Haven't eaten--"
"I ate."
"Nothing good, I'm sure. Stop walking, okay?"
I didn't ask how he knew I was on the move.
"Turn toward your motel," he said. "Then start walking again."
"I don't need--"
"Yes, you do. Michael Kennedy is dead. Possibly murdered by the same killer you're tracking right now. You're running on fumes and you're going to screw up. You'll miss something. Or worse, you'll let your guard down. So get your ass back to that motel and sleep."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm serious, Savannah. Don't pull this shit. Not with me."
"I'm not, okay? You're right. I'm walking back to my motel. You can call my room in ten minutes and I'll be there."
"You'd better."
"I will."
WHEN I GOT to the motel, Jesse's truck was parked out front. I'd given him a key, so I rapped first. Inside, I could hear him talking on the phone.
"Right." Pause. "Right."
I used my key and quietly opened the door.
"She's here now. Do you want to--?" Pause. "Okay." Pause. "Bye."
Jesse hung up. "That was Adam wondering why I didn't call him about Detective Kennedy. I told him you could handle it, which seemed to be the wrong answer."
I tossed my bag onto the bed. "I should have let him know."
"I thought he wasn't supervising you."
"He's not. He just thinks I could have used a friend last night."
Jesse nodded, but I could tell he wasn't so sure that was why Adam was upset. Seeing his doubts made me wonder myself. Was I really in charge of this case? Or was Adam humoring me? No, he wouldn't do that. Not Adam.
A rap at the door. I glanced out the window to see the woman from the coffee shop, holding a bag.
"I didn't think anyplace around here delivered," Jesse said.
"No, but Adam does." I opened the door and stood in the gap. If she thought my boyfriend was sending me food, seeing Jesse in my room would not help my reputation around town.
"Special delivery?" I said.
She smiled. "Soup and a sandwich. He said to eat it, then get some sleep. That's an order."
Usually, I would have laughed at that. But I could feel the weight of Jesse's gaze on my back, and it didn't seem as funny.
I took the bag. When I closed the door, I waited for Jesse to say something. He didn't. He wasn't that kind of guy. But I saw the scenario through his eyes, and what would have been a sweet gesture seemed a little condescending, like I couldn't be trusted to take care of myself.
"That was nice of Adam," Jesse said finally.
There was no sarcasm in his voice, but my already tender stomach gave an extra twist.
"I'm not really hungry," I said. "Do you want it?"
He shook his head. "No, you should eat." He gave a short laugh. "Sorry. I don't mean to mother you, too. I mean--" He cleared his throat. "I'll go get a room. You can rest if you want. I'll catch up with you later."
I NEEDED TO rest, and refusing just because Adam had insisted would be childish. So I set the alarm, laid down, and was asleep in minutes.
I dreamed that I was back in that warehouse, only this time Michael was there, lying on the floor, hurt, and I couldn't find him. I could hear him moaning, the sounds growing softer, slower, his life slipping away, and I yelled for him and I cast spell after spell after spell, but they were useless. I was useless, racing around helpless, no idea where he was.
"Shhh," a voice whispered. "Shhh. It's okay."
But it wasn't okay. I had to find him. I had to--
Suddenly, I couldn't move. I jerked awake to find myself in bed with someone behind me, arms around me. My hands flew up--
"Whoa! It's me. No lethal spells, please."
I twisted to see a familiar figure sitting at the edge of my bed, his boyish face and dark eyes uncharacteristically solemn.
"Adam?"
"Key," he said, holding it up. "From Jesse. And I checked to make sure you were decent before I came in. I was sitting over there--" He pointed to the chair, a textbook now resting on it. "You were having a nightmare. When it wasn't going away, I thought I'd better wake you up."
I blinked and wiped my hand over my face. My fingers came back damp
. I glanced across the room and saw my reflection in the mirror, hair snarled, mascara running, face streaked with tears.
"Yep, you look like shit," Adam said. "And I took plenty of pictures, which I will keep until an appropriate opportunity for blackmail arises."
When I turned, he reached over and pulled me into a fierce hug. I resisted, but when he whispered, "It's okay. I won't tell," I collapsed against him. He just held me, and I needed that. God, how I needed that. I knew then that this wasn't about whether or not I could handle the case professionally. It was personal--right now, I needed a friend.
When I got myself under control, he still held me there, and whispered, "Jesse tells me you went out with him last night. The detective. Michael."
I nodded.
"I'm sorry." His arms tightened around me. "I'm so sorry."
I backed up then, wiping my sleeve over my eyes. "It's just ... He was ... He was a nice guy. God, that sounds lame but ... He was just ... really nice."
"You liked him," Adam said softly.
I lowered my gaze and nodded. "It wasn't--I just ... I ..."
"You liked him."
I nodded. "And I feel ..." I took a deep breath, then blurted out the words I'd been holding in all day. "I feel like I could have stopped it. He wanted to come in last night and I said no. I was goofing around, holding him off and ... But it's not just that. I gave him a lead about Cody and I think he was following it and I ... I shouldn't have given him any leads. If I thought there was a supernatural connection, then I was putting him in danger. He walked into something he knew nothing about and got killed for it."
"You had no way of knowing that could happen."
I looked at him. "Didn't I? Sure, it's not like I thought hmm, this could be dangerous for a human' and gave him the tip anyway. But I should have stopped and thought about it."
"Do you know for certain that he was following up on the lead you gave him?"
"No, but--"
"Did you think that lead about a delivery had any supernatural connection?"
"No, but--"
"Then stop beating yourself up over it."
When I tried to get off the bed, he tugged me back down and turned me to look at him. "You aren't responsible, Savannah. You gave him what you thought was a clean lead. He may or may not have been following it. And as for saving him by inviting him to bed ..."
I glowered. "I didn't mean it like that. Just that I keep thinking--"