“Lyle, please, you employed me for a reason. Let me do my job-”
“Don’t make me get nasty, Harriet. I am coming with you.”
Just what I needed right now—another goddamn threat. But instead of getting angry about it, all I felt was frustration. I was trying my best to do what was right by both Lyle and Mona, and all I kept getting was beaten up on—literally and figuratively.
If Lyle really wanted in, then in he would be. And when the shit began to flow, I’d reminded him that that was what he’d wanted.
Not that I thought he’d care.
“Fine.” I glanced at the clock and noted it was just after one. I knew from past years of snooping that every Sunday, the Phillecky clan—minus the bastard daughter, of course—got together for dinner and a weekly catch-up session. Up until five, though, Bramwell and Tianne—his wife—would more than likely be alone. “I’ll pick you up at two.”
“Make sure you do,” he growled, and slammed the phone down.
“Goodbye to you too,” I muttered, then tossed the phone on the bed and headed to the bathroom.
A hot shower didn’t really make me feel any better, but at least it washed away the blood and grime. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting sweater, then shoved on some runners and grabbed my coat as I made my way downstairs. To find Delilah ass-up in the cupboard under the sink, putting away a variety of pans that were lined up behind her like terrified soldiers. Guy was re-stacking the pantry, his expression glum. A far from willing participant, I thought with a grin.
“Hey guys,” I said, stopping in the doorway. “Thanks for tidying the place up.”
“The devil made me do it,” Guy muttered, casting a sullen look Delilah’s way.
“Don’t you go giving me no mouth, ogre. You owe Harri more than an hour of your time, and you know it.” She sat upright and gave me a critical once over. “You look like shit.”
“Just what every girl likes to hear,” I said, voice dry.
“Now you know I don’t mean it like that. You should be resting, not gallivanting about.”
“I know, but I have mouths to feed.”
“The mouths appreciate it,” Guy said solemnly. Then he grinned. “Heard about that troll you took down. Their network is going to be filled with warnings about the need not to mess with Ms. Harri Phillecky, that’s for sure.”
“I doubt it, given I came out of it far worse than he did.”
“The point is, you came out of it. That, friend Harri, is what is so impressive.”
I guess it was, given the troll’s size. I half turned to go, then remembered I owed Val a dinner. “You two up for a meal Tuesday night?”
If Val wanted a party with all my friends, then that’s exactly what he would get.
“You cooking lasagna?” Guy asked, visibly brightening.
I smiled. Pasta was right up there with beer and pizza on an ogres ‘vital for life’ food list. “Probably.”
“Then count me in.”
Delilah sniffed, and shoved the rest of the pots in the cupboard. “Can’t say I’m overly fond of pasta.”
From what I’d seen over the years, she wasn’t fond of anything that didn’t involve copious amounts of sugar, cream, and chocolate. “What about pavlova? Or cheesecake?”
“Both will do nicely. Thank you.”
“Then be here at six.” I hesitated again. “Are you sticking around, Guy? I have to head off, but I wouldn’t mind someone keeping an eye on the place if you’ve got nothing else to do.”
“The second prelim is on, so I was planning to watch it here. Got good odds on Essendon beating the Dockers, too.”
“Moe and Curly making an appearance?”
“Yes. Shemp’s got something on with the missus.”
“Then tell them to bring their own beer. I really can’t afford to keep four of you fed and watered.” I hesitated, then added, “And keep an eye out for trolls.”
He waved my concern away. “I doubt they'd make a third appearance. Even trolls aren't that stupid.”
Maybe not, but my father might be. At the very least, he’d be mightily pissed off that his efforts so far had not produced desired results—which could make my planned invasion of his home this afternoon all the more interesting.
Delilah harrumphed. “Well, I guess that cuts me out from staying, what with them three fouling the air and all.”
“There is a god after all,” Guy muttered.
Delilah grabbed a pot and flung it at his head. It hit with a resounding clang. Guy bellowed and glared at her.
“I did warn you not to give me sass, ogre.”
“But that was uncalled for,” Guy said. “Damn it, you might have busted something.”
Delilah snorted. “With your thick head? Doubt it.”
I grinned and left them to it. Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of the old four story warehouse Lyle had purchased some years ago and converted into apartments. He was sitting on the front steps, looking darker than the sky and puffing heavily on a cigarette. Odd, given it didn’t have the same calming effect on elves that it did on humans.
“When the hell did you start smoking again?” I asked, as he climbed in.
“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me, Harriet.” He took a last drag, then flicked the butt out the window. “We might be related, but we ain’t really family.”
And there, I thought grimly, was our relationship summed up in one neat sentence. Related by blood but not considered family. I guess I should have been grateful he did actually acknowledge kinship, but I suddenly wasn’t.
“Well, I do know one thing about you—you can get dangerously fired up and react without thinking.” My voice was harsh, but I doubt it made any sort of impact. “I want you to behave yourself today. There’s no proof the man we’re about to see was involved in any way with Mona or her murder.”
“We’ve got his photo outside Mona’s apartment.” Lyle shifted in his seat, sapphire eyes narrowing. “What are you afraid of, Harriet?”
“Your anger, as I said.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m not going to do anything stupid-”
“Promise me, Lyle. No action—or reaction—until we get the facts straight.”
He snorted. “Don’t go quoting my own phrases back at me, Harriet.”
“Then don’t go off half-cocked.” It didn’t escape my notice that he hadn’t actually acknowledged my request, let alone make any sort of commitment.
“Have I ever?”
“How would I know, Lyle? As you said, I’m not family.” A trace of bitterness crept into my voice, but he gave no indication that he’d noticed.
Instead, he lapsed into silence, watching the road, no doubt trying to work out where we were going and who we were about to see.
When I turned into Toorak Road, his burst of anger just about set the air alight.
“You bitch,” he said. “You could have warned me we were going to see my own damn brother.”
“We both want answers, Lyle,” I snapped back. “You confronting him in a drunken rage is not the way to get them.”
“I would not-”
“Bullshit, and we both know it.”
I pulled into my father’s driveway, then wound down the window and pressed the intercom buzzer.
“May I help you?” a bored voice said through the speaker.
“Lyle Phillecky to see Bramwell.” It was infinitely better to use my uncle’s name rather than mine, because I had a suspicion my father would have turned me away. He’d made no effort to contact me, even after his more recent failed attempt at photo stealing.
“He has an appointment, ma’am?”
“No, I’m afraid he hasn’t.”
Lyle chose that moment to lean across the car. This close, I could smell the traces of alcohol on him. He might not be drunk, but he had been drinking. “Just tell the bastard his brother is here.”
“Oh yeah, that’s going to help,” I murmured.
Lyle gave me a somewhat malevolent glare, and leaned back. Great, I’d pissed off the one Elven relative who actually bothered to talk to me—and right now I couldn’t help thinking that might be a good thing.
“Just a moment,” the voice said, tone still polite.
I tapped the steering wheel and wondered if Bramwell would be any more willing to see Lyle. He was, after all, on the outer with his family, even if not quite as far as me.
“Mr. Phillecky is able to spare his brother a few minutes,” the voice said. “Please proceed through the gates.”
The wrought iron gates slowly opened. I drove up to the house and parked in the area marked family only. We were that, even if we belonged to the section no one wanted to know about. Lyle all but scrambled out of the car and stalked across to the door. I followed several paces behind, more to avoid any fists that start go flying than anything else.
The butler met us. His gaze swept my length, but if he knew who I was, he gave no sign of it. “This way, if you please.”
“I know my way around my brother’s fucking house, Jose,” Lyle growled. “Just tell me where he is.”
“In his private office.”
“Good. Now get out of my way.”
He did, and with all the grace my uncle lacked. I murmured an apology, and followed Lyle through the white and gold opulence of the entrance hall and up a sweeping mahogany staircase that would not have gone astray on the set of Gone with the Wind.
The first floor was even more luxurious than the entrance hall. The walls were white, but color abounded in everything from the toe-sinking richness of the wine-colored carpet to the ancient tapestries and paintings that lined the hall. Lyle thrust through a set of double oak doors at the far end of the hall and stalked inside.
Bramwell turned, one black eyebrow raised in query, his expression disinterested. “What can I do for you, Lyle?” He hesitated, his gaze falling on me. Just for one fleeting moment, anger pierced the bored expression. “What the hell is she doing here?”
