Betrayal

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “What about the wizard?” Peasblossom asked.

  “We’ll look for him after we talk to Alicia,” I said, raising my arm to hail a cab. “We know where Alicia is, so it’s better to get that out of the way. Besides, I want to talk about her plans for that celebration of Catherine’s heritage that Morgan mentioned.”

  This time, I had no problem getting a cab. Partially because Scath and Majesty stayed out of sight in the recess of a nearby building’s doorway until the cab pulled up. I opened the door and held it while I called them back, ignoring the dirty look the driver shot me.

  Alicia’s butler looked less happy to see me this time, but he let me in without an argument. I followed him to the same sitting room as before and waited there while he retrieved the woman of the house. It took longer than I expected for Alicia to make her appearance, and I wondered if I’d managed to interrupt something. When she finally appeared in the doorway, she seemed distracted.

  “Mother Renard,” she said politely. “To what do I owe this second visit?”

  She stepped into the room, but I noticed her body kept angling toward the doorway. She was in a hurry to get rid of me. Interesting.

  “There’s been another theft,” I said, unzipping my waist pouch. “Another piece of the set your niece’s knife belongs to was stolen from the Cleveland Art Museum.”

  Alicia put a hand to her chest, her fingertips brushing the lace of the high collar. “That’s horrible. Poor Marilyn, I shall have to call her.”

  “Oh, boy,” Peasblossom muttered.

  “It’s my understanding that you expressed an interest in this piece.” I looked into the pouch until I found Bizbee’s beady-eyed gaze. “Bizbee, could you hand me my fingerprinting kit?”

  “Fingerprinting kit?” Alicia echoed.

  Bizbee handed me the requested set, and I smiled at the bright yellow Post-it that read “Finger ink.”

  “The piece that was stolen was a gold chalice. You spoke to Marilyn about possibly displaying it in your home for a time?”

  Alicia smoothed a hand over her auburn hair. “I did, yes. As you no doubt recall from your first visit this morning, my niece’s father has been woefully neglectful in allowing Catherine to experience all the pleasures of court life she is entitled to.”

  She walked over to the wall and drew a gloved fingertip over the frame as if looking for dust. “Catherine is understandably upset. She’s convinced herself that he’s ashamed of her, and she tries so hard to please him, working night and day on endless gold pieces, hoping that the next one will be the one that convinces him she’s worthy.”

  I tried to look sympathetic. “It must be hard on you. Seeing her so upset, I mean.”

  “It truly is. That’s why I wanted to borrow the piece. Catherine’s heirloom is a rarity, something that even the lords and ladies of the Unseelie Court would come to see. I had hoped that if I could assemble the entire set, I might draw a crowd that would force Devanos to stop his endless cruelty, and let Catherine have the life she wants so desperately.”

  “Catherine wants court life that badly?” I asked.

  Alicia frowned and lowered her hand from the painting. “You surprise me, Mother Renard. I would have expected a witch trained by a mentor such as yours to see through Devanos’ self-serving portrayal of me as some sort of crown-chaser. Yes, I would welcome the opportunity to be a part of court life, but my first duty is to my niece, and her happiness is my happiness.”

  “But Marilyn said no,” I reminded her.

  “She did. But she assured me that it was no reflection on Catherine, only a technicality that came with the museum’s receipt of the chalice. We were discussing a way around it. Having the celebration at the museum itself, for example.”

  “You said you wanted to gather the full set. Do you know where the third piece is?”

  “It was stolen, according to you, so how would I know where it is?”

  I smiled. “Of course, I meant did you know where it was before—”

  She waved a hand and cut me off. “Mother Renard, you cannot think I’m a suspect. Even if I were a thief—which I am not—you can hardly think I’d go to all that trouble for something as simple as a display?”

  “You made it sound very important to you,” I countered. “The display was the key to securing Catherine’s happiness—and her happiness is your happiness. Or perhaps you intended to use the set for its true purpose?”

  Another hand wave. “Even if I did wish to use the artifacts, I would need someone powerful to serve me.” She snorted. “And I think we both know Devanos would rather swallow his own tongue than serve me a fried egg, let alone a helping of his own bloodline.”

  “Your niece would serve you,” I pointed out. “She’s very obedient.”

  Alicia’s eyes flashed, and for just a second, I was reminded of what she was. A vulcanus. Even a half-blooded vulcanus would have a heated core. She’d be able to turn her body into a red-hot instrument of torture if it pleased her to do so. If Devanos was correct in his estimation of her power, she couldn’t throw fire, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous.

  “My niece loves me. And I don’t care if you believe that. But to answer your question, no, having Catherine serve me would not be worthwhile. My niece has talent, yes, but she is not powerful. I would gain little from having her serve me.”

  “Little” was a relative term, and that was the only thing keeping her statement from sounding like an outright lie. Catherine was half-sidhe. Even gaining only some of her power would be better than nothing.

  I opened the fingerprint kit. “Whoever stole the cup left a forgery behind. I lifted a few sets of prints from the forgery, and I’d like—”

  “You want my fingerprints.” Alicia smiled and raised a hand, slowly pulling the silk glove free. “Of course.”

  Something about the smug look on her face made me think gloves were a daily addition to Alicia’s wardrobe. Even if she was the thief, she’d likely been wearing gloves when she handled the forgery. But, I had to fingerprint her anyway. There was always a chance.

  Alicia watched me with a strange expression. Fey were usually predatory, and nearly always condescending. But Alicia was watching me with the one emotion I hated to see on a fey’s face.

  Curiosity.

  I’d suddenly become interesting, and I didn’t know why. I held out the ink pad and Alicia delicately placed each finger on the soft black material, then pressed them to the card in the indicated spots. I held out my hand over hers. “I can remove the ink? It can be stubborn.”

  “No, thank you,” Alicia said, pulling her hand back. “I’ll wash it off.”

  She rose and I sent a flicker of magic out over the card. The card with the prints from the chalice glowed blue. Alicia’s prints glowed green. No match.

  I looked up to see Alicia already leaving the room, ostensibly to wash her hands. Peasblossom slid down my arm and onto the table, glaring at the two cards.

  “I wanted it to be her,” she muttered. “I don’t like her. She’s using Catherine.”

  I picked the cards up and labeled the one with Alicia’s prints before tucking them into the box I kept. “She is. And this doesn’t clear her. She could have worn her gloves.”

  “If it was her, then who do you think she’s planning to be served by?” Peasblossom asked. “She’s right, Devanos wouldn’t throw a grape at her, let alone serve her on ceremonial plates. And Catherine is talented, and that is some magic, but it’s not enough to risk getting caught stealing from a sidhe for.”

  She crossed her arms and kicked the toe of one pink-slippered foot on the table. “I feel bad for Catherine. Even if her dad brings her to court, she’s never going to be free of her aunt. And then Alicia and Devanos will just keep sniping at each other, and she’ll always be stuck between them.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it will go,” I said thoughtfully. “Court life has a way of sharpening a person. No one stays sweet, not if they want to survive.” I z
ipped up the pouch. “Even if Devanos tries to protect her, show off her skills and let that make her a darling of the court, he can’t stop her from being influenced. As soon as she has their attention, they’ll all try to get a piece of her.” I sighed. “She’ll learn. And when she does, the shoe will be on the other foot for Alicia.”

  “And Devanos,” Peasblossom added.

  I sat back in my seat. “We might need to have a chat with Catherine. We can’t keep her safe, but I’d like to at least forewarn her about what she’s walking into.”

  Peasblossom shook her head, but she didn’t argue. She climbed back up my arm, stopping to glare at Majesty before hiding under my hair again. Majesty was lying on Scath’s back, but he raised his head to watch the pixie. His tail lashed from side to side.

  “Majesty,” I said in warning. “This is not the time.”

  I looked around to see if Alicia was coming back, but I didn’t even hear her footsteps. I narrowed my eyes and rose from the chair. Scath’s ears flicked forward. She rose, and my heart rose with her. It looked like she’d heard something I hadn’t. She crept out of the room, and I followed her, only to be stopped by the sudden appearance of the butler in the doorway.

  “Can I help you, Mother Renard?” he asked.

  I started to answer him, but something by the door caught my attention. A familiar green coat hanging from a hook.

  Alicia came down the stairs, and I met her eyes. She slowed and stopped before she reached the bottom. “What is it?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  I gestured to the coat. “Having some work done?”

  Alicia followed my gesture to Kathy’s coat. “I am, actually. Why, are you looking for a recommendation for a handyman? Handywoman, I should say,” she amended.

  “Quite a coincidence,” I said, walking to the foot of the stairs so I had a better view of the upper hallway. “I just met Kathy this morning.”

  Alicia folded her hands over her waist. We stared at one another, each of us waiting for the other to break the silence. I wasn’t worried in this particular situation. If there was one thing a witch learned early on, it was the value of silence. People hated silence.

  And so did the fey.

  “Mother Renard, you’re acting like Kathy’s presence here is some ominous proof of wrongdoing on my part. But as I’ve said many times, my interest in the artifacts extends only to my ability to display them at a party for my niece.” She spread her hands out as she lifted her arms, the epitome of harmlessness. “There is nothing illegal about that.”

  “So you know that Kathy owns one of the artifacts.”

  The smile on Alicia’s face turned brittle. “Yes.”

  “And this party for Catherine,” I mused, “if you were to gather the entire collection, I suppose a lot of powerful people would show up?”

  Alicia tensed, then forced herself to relax. “I suppose. If the invitations are well-received. Of course I hope that I can bring in the creme de la creme—for Catherine’s benefit.”

  “Kathy, you can come downstairs now,” I called up.

  The handywoman clomped down the stairs in her heavy work boots, wearing the same collared pink shirt and forest green vest she’d worn earlier. She nodded at me, and there was an uncertainty in her eyes that belied Alicia’s protests of innocence. I was guessing Kathy was not a practiced liar.

  “How did you two meet?” I asked Kathy.

  Kathy opened her mouth to answer, but Alicia spoke over her.

  “I ran into Kathy today at the museum. Morgan introduced us, and I offered her my condolences for the loss of her uncle, and for the theft her family suffered.”

  “And to make sure she kept you in mind if the bowl was returned,” I added.

  Alicia lifted one pale shoulder. “So?”

  I looked at Kathy. “You went to the museum today?”

  A flush crept over Kathy’s cheeks. “I figured if the FBI was looking into the theft of Uncle Jay’s treasure, then it must be worth something. So I went to the museum to talk to the person my uncle spoke with before.” She shrugged. “I thought maybe my uncle lied when he told me it wasn’t worth anything.”

  “Why would he lie?” I asked. “You said it was very important to him that other people were as in awe of the bowl as he was.”

  “He was also very insulting to me and my family,” Kathy said, bitterness thick in her voice. “He thought being less well off financially made us more inclined to criminal activity. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hid the bowl’s true value from me because he was worried I—”

  She stopped, snapping her mouth shut with the suddenness of someone who’d said too much.

  “He was worried you’d kill him to get your inheritance faster?” I finished softly.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Kathy said flatly. “I don’t need his money, or his treasure.” She crossed her arms. “But like it or not, I’m the rightful owner now. And if the FBI does find it, then I’m certainly not adverse to letting Alicia rent it.”

  “Even though you would forfeit the bowl if you did?” I asked.

  “Like I said, I’m not sentimental.”

  Her body language was closed off, from the jut of her chin to the way she kept her arms folded. She was hiding something.

  “Where were you the night your uncle was killed?” I asked.

  Kathy narrowed her eyes. “Home. With my wife and kids. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

  “And Catherine already told you we were together that night,” Alicia added.

  I unzipped my waist pouch. “I’d like to get your fingerprints, Kathy, if you don’t mind. For elimination purposes when I find the bowl.”

  I was careful to say “when” I find the bowl. Word choice is important.

  Kathy looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. I reached into the pouch for the fingerprint kit so Bizbee wouldn’t be visible to the other woman, and turned my back to lead her into the sitting room so she couldn’t look inside the pouch. She let me take her fingerprints, and I put them away to examine with my spell after I was out of sight.

  “Thank you both for your cooperation,” I said, zipping my pouch up as I stood to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 11

  “You’ve reached Andrew Bradford. Leave a message.”

  Frustrated, I hit the end call button and shoved my cell phone back into my pouch.

  “His voicemail is as stiff as his starched shirts,” Peasblossom commented. “He needs to relax.”

  “He’s not answering his cell phone or his house phone,” I said, half to myself. I tripped over a spot of uneven sidewalk and cursed, barely regaining my balance and nearly twisting my ankle in the process. I winced and hobbled over to the nearest building to get out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and rub my sore ankle. “You don’t think something horrible happened to him?” I asked. “He was driving like a maniac, he could have gotten into an accident.”

  “I think that way lies madness,” Peasblossom answered honestly. “It won’t do you any good to think that way. Give him some time to cool off.”

  The throbbing in my ankle eased, and I let my foot fall back to the pavement. “And then?”

  “And then we panic,” Peasblossom said reasonably.

  I huffed out a breath and slumped against the rough brick of the shop behind me, ignoring the way it snagged my shirt and caught on my hair. “I need to talk to law enforcement. Our friend Silence isn’t answering my texts, and I can’t access Alicia’s phone records by myself.”

  “You really think Alicia was talking to Kathy before today?” Peasblossom asked.

  “I think someone told Kathy to get rid of that carpet and start cleaning as soon as the scene was released. And so far, Alicia is the one who knew who owned the bowl, and has a strong motive for wanting to get her hands on that set. If I could see her phone records, maybe they’d show that she and Kathy communicated before Kathy destroyed evidence. Or maybe even before the murder.”

  Peasblossom sw
ung her feet, kicking my shoulder with tiny taps. “Well,” she drawled, “Andy isn’t the only cop willing to help you.”

  An image of Liam rose in my mind, and I shook it off as quickly as it came to me. “I can’t call Liam.”

  “You can call Blake. He already offered to help.”

  I started to argue that calling Blake was the same thing as calling Liam, since I was sure the werewolf would pass on anything I said to his alpha. Then I stopped. Who cared if he told Liam? It hadn’t been my idea to cut off all contact. I thought it was stupid, since Flint obviously seemed to view Liam’s distance as a challenge and an amusement. If he wanted to spy on me through Blake, let him. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Blake’s number.

  “Shade.”

  Blake sounded like a man expecting bad news. Or a man expecting to have to deliver bad news.

  “Hi, Blake, I was wondering if your offer of help still stands?”

  “What do you need?”

  Smart man, getting the details before agreeing. “Nothing strenuous. Just some phone records. I need to know if there have been any calls between Alicia Levand and Kathy Franklin.”

  “Do you have their phone numbers?”

  “Yes.” I read him the numbers I had for both women.

  “I’ll get back to you,” Blake promised.

  He sounded hopeful, like he felt the phone call coming to an end, and was starting to believe I really just wanted information. The idea struck me to ask him about Yvette. Or Sonar, as I was supposed to know her. But I didn’t know if my desire to continue the conversation was really concern for the undercover shifter, or if I was just hoping we would eventually steer back to Liam. I needed to know how he was doing. How he was handling owing a favor to the leannan sidhe. Whether he was angry with me for my part in the whole situation.

  But that was a longer conversation. One I wanted to have in person with Liam, not like a child sending notes via proxy on the playground. When we did have that conversation, it would be when we had time to talk, not in stolen moments during a case.