“My purse is still at the office,” she reminded him. “If that’s where the trouble is, they have access to my entire life.”
“I’ll ask the cops to pick up your purse. Fair enough?”
She pouted. Conan liked the way she pouted. It made her cunningly kissable. Her inky curls spilled over the white robe like some Tahitian goddess’s. She packed a lot of explosive gunpowder in that petite package, and he figured he was about to get burned. And he was ready to enjoy the fireworks.
Instead, she grabbed her mug and stalked back to the bedroom and presumably, her clothes.
Back to enigmatic probably wasn’t a good reaction. Passive-aggressive Dorrie would return, and he preferred the firecracker.
Generally, he didn’t stick his neck out and interfere with others. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Dorrie. And if he couldn’t stop thinking about her, he’d never accomplish anything while watching over his shoulder, waiting for her to show up. He needed someone to run interference, to keep her occupied.
He could do that. Conan sipped his coffee and called Oz to tell him about Dorrie’s family legends.
Before he could pour a second cup, the tin can door rattled with pounding knocks. That didn’t take long.
Dorrie peered out of the bedroom. Conan finished his coffee and shrugged. “It’s for you.”
Amy apparently hadn’t packed any of Dorrie’s power suits, so Dorrie couldn’t hide behind the CEO disguise. Instead, she’d dragged her riotous curls into a ponytail and tucked a polo shirt into a pair of designer jeans as if she were going to the country club. Polite gold earrings glimmered in her seashell ears. She cast him a disgruntled look and dragged open the door.
Pippa practically bounced on what passed for a doorstep.
“Really?” she cried. “You really think you might be a Malcolm? Your eyes are green!” she said excitedly, waiting to be invited in.
Pippa in excited mode was a force to be reckoned with, even if her audience was resistant to her siren voice, which Conan was. Apparently, Dorrie wasn’t. Not entirely. She simply looked stunned and fell back before Pippa’s onslaught.
“Long lost cousins,” he told Dorrie with a shrug when she looked to him for an explanation. “You two will have a lot to catch up on. Give my love to Granny Ling.”
He tried to shoulder his way past the women, but Pippa whacked the heel of her hand against his forehead and blocked his way.
“He’s being a turd, isn’t he? Do we need to fling him in the pool?”
“A slushie would have been nice,” Dorrie agreed, “but hot coffee seems inappropriate. He’s going into the city and wants to leave me here. Do you have a car I can borrow?”
Ah, well, at least the firecracker was back. Conan slammed his mug down and glared at her. “If Pippa says it’s okay, call your nosy family. Circle the wagons. You can’t do a damned thing about the viper in that office until I’ve traced the money. And I can’t do a thing about the money if you’re being shot at. Once we get that straight, we’ll move on.”
“I need my life back!” Dorrie shouted at him. “I don’t even have a home for my dog! I want to go down there and shoot someone myself.”
“You already have, if I’m supposed to believe you. So which way do you want it? You shot the shooter or you didn’t?” Conan waited with interest to see how that went over. Dorrie was many things, but boring wasn’t one of them.
She shut up and cast a glance at Pippa, who merely crossed her long arms, leaned her hip against the table, and smirked.
“Wait until you hear Pippa’s story. The two of you have a lot of catching up to do,” he told her, figuring he’d better clear the room in about ten seconds flat if he wanted to survive. “I’ll call you when the sting is ready. Have fun.” He kissed Dorrie’s wrinkled brow, shoved past Pippa, and jumped down to the parking lot.
A coffee mug flew out the door after him, smacking him in the back and crashing against the aging pavement. Fortunately, it was plastic. Dorrie’s aim was pretty damned good, a fact he’d do well to remember.
***
“Malcolms,” Pippa prompted as soon as Conan departed.
“I thought you already knew about Malcolms.” Dorrie poured another cup of coffee and steamed, watching from the window as Conan drove off, abandoning her. “I don’t know anything about Malcolms. So you tell me.”
“We’re an endangered species,” Pippa said wryly, helping herself to a cup. “If Conan thinks you’re one of us, then it must be for a reason. I can sing most men into a pool without having to push them. Conan and Oz are immune though. Their heads are too thick.”
Dorrie coughed on her swallow of coffee. Recovering, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and regarded Pippa warily. “I suspect their hides are pretty thick, too. Conan doesn’t even notice when I shoot energy arrows at him.”
“You shoot energy arrows? What does that mean?”
“According to Conan, not much. He’s so thick-skinned, he’s survived that war zone he calls an office without dying from bad energy.”
“He gets headaches. He eats aspirin. He doesn’t sleep. You can fix that?” Pippa asked with interest.
“I might if he’d let me,” Dorrie said warily when her hostess took everything she said at face value. “He calls it interfering. I haven’t noticed him suffering any headaches lately, but he hasn’t been at his desk much either. You can sing men into a pool, like a siren luring sailors to disaster?”
“If you believe me, then come over to the house. We’ve got some talking to do. If you don’t want to believe me, I can get you a car and you can go give Conan a headache.” Pippa sipped her coffee and waited.
“What does green eyes have to do with it?” Dorrie wanted to believe that Pippa, the wife of a famous producer, could be as weird as she was. But she was afraid Conan was setting her up.
“Malcolms in my branch of the family have these weird blue-green eyes.” Pippa pointed at hers. “I would think someone of Asian background would normally have brown eyes. That’s a dominant gene.”
“My father’s Irish. His eyes are green. I don’t think that’s a sign. I’d have to ask Grandmother Ling about Malcolms in our family history. She’d know.”
She needed to talk to Grandmother Ling anyway. And check on Amy and the kids and Toto. So maybe Conan was right, curse him. She didn’t need to be at the office. Maybe her life wasn’t at the office.
But until she found Bo, or found out what really happened to him, she wouldn’t have a life at all.
Chapter 27
Sitting in the shade of the cabana, Dorrie watched Bo’s family enjoy the unexpected vacation that was Pippa and Oz’s swimming pool. Hidden behind Pippa’s studio some distance from the mansion, it offered total privacy. This was what her father should have offered them after Bo’s disappearance. They needed time to heal. Even Amy was looking a little less ashen this morning as she watched her tribe jump and holler and splash.
Wrapped up in her own priorities, Dorrie hadn’t been able to get past the overwhelming burden of her father’s stroke and assuming his CEO position to see that Amy needed help. She didn’t think she’d been selfish. She’d been helping other people and her father and everyone who asked. But Amy hadn’t asked.
Just as Dorrie hadn’t asked her mother’s family for help, until today.
Circle the wagons, Conan had told her. Maybe that meant more than forming a circle of protection. Maybe it meant bring in everyone who could help, find support, and act together. She hoped making connections would work, because she was about to unleash the whirlwind.
“You’re sure Oz won’t mind picking up Grandmother Ling?” she asked Pippa anxiously.
“He has an office in L.A. It’s no strain to stop at the airport. And if he’s short on time, he can send one of his flunkies. We’re both eager to unravel the mysteries of our family history.” Wearing a gauzy cover-up and sitting out of the sun to protect her redhead’s skin, Pippa looked up from the small netbook she was working o
n. “Oz really took his brother’s death hard. He needs this distraction to help him deal with it.”
“Maybe we all do,” Dorrie said, nodding at Amy and her kids. She wished she could admit that she still didn’t believe Bo was dead, but they still had no proof that the accident didn’t happen. She felt foolish even thinking it. Denial was one of the early stages of grief.
“How’s your lemon-grass smoothie?” Pippa asked.
Dorrie despised lemon-grass. Or thought she did. She looked at the nearly-empty glass in surprise. “Good.” That Pippa had been able to persuade her to drink it wasn’t perfect evidence that she could influence people with her voice, but close enough.
“I just hope your grandmother doesn’t pass out after Oz takes some of those hairpin turns in his hurry to get back here,” Pippa said, returning to her typing, apparently satisfied that she’d made her point.
“I haven’t seen my grandmother since last Christmas, but she threw one of my cousins out on his ear when he scoffed at her predictions. She’ll just whack Oz into slowing down. Did your mother decorate the house Amy is staying in? It’s quite beautiful.”
“She did.” Pippa looked up to watch her mother lean over and talk to Amy. “She’s not had a home of her own in decades, and she was thrilled to play house for a while. But she likes having people around, and I think the cottage is too lonely for her.”
The woman introduced as Gloria Jean Malcolm had Pippa’s turquoise eyes and a quiet demeanor that in no way resembled her daughter’s volatile nature. Gloria’s energy was definitely other, although not so high strung as Pippa’s.
“She must have studied feng shui at some point,” Dorrie said. “The chi in her home is splendidly peaceful and should be good for Amy. I need to give your mother a special gift in thanks for offering them this chance to heal.”
“Mom is an empath. Perhaps there is some relation to what you do.” Pippa put her netbook aside. “I can see where Chinese scientists would be eager to explore us. I want to experiment with everything you’ve told me.”
“Except the scientists,” Dorrie said in amusement. “I don’t think they’d be much fun.”
“Just being able to talk about this paranormal weirdness that I do, without being looked at as if I’m crazy, is such a relief that I’m almost giddy,” Pippa admitted. “And your whole family is like this? They take your woo-woo instincts as normal?”
Dorrie shrugged. “It’s just who we are. My father is the one who denies it, and he’s the one I live with, so I’ve learned to walk a narrow path. Now that he’s in poor health, I have to be more cautious than ever.”
Pippa nodded understanding. “I’m not even sure Conan believes, but I don’t know how anyone tells what Conan is thinking. At least he hasn’t laughed you off the map.”
“Conan keeps an open mind,” Dorrie said with assurance. “He’s not denying us. He just wants logic, and we don’t fit into the world of science with which he’s familiar. But he has his own talents, and I think he knows it. He’s just not ready to admit them.”
Pippa’s pale eyebrows rose. “Conan has a Malcolm talent?”
“His energy indicates he does. But maybe I’m overemphasizing how chi operates. Maybe there are lots of gifted geniuses out there and they’re not all Malcolms. Maybe I only know to identify Malcolm energy.”
“More to explore,” Pippa said with relish. “You’re a human divining rod. We should take you everywhere, locate as many of us as we can.”
“Not realistic,” Dorrie pointed out. “But fun, granted, until you try to tell someone they’re weird. No, thank you.”
“We’re special,” Pippa corrected with a laugh. Her phone rang and after checking the ID, she flicked it on and listened. “Okay, got it. We’ll be right there. We may even put clothes on.”
Grinning, she hung up. “Oz is almost here. He suggests we meet them at the big house so your grandmother doesn’t have to walk down that rough lane.”
Dorrie gathered up her things and stopped to warn Amy where she was going. “Do you want to stay here for now? We can find out what Grandmother Ling would like us to do, and you could talk to her then, if you prefer.”
Amy glanced wryly at the pool where Brandon and Christopher seemed intent on drowning each other. “Maybe we’d best not inflict the kids on her so soon. She might fly straight back to San Francisco without need of a plane.”
“They’re Bo’s kids. She’ll want to see them. But you’re right, let’s wait. I don’t want to scare the kids, but we need to talk about kidnappers and gunmen.”
Amy caught Dorrie’s wrist. “Do you have any idea what’s happening? Surely they don’t think they can blackmail money out of Papa Franklin?”
“They’re going the wrong way about it if that’s what they believe. Dad won’t pay for dead family. Conan knows professional investigators. We’ll just have to wait until he has some answers.”
Amy nodded. “He’s cute,” she added slyly. “Keep him so we can come up here more often.”
Dorrie left her laughing, hiding the tug at her heart. She couldn’t keep Conan. She didn’t think anyone could. Once he’d solved the problem, he’d be off in search of another and forget she existed. She was accustomed to that, had actually worked at invisibility most of her life.
Besides, Conan needed the city and his computers, but she was starting to think she needed the security of people who appreciated her as she was. She didn’t want to be invisible any longer. She’d clung to her father as the only home she’d known, out of the family loyalty she’d been taught, but maybe she had finally grown past the need, and loyalty could be interpreted more broadly.
At least she’d finally met a man who didn’t think she was a freak and who kind of liked her the way she was. She didn’t know of another man who could have handled the drama as well as Conan had. That was worth the heartache she’d suffer when he was gone. She hoped.
If she was really, really lucky, maybe she could keep his family as friends, but things usually didn’t work out that way.
By the time she’d gone to the RV, changed into one of her favorite broomstick skirts and a knit top, and run up to the mansion, Oz’s BMW was pulling into the drive. The mansion had been built not far from the road, with a high stucco wall and an ornate wrought iron gate. Dorrie still didn’t understand the necessity of so much security, but she was glad it was available.
She hurried down the steps to meet her grandmother and the two cousins who had tagged along. Her grandmother’s hair was still mostly black despite her age, and she carried herself with a military posture. Only her flowing scarlet robe and loose trousers lacked authority.
“Grandmother!” Dorrie hugged the tiny woman who suffered the display with dignity. “Thank you for coming.” She glanced up to her much taller, more prosaically garbed cousins. “Jack, Tom, I’m amazed you could get away.”
“When Grandmother calls, we crawl,” Jack said wryly. “It’s that or suffer the slings and arrows of misfortune until we’re forgiven.”
Jack and Tom were brothers with their own highly-paid bodyguard agency that relied heavily on their other skills.
“You will take me inside and bring me tea,” their petite grandmother ordered. “This is no time for nonsense. There is much to do.” She glanced at Pippa waiting on the stairs. “This is the Malcolm child? Yes, she has the eyes. You have cousins in Hong Kong with those eyes. Come, let us go in. I am not growing younger.”
Pippa’s Malcolm eyes widened, but she graciously led the party into the two-story living area where introductions were made. Dorrie’s family was Americanized enough to mostly use the name order understood in this country, so she didn’t bother explaining proper family names. Ling Fai brushed the introductions aside as unimportant. Dorrie hid her smile as her grandmother ordered the domineering Dylan Oswin around as if he were one of her children. And he obeyed.
After Oz had gone to fetch the genealogy charts, Fai turned to Dorrie. “It is his brother who was with Ling B
o when the plane crashed?”
“Helicopter, Grandmother,” Jack corrected. Impressively muscled, he wasn’t a small man.
Both Dorrie and Ling Fai ignored him.
“Yes. It’s a long story.” Dorrie took the seat on the sofa beside her grandmother. She poured her tea and handed her the cup. “I’m not sure the helicopter is connected to why I asked you here. I think our current problem may have to do with Mama’s killers, since they came looking for me before the kids.”
The order of events had been peculiar, though. The slashed tires had come before they’d explored Adams Engineering. The shooter had come after. And then they’d gone after Bo’s kids, which seemed related to him more than to her.
“It is all one,” Ling Fai announced with a wave of her hand. “The Vile Beasts never give up. We will address this as family and not offend our host’s sensibilities.” She nodded at Pippa. “You must tell your husband as you wish, but this is our problem now. We will not bring harm to you and yours.” She turned back to her menacing escorts. “Go to Ling Bo’s family. Keep watch until we are ready.”
Even though she knew this must be a serious situation for Grandmother to have brought her bodyguard cousins with her, Dorrie couldn’t hide her amusement at how big men, rich men, and even talented Pippa catered to one small woman’s whims. Grandmother had that effect.
Jack and Tom strode off to the pool in their business suits, just as Oz returned with the complicated genealogy charts Conan had started. Pippa had been filling them out as they learned more. Oz looked surprised that the brothers were leaving, but he respectfully handed over the folder to Fai.
Dorrie had already seen the charts but couldn’t make heads or tails of them. Ling Fai ran her long fingernail down the first page, clucked, turned to the next, and nodded. “Just so. Very interesting. I know of this Ives Oswin, archeologist. Felicia Malcolm Oswin, yes, his wife. She bore five children about the turn of the last century. These two, Sophia and Duncan, they stayed. They married into our families. Sophia is in my maternal line. We had much to teach each other. It is from them we learned our independence, how to be what we are now. From us, they learned the wisdom of family and passing on knowledge.”
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