Elemental Assassin 02 - Web of Lies (13 page)

“What are you thinking? Sandwiches?” Finn asked in a hopeful voice.

“No. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven.

“Whatcha making?” the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Apricot bars,” I replied, wiping my hands off on a cloud-covered dish towel. “Which I’m going to turn into a poor man’s cobbler. They’ll be done in a few minutes, which should give you just enough time to tell us all about Fletcher and Warren T. Fox.”

Jo-Jo nodded. She took her coffee to the table and sat down next to Finn. I leaned against the refrigerator so I could keep an eye on the oven. It just wouldn’t do to get the apricot bars too brown.

“Fletcher and Warren grew up together in Ridgeline Hollow,” Jo-Jo said. “Best friends who were thick as thieves. More like brothers. Always together, from sunup till sundown. Sophia and I knew their parents. Grandparents too.”

Finn shook his head. “Dad never mentioned anyone named Warren Fox to me. Never. Especially someone who was his best childhood friend. What happened between them?”

“A girl,” Jo-Jo said. “They both fell in love with the same girl. Stella. She was a pretty thing who lived up in the hollow. Stella knew Fletcher and Warren were both in love with her. She’d go out courting with first one, then the other. She liked playing them against each other. Pretty soon, they were fighting over her.”

“So who got her in the end?” I asked.

A wry smile curved Jo-Jo’s lips. “Neither one of them. She ran off with a boy from the city. But by then, it was too late for Fletcher and Warren to repair their friendship. Fletcher moved into the city to start the Pork Pit. Warren stayed where he was up in the hills and took over his family’s general store.”

I looked at Finn. With his walnut hair, green eyes, and smooth smile, Finn was the spitting image of Fletcher at his age—and handsome to a fault. I wondered what Warren T. Fox had looked like in his youth, to give Fletcher Lane a run for his money.

“Warren’s store, is it called Country Daze?” Finn took another sip of his chicory coffee. “Because that’s where Violet Fox gets her paycheck from every two weeks.”

Jo-Jo nodded. “Been in the family for four generations now, counting the girl in there.”

My gray eyes flicked to Violet Fox, who continued to sleep on the sofa. “If Warren and Fletcher had a falling out all those years ago, why would Warren’s granddaughter come looking for Fletcher now?”

Jo-Jo shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the girl or Warren are in trouble like you think they are, asking Fletcher Lane for help would be the very last thing the Warren T. Fox that I know would do. Pride’s one of the most important things to him. Which is why he never made up with Fletcher. Stella humiliated them both, and Fletcher reminded Warren too much of that.”

I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn’s fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away.

“I’m not done with them yet,” I said.

“Come on, Gin,” he whined. “I just want a taste.”

“And you’re just going to have to wait, like the rest of us.”

Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn’t immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler.

Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. “Heaven, pure, sweet heaven.”

Finn didn’t agree with her. He was too busy stuffing his face to chime in.

I took a bite. The ice cream was a cool, soft, creamy contrast to the warm, heavy richness of the apricot bars, and both melted together in my mouth in a symphony of flavors. Jo-Jo was right. I’d outdone myself again.

We were scraping up the remains of our dessert when the front door to the house banged open. Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded, and a moment later, Sophia Deveraux enter the kitchen. Her black Goth clothes looked out of place among the pastel appliances, like a storm cloud suddenly passing in front of the sun.

“Want some dessert?” I asked, fixing another bowl of apricot bars and ice cream for her.

“Um-mmm.” Sophia grunted
yes
and sat down next to Jo-Jo.

Finn waited until Sophia was halfway through her ice cream before he asked her the inevitable question. “Any trouble picking up the body?”

Sophia’s flat, black eyes met his green ones. “Nuh-uh.”

The Goth dwarf ’s version of
no
.

I looked at Sophia’s clothes, but I couldn’t see any blood spatters on her T-shirt, jeans, or boots. Even though the fabric was black, I was good at noticing that sort of thing.

But Sophia’s clothes were spotless as always. The truth was I didn’t know exactly how Sophia Deveraux disposed of the bodies I sent her way. Didn’t know if she buried ’em, burned ’em, crushed ’em, or put ’em in cold storage. Hell, I didn’t even know where she took the remains in the first place.

But the grumpy Goth dwarf could get rid of evidence like it had never even existed. DNA, hairs, fibers, blood.

Not a thing remained after she got through cleaning up a murder scene. I’d often wondered if Sophia had the same Air elemental magic Jo-Jo did, if she used it to help her destroy evidence. In addition to smoothing out wrinkles, Air magic was also good for disintegrating things like flesh or sandblasting blood off a floor. But I’d never seen Sophia do any sort of magic, Air or otherwise, never felt any kind of power crackle off her. Another mystery I’d never been able to puzzle out, along with why Sophia’s voice was so broken and raspy. She was only a hundred and thirteen, far too young for her body to be failing her already. Dwarves could easily live to be five hundred or older. Sophia Deveraux wasn’t forthcoming with any answers, but still I wondered.

Sophia finished her cobbler, pushed her bowl back, and looked at Jo-Jo. “Movie?”

“I paused it,” Jo-Jo said. “Still on the TV in the den, if you want to finish it.”

Sophia nodded, got to her feet, and walked into the next room. I grabbed her bowl to rinse it out in the sink.

I reached for the faucet to turn on the water—

And someone screamed.

I whirled around, one of my silverstone knives already sliding into my right hand. Another scream rang out, followed by some frantic rustling. Sophia sighed and stepped out of the den. A moment later, Violet Fox lurched into view.

The girl looked no worse for wear, despite her ordeal.

The only hint anything violent had even happened was the crusted blood that coated her sweater. And the fact that her black glasses were just a tiny bit off center on her nose. Finn hadn’t fixed them perfectly. Or maybe Jo-Jo had straightened the girl’s nose more than it had been before. Occasionally, the dwarf would throw in a little rhinoplasty while she was working her healing Air magic.

An added bonus, if you asked me.

Violet Fox stared at the four of us, surprised and further startled by our presence. The girl’s eyes fell on a knife on the kitchen table. She darted forward, picked it up, turned, and brandished it at us. “Who are you people?”

11

I slid my silverstone knife back up my sleeve and ran water in the dirty bowl before I turned to face the college girl.

“Sweetheart,” I said in a cool voice. “That’s a butter knife. You couldn’t even file your nails with it. Put it down before I take it away from you.”

“Who are you people?” Violet Fox asked in a shaky voice, still clutching the pitiful weapon. She stepped back until her body pressed against the refrigerator. If the door had been open, she probably would have stuffed herself inside, like a box turtle retreating into its shell. “Where am I? What do you want with me?”

I sighed and looked at Finn. He was much better at making nice than I was. He stepped forward, his hands held wide. A charming smile showed off his white teeth to their dazzling perfection.

“You’re somewhere safe,” Finn said in a calm tone that could have soothed an angry grizzly. “We’re not going to hurt you. We saved you from that dwarf in the parking lot at the community college, remember?”

Shadows turned Violet’s eyes an even darker brown, and she twitched her nose, trying to see if it was still intact.

She remembered, all right. The knowledge bruised her features just like the dwarf ’s fists had. Jo-Jo might have healed all the physical damage from the attack, but Violet Fox wasn’t going to forget the emotional trauma anytime soon. If ever. Something else I was all too familiar with.

Violet Fox didn’t look anything like me, of course, but for a moment, staring at her was like seeing myself at thirteen again, just after the Fire elemental had murdered my family. I’d had the same haunted, wounded look that the other girl did right now. I pushed the memory away.

Finn crept a little closer and turned up the wattage on his smile. “We don’t mean you any harm. We just want to ask you some questions about your grandfather. His name is Warren, right? Warren T. Fox?”

Doubt flickered in her dark, haunted eyes. “Why do you want to know about my grandfather?”

“Because your grandfather used to be an old friend of my dad’s,” Finn kept up his calming tone. “His name was Fletcher Lane. You came into the Pork Pit today asking about him, asking about the Tin Man, remember?”

Some of Violet’s panic slackened, and she studied Finn with a lot more interest.

“C’mon,” Finn said. “If we wanted to hurt you, we would have done it already. We just want to talk. Promise.”

It was the same smooth voice he’d used to talk so many women out of their panties. Including me in my younger, more foolish years.
You’ll be so much more comfortable if you get out of those wet clothes
.
Let me help you zip up your dress
.
Whoops, did I just spill coffee all over your jeans
?
Guess you’ll have to take them off
.

And it worked. Violet Fox never stood a chance against the sheer, overpowering, slightly smarmy charm of Finnegan Lane. She lowered the knife and studied us all again, carefully this time, without fear clouding her gaze. She stared at Finn the longest.

“You look exactly like your dad,” she said. “Or at least an old photo my grandfather has of him. Same eyes, same hair, same nice smile.”

Finn grinned a little wider. Nothing he loved better than being told how handsome he was.

Violet nodded at Jo-Jo. “And I’ve seen you once or twice up at the store, haven’t I?”

“You sure have, darling. Your grandfather has the best homemade honey in the city. I always stop and get some when I’m up that way,” Jo-Jo said. “Now, why don’t you put that knife to good use and help yourself to some dessert while we talk?”

After a moment, Violet nodded, stepped forward, and put the knife back down on the table. Finn gently took her arm, gave her another smile, and sat her down on one of the stools. I made her a bowl of apricot bars and ice cream and passed her a spoon. Violet stared at me.

“And you,” she murmured. “I talked to you at the restaurant today. And in the parking lot, after, after—”

“After I killed the man who attacked you,” I said.

Violet gulped down a mouthful of air. Jo-Jo reached over, patted the girl on the hand, and shot me a pointed look. I sighed. I was a former assassin, not a babysitter.

Wasn’t my job to sugarcoat what had happened tonight—or skirt around the trouble the girl was in. But I was patient enough to let Violet Fox get through with her psuedocobbler before I started asking her questions.

Besides, there were plenty of apricot bars left. Be a shame, really, to let them go to waste.

“Why did you come into the Pork Pit today looking for the Tin Man?” I asked. “Who told you that name?”

Violet fiddled with her spoon, then pushed it and her empty bowl aside. She drew in a breath. She knew it was time to get down to business. “You’re going to think it’s stupid. Childish.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” I drawled.

Violet’s brows drew together in confusion at my sarcastic tone. Jo-Jo patted her hand again, encouraging her to go on with her story. Violet shook her head and continued.

“When I was a kid, my grandfather used to tell me stories about the Tin Man. He told me the Tin Man helped people who couldn’t help themselves. That he ran a barbecue restaurant called the Pork Pit and that all you had to do was go in and ask for him, and he’d make all your problems disappear. I thought it was the most wonderful story, a sort of Southern fairy tale.”

Warren Fox might have been estranged from Fletcher, but he’d still thought about his childhood friend, enough to tell his granddaughter about the old man and what he did, in a roundabout way. Although I wouldn’t call assassinating folks a real help—

“Oh, yes. Fletcher helped lots of people over the years,” Jo-Jo said, cutting into my musings. “He was a wonderful man that way.”

I stared at the dwarf, then at Sophia, who grunted her agreement. Even Finn nodded his head in a knowing way. Over the years, I’d done a few pro bono jobs. So had Fletcher. But helping people on the sly? As a regular gig? When had the old man done that? And more importantly, why?

“So he’s real then?” Violet asked. “The Tin Man?”

“Sure, he’s real, darling,” Jo-Jo said. “His name was Fletcher Lane. He was Finn’s father.”

Violet’s face fell. “Was?”

Finn nodded. “He died a few months ago. But don’t worry about that right now. Tell us the rest of your story.”