Tangled Souls (21 page)

Apparently no further explanation of his bad manners would be forthcoming. As she hunted through kitchen cupboards for plates, she could hear the sounds of the parrot’s breakfast being served in the living room. Seamus was his usual animated self, the Irish guy unnaturally quiet.

O’Fallon finally sat at the kitchen table. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes just like a small child. It was endearing, at odds with his tough, no-nonsense image.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” she said, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate. “You should wear jeans more often.”

O’Fallon shot her a glare that said he’d rather wear a negligee and high heels. He took a sip of coffee, stared as if trying to remember what he should do next, then pulled the plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes his direction.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice had a low, throaty sort of sound. Coupled with the accent, it was sexy. Did he sound like that every morning?

“You’re rather monosyllabic.”

“Haven’t had my coffee . . . or a shower.”

“I’m on my third cup of caffeine.”

“So I hear.”

She pulled out her second breakfast of the morning, another Paul Bunyan–sized cinnamon roll.

“You eat those things?” he asked between bites of egg. She nodded. “Explains a lot.”

Gavenia watched him pack away the food, wondering why he didn’t weigh twice what he did. His chest gave her the answer; apparently the Irish guy wasn’t adverse to lifting weights. Despite a small roll over the top of his jeans, he looked darned good. She pulled herself back to the problem.

“We need to settle this Bradley thing. I can’t handle much more of this.”

O’Fallon pushed the bacon strips to the far side of the plate as if they were an abomination, and started in on the hash browns. Once they were gone, he went after the pancakes. It was a methodical, clockwise assault around the plate, consuming one type of food at a time before proceeding to the next. Gavenia wondered if he was aware of it.

“Why didn’t you eat the bacon?” she asked, curious.

“I gave it up for Lent.”

“Sorry, didn’t know.” A grunt was his only response.

O’Fallon perked up about halfway through the pancakes.

“Since the dog isn’t at any of the shelters, we’re going to have to broaden our search.”

“You were the one who was going to have a plan by this morning.”

His frowned grew. “I was busy last night.”

“Repo’ing cars?” she chided, knowing that would piss him off.

It did. He stopped eating, dropping his fork on the plate with a jarring clatter.

“You’re the damned psychic, or is all that just voodoo?”

She resisted the temptation to throw the remnants of her hot chocolate at him. He was back to normal—abrasive. Her cell phone buzzed, and she reached for it out of habit. As she dug into the depths of her purse, her hand brushed the embroidered bag that carried her tarot deck. She hesitated and then pulled it out, ignoring the phone call.

Why not?
Bart’s voice asked from the other room. He was loitering near Seamus’s cage, studying the occupant with a great deal of interest. Seamus was returning the interest, trying to introduce himself. Apparently, animals saw Guardians. She made a note of that.

Extricating the deck from the bag, she dropped it on the table with a thump. She made room in front of her and began to shuffle the cards.

O’Fallon’s eyes widened. “I’m not so sure that’s what I had in mind.”

“Hey, you called it. Let’s see if it’s all voodoo, shall we?” She took a deep breath to calm her irritation. “Besides, as I see it, we’re running out of options. You can call the DMV and get info on cars, I can ask the Head Office to help us out.”

“Head Office?” he puzzled until she pointed upward. “Oh.” He still looked unsure.

“I’m just going to lay out the cards and see what they tell me.”

“‘The safest road to Hell
is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot
,’” he quoted, collecting his fork and returning to the pancakes.

“Who said that?” Gavenia asked, continuing the shuffling process while visualizing a bouncy black puppy.

“C. S. Lewis.
The Screwtape Letters
. It’s about two devils who compare notes on how to tempt souls.”

She ignored the message. “The guy who wrote
Chronicles of Narnia
. I really liked those books.”

He cocked his head. “As I remember, the witch dies in the first one.”

“Yup, but she wasn’t one of the good guys, was she?” Gavenia said, laying out the cards one at a time, facedown.

“Ante up!” she heard from the other room. She gave O’Fallon a puzzled look.

“Seamus heard the cards shuffling; he thinks it’s poker night.”

* * *

O’Fallon rose and refilled his coffee. He’d been caught off guard when he’d found her on his doorstep after a short night’s sleep. Now that the coffee and food had done its job, he was more intrigued than upset.

His visitor turned the first card, and an annoyed expression appeared on her face. He peered over her shoulder and then gave a low whistle.

“The Lovers,” he said, reading the flowing script at the bottom of the card. He pointed to the nude couple reclining in a bower, embracing ardently, only a step away from consummation.

“It also means forming a new partnership,” Gavenia added hastily, her explanation sounding forced.

He picked up the card and studied it. “Pretty intense partnership from what I can see. And anatomically correct, as well.”

She snatched it out of his hand and put it back on the table. “For our purposes, it means a new partnership.”

“Okay; you’re the psychic,” he said, grinning. This might be more fun that he thought. He pulled his chair over as she turned the next card. “What kind of deck is that?”

The witch shot him a confused look. “I thought you didn’t know anything about this stuff.”

“I’ve seen tarot decks before. Sometimes we’d get a card left at a murder scene, but they looked different from these.”

“This is my own personal deck. I painted each one myself.” He heard pride in her voice, and it was well deserved. Every card was a masterpiece of color and design.

“They’re really nice. Must have taken forever.”

“Over a year,” she said, returning her attention to the latest card. “The King of Swords. A man who sits in judgment, someone involved in the law or in authority.” She looked toward him. “I’d say that’s you.”

“I can buy that.”

“I’m going to modify it by placing another card on top. It’ll give us a bit more information.” The new card depicted a pallid moon in a coal-black sky. Below it, in a forest, glowing eyes watched intently. “Not good,” she muttered.

“How so?”

“The Moon card usually means hidden enemies or deception.”

He pondered for a moment and then nodded. “That fits with the other case I’m working.”

She turned those brilliant blue eyes toward him. “Is that how you got your ribs worked over?” He nodded. “Then watch yourself,” she said. “The danger hasn’t diminished. If anything, it’s grown.”

No surprise there.

The next card was rather strange: a petite fairy with golden hair and a mouse wearing a crown. The fairy looked somehow familiar.

“That’s my card,” she said, smiling brightly.

Bingo.
“Are you the fairy or the mouse?” he teased.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ll modify it.”

A slight intake of breath came when she turned the new card, and he shivered unconsciously. A stark metal cage sat in the middle of a forest clearing. Inside was a young girl, peering out, trying to pick the massive lock that held her prisoner. In the distance he could see the backs of two figures. They had shovels and were digging what appeared to be a grave. Next to them on the ground was a shrouded figure—a body.

“Whoa,” he said, shivering involuntarily. “God, that’s . . .” The witch just stared, the blue in her eyes dulled.

Her voice came so quietly that he had to strain to hear her.

“The Entrapment card. The feeling of being ensnared, caught in a situation in which one has no control. Fear of the unknown, fear of . . . death.”

She’d intoned the words as if it were a personal litany.

“Bradley?” he asked, watching her closely.

Gavenia opened her mouth as if to immediately agree and then sighed. “I’m not sure.”

The witch flipped another card. Her left hand was shaking now with almost as much intensity as the right. The Entrapment card had clearly frightened her.

“The Water card,” she said, pointing toward a scene with a blue expanse of ocean, seabirds, and tiny boats. “It could mean a number of things.”

“And in relation to the dog?”

She didn’t answer, but modified the card. An elderly woman in a rocking chair looking expectantly at the door, as if hoping for visitors. His gran came to mind and, along with the thought of her, a twinge of guilt.

“The Patience card,” she said. This time her sigh sounded exasperated. “One more.” A young man and woman, standing under an archway. He was handing her a bunch of ripe purple grapes, she offering him a full goblet of wine. They gazed at each other with unabashed adoration.

“The Bounty or Sharing card. He offers his beloved the fruits of life, and she returns them in a new form. For barren couples I tell them this means they will have children. For lovers, I tell them to learn to give and receive of each other, to enjoy the bounty that love can bring.”

“What does that mean to us in this case?”

For a moment she looked disconcerted, and then he watched her shields fall into place like solid steel doors.

She sputtered, “I think . . . I think it means we will be successful in our search for Merlin. We’re each contributing something to the case and—” She stopped abruptly. “At least I think that’s what it means.”

Can’t lie to save your soul, can you?

In some ways, he found that refreshing. To ease the awkward moment, he asked, “So what did we learn here, other than that both of us need to be careful?”

Gavenia appeared grateful for his change of subject.

“Water,” she said, tapping the relevant card. “Janet loved the ocean; at least that’s what her sister said. Don’t the Allifords have a beach house in Malibu?”

He nodded. “You think we should check it out?”

“Why not? It’s a nice day; it’ll be a road trip.”

He rose, moving his chair back in place. “While I take my shower, give Alliford a call. We’ll need a key and a security code.”

The witch instantly perked up, as if having a plan allowed her to submerge the disturbing reading.

“Need someone to wash your back?” she jested, the shields lowering again.

He eyed her, tempted to play along. What would it be like to make love to a pagan? His ribs throbbed in response, reminding him of the impossibility of the notion. There was far more to Gavenia Kingsgrave than her bio indicated, and until he knew the meaning of the Entrapment card, he’d best be cautious.

“I’ll take a rain check on it,” he said, pointing to the bruises.

“Good point.” She gathered the cards, returning them to the embroidered bag. In the living room, Seamus began a series of catcalls worthy of a longshoreman.

“He’s paging you,” O’Fallon said.

Gavenia just rolled her eyes.

* * *

When O’Fallon appeared in the doorway to his bedroom after his shower, she stared. Self-consciously he straightened his shirt and dusted off his pants, his suit jacket draped over his right arm.

“You’re wearing that?” she blurted. “Oh, no, not happening. I refuse to go to a beach with a guy in suit. You look . . .” She waved her arms in the air, struggling for the proper word.

“Professional?” he suggested, frowning.

“No, type A. Nobody goes to the beach dressed like that, O’Fallon.”

“I like my suits. They’re nice ones. I’m fussy about them,” he retorted.

“Yes, you are, but they’re not right for the beach,” Gavenia said, rising from the couch, hands on her hips.

“Bar fight, bar fight!” Seamus crowed.

“Don’t you start,” O’Fallon cautioned. The parrot edged toward Gavenia as if taking her side.

“See, even Seamus agrees. No suit,” she said.

When O’Fallon mumbled under his breath and retreated to the bedroom, Gavenia winked at the parrot and fed him another carrot.

When the Irish guy reappeared, Gavenia let loose a wolf whistle and delivered a thumbs-up. Seamus promptly duplicated the whistle with uncanny accuracy. She waved the PI into the center of the room and circled around him, nodding her approval.

Oh yeah, now that’s nice.
O’Fallon’s broad chest worked wonders on the LAPD T-shirt, and the faded blue jeans filled out to good effect. The tan boat shoes were an added bonus. He looked good. Amazing what a change of wardrobe could do for a guy.

“Lookin’ hot, Mr. PI,” she said, and grinned.

“Lookin’ stupid,” he muttered. “I feel like a . . .” He struggled for a word.

“Like a normal person?”

“No, like a geek.”

“You don’t look like a geek. Besides, you’re not meeting a client; we’re dog hunting at the beach.”

“I might see someone I know,” he hedged.

“And they’ll be astounded how cool you look.”

He shook his head, a scowl on his face. After a couple more muttered words, he headed for the kitchen counter, scooping up his wallet and keys. “Did you talk to Alliford?”

“Nope. He’s sleeping it off. The maid said she’d have the key ready for me.”

“Good. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Hey . . . in those blue jeans . . .” She waggled her eyebrows, and that earned her a sharp look.

“Get lucky, get lucky!” Seamus chimed in from his place on the sofa.

“You be quiet.” O’Fallon scooped him up and deposited him in his cage.