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  Lily swung hard, the slap cracking against his cheek. He didn’t even clench his fists. If he’d ever had any emotional investment in her, it was long gone. Even so, she’d taken a full swing. Maybe I should rescue him?

  The room went silent.

  ‘‘You can go now,’’ I told her.

  Lily turned on her heel and left.

  Chapter Six

  The rest of lunch was an anticlimax. Siobhan was subdued. Connor’s parents stuck to impersonal topics, and Ryan steamed. Weirdly, it seemed like only Connor and I were unaffected. I made deliberate attempts to include Siobhan in conversation, but she was wool-gathering somewhere distant. Ryan acted like he owed someone a black eye and was worried he’d deliver late. I might not understand the nuances of the family, but things seemed really off to me. After paying the check, Connor pulled me toward the parking lot.

  ‘‘I’ll get it back,’’ he promised, walking too fast for me to comfortably keep up. Grenville stuck out like a sore thumb in the parking lot. I was feeling far more kindred with it than I had before lunch.

  ‘‘Get what back?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘The ring.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ He didn’t really think I cared about that, did he? That already seemed like a lifetime ago.

  ‘‘Yes?’’ He made it a question.

  ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous, Connor.’’

  I stopped short. We needed a translator. I wasn’t mad. I was busy. He looked bemused—eyes cloudy, lips parted, genuinely confused.

  ‘‘I didn’t protect you. I should have.’’

  ‘‘From what?’’

  ‘‘Lily.’’

  ‘‘Why? I thought I handled her pretty well.’’ Now I was a little puzzled. Actually, I’d thought I was in the zone. Rude, no doubt, but highly efficient and downright righteous about the whole thing.

  ‘‘You were great.’’ He grinned.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘You’re welcome. And you’re not mad?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Why not?’’

  ‘‘I could maybe explain why I was mad if I were, but clarifying the negative seems tricky. I don’t know why I’m not mad. She’s a bitch. I’m chalking up your relationship with her to ignorance and hormones.’’

  Connor shook his head. ‘‘Thanks, I think.’’

  ‘‘You’re older. You’re wiser. And since I intend to keep your hormones all to myself, Lily doesn’t seem relevant.’’

  He stared. ‘‘So we’re not fighting?’’

  ‘‘I’m not fighting. I’ve got to go.’’ I crossed the last few yards of the parking lot to Grenville and pulled on the door. It opened, hanging lopsidedly. I got in and banged the door shut.

  ‘‘And I’m not in the doghouse?’’

  There was nothing I could do if his conscience bothered him. Except take advantage of it—and him—when the opportunity presented itself.

  ‘‘Sara.’’

  ‘‘I’ve got to get back to work. We can talk later.’’ He reached in and took the keys out of the ignition.

  ‘‘Give me my keys.’’

  ‘‘Calm down.’’ Bad move. His face told me he knew it the second the words were out.

  ‘‘I’m perfectly calm. I’m also in a hurry.’’ I held out my hand imperiously. ‘‘Now give me my damn keys.’’

  ‘‘You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset.’’

  ‘‘I am not upset.’’ I said it through clenched teeth. Maybe the idiot needed me to yell to feel better. ‘‘I am perfectly fine to drive. And I really need to go.’’

  He crouched next to the door. ‘‘Just tell me what to do.’’

  I shook my head. Now he was driving me crazy. ‘‘Nothing. I’m not mad. Really. Now can I have the keys? Please?’’

  He reached through the open window and tucked my hair behind my ear. He always tried to distract me with touch. The irritating thing was that it worked so well I couldn’t even blame him for sticking with it.

  ‘‘Sara?’’

  I held out my hand silently.

  ‘‘We need to talk.’’

  ‘‘Sure. We’ll talk later. All you want. I promise.’’

  In ten seconds I was going to fake a major meltdown so I could forgive him and move on.

  ‘‘You shouldn’t drive like this,’’ he tried again.

  I glanced through the windshield. ‘‘Hmm. You’re right.’’

  ‘‘I am?’’ Now he was suspicious of too easy. I had him off balance, that was for sure.

  I pushed open the door. He stepped back out of the way.

  ‘‘We need to talk about this,’’ he insisted.

  ‘‘What is it with you and talking?’’ I marched toward the Yacht Club. ‘‘There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I’m not plotting your imminent demise. Lily’s useless and vindictive, but your taste in women is improving. Problem resolved. I’ve got things to do.’’

  ‘‘Where are you going?’’

  ‘‘I’m going to call a cab.’’

  ‘‘I’ll take you.’’

  ‘‘No. Go back to work.’’

  ‘‘I’d rather—’’

  ‘‘Sara, Connor. Did you forget something?’’ Siobhan was wrapping a scarf around her head, her keys in one hand.

  ‘‘No.’’ Connor cut her off. Jeez, what was he thinking? Siobhan didn’t need the short tone from him, not after putting up with the lunchtime festivities. I wanted to reach over and smack him in the head.

  Siobhan stopped, biting her lower lip. ‘‘Is anything wrong?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Connor said.

  ‘‘No,’’ I said. I stepped on his foot. Hard. ‘‘Your brother is an emoter. I don’t get it myself.’’

  Siobhan smiled. It looked forced. ‘‘I never thought of him that way.’’

  ‘‘You should.’’

  ‘‘Sib, Sara and I need to—’’

  ‘‘Actually, Siobhan, could you do me a huge favor?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Anything.’’

  ‘‘I rented a car this morning. It’s a little on the unreliable side, and Mother Hen Connor is turning gray just thinking about it. Do you have plans this afternoon?’’

  ‘‘No, I’m free.’’

  ‘‘I would understand if you’re busy.’’

  Siobhan stood a little straighter. I suddenly wondered what she did during the day. She didn’t seem to have a job, or at least, no one had mentioned one. If she’d been a stay-at-home wife, with the recently removed husband her house must seem like anything but a haven. I could see her cleaning, cooking, entertaining the pig’s associates. If Jack was really gone, Siobhan would probably welcome the distraction.

  ‘‘I didn’t have anything planned, really,’’ Siobhan insisted.

  ‘‘If you don’t think you’d be too bored, maybe we could see some of the sights. I’ve never been to San Diego before, and Connor has to work.’’

  ‘‘I would like that.’’ Siobhan smiled. It wavered a bit, but she hung on.

  I glanced at Connor. He was staring at me. I gave him my most innocent expression. He wouldn’t welcome having his sister weaned from his protective cocoon. His eyes narrowed. He thought I was up to something. Who, me? I glanced at Siobhan. I’d look out for her, but a little mischief making might be just what the doctor ordered. Siobhan could do worse than catch a little revenge fever. Maybe she’d give me some pointers about fitting in while I was corrupting her. Quid pro quo, as they said at my law firm. Connor did not seem convinced.

  ‘‘You’re going to do the tourist thing?’’ Deeply suspicious, but what could he do?

  ‘‘Sure.’’ My smile was at maximum wattage. That alone should have him on pins and needles all afternoon. So what if he knew I was up to no good?

  ‘‘Don’t let her talk you into anything, Sib.’’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘‘There’s a great maritime museum, if you’d like to try that,’’ Siobhan asked.r />
  ‘‘Not really. I was lying.’’

  She flinched. ‘‘Lying.’’ Her eyes were glassy.

  ‘‘Not to you. To him. Your brother. He hovers.’’

  ‘‘He does.’’

  ‘‘Let’s put it this way: Girdles give you more breathing room.’’

  She rested her hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. She hadn’t started the Mercedes, and the summer heat was turning it into an oven. She didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘‘Does it bother you?’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Me talking about him like a husband?’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘I’ll take you home now.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  She turned the key. The car rumbled to life and the air poured out cold. My car took ages to cool off. This one had an instant-Arctic feature.

  ‘‘Siobhan, it’s okay if you haven’t got time today. I understand.’’

  ‘‘You want to go out with me?’’

  ‘‘Just not a museum.’’

  She turned and smiled at me. A genuine smile. A McNamara smile. ‘‘No. That’s fine. We could go shopping.’’

  ‘‘I’m not a big shopper.’’

  ‘‘Okay, uh, how about—’’

  ‘‘I need to do a couple of work things. How’d you like to tag along?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Really?’’

  ‘‘Yeah.’’ I pulled Detective Hector Montoya’s card from my wallet. ‘‘I want to go talk to the cop from last night. See if they identified the body.’’

  ‘‘Body?’’ Siobhan turned. Her eyes were as big as saucers.

  ‘‘Didn’t Connor tell you?’’

  She turned and started the car. ‘‘Connor doesn’t tell me things he thinks would upset me. No one in my family does.’’

  Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson. ‘‘Maybe we shouldn’t—’’

  ‘‘I’m sick of museums, too.’’ Siobhan said. She pulled the car out of its slot. ‘‘What’s the address?’’

  ‘‘Skyline Drive.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  ‘‘Really, if you don’t want to go, I understand.’’

  ‘‘No. I want to go. I’m tired of being the fragile daughter.’’

  I had no idea what to say to that. Frankly, she seemed fragile to me. Protected by her family. I envied her a little. Not that I was a delicate flower. I wasn’t. But it would be nice if someone thought that way about me once in a while.

  ‘‘You know what? Let me call first. See if he’s there. No sense making a wasted trip.’’

  I dialed. ‘‘Detective Montoya, please.’’

  He wasn’t at his desk, so I left my number. Taking Siobhan to a bad neighborhood was one thing. Doing it as a fool’s errand was another.

  ‘‘He wasn’t there?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘No, but maybe he’ll call back this afternoon. We can meet him then. Let’s try the radio station. The real one, not just the warehouse where we were last night. We’ll save the war zone for when the cops are available.’’

  ‘‘What radio station?’’

  I scrolled on my phone. ‘‘Towne Center Drive?’’

  Siobhan’s shoulders relaxed. Must be a better part of town. I gave her the address and she punched it into her GPS unit.

  On the drive, I told Siobhan the story from the night before. She didn’t ask questions, just absorbed the details. There was no lecture on the dangers of not staying at my desk or rants about crazy women. She barely spoke. If Siobhan shared Connor’s views on my job or my most recent escapade, she kept it to herself. She pulled into a parking lot.

  ‘‘Ready, Watson?’’ I asked.

  She smiled. ‘‘After you.’’

  We walked into the station and over to a receptionist. ‘‘Hello.’’ The receptionist smiled. She was well coiffed and manicured, wearing a stylish suit. She would need the jacket in these arctic indoor temperatures. She made a better match to Siobhan than I did.

  I slid my card across to her. ‘‘I’d like to talk with Henry DeVries’s boss, please. I don’t have an appointment, but it is important.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry, but our management team doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’’ She slid the card back.

  ‘‘I have vital information about Henry. It’s a police matter.’’ I tried again, pushing the card back.

  ‘‘Then the police will contact us.’’ She boomeranged my card, her smile never fading.

  ‘‘The detective assigned to this case is Hector Montoya. I think your boss would like to talk to me before he gets here.’’

  ‘‘I don’t think so.’’

  ‘‘Listen, Miss, er, Philmar.’’ I read the name off the rack of business cards on her desk. They’d actually printed cards for her with the title of ‘‘receptionist.’’ ‘‘I think—’’

  ‘‘I am Siobhan Reed.’’ Siobhan pulled a gold-filigreed card from her purse. ‘‘I would like to see the owner immediately, please.’’

  The receptionist’s eyes widened. She took the card, looked down, and swallowed visibly. ‘‘Of course, Mrs. Reed. Right away. Would you like to wait in our conference room?’’

  ‘‘That would be fine.’’

  I followed, dumbstruck, behind the two elegant women. We were offered deep leather chairs in a teak-lined room. Iced cappuccino quickly followed. I waited until the receptionist scurried away.

  ‘‘How did you do that?’’

  ‘‘Family connections.’’ She smiled wanly. She didn’t seem that thrilled by them.

  The door opened and a man burst in.

  ‘‘Mrs. Reed?’’ He held out a hand. ‘‘Pike Overthal. I’m the manager here. Mr. Rooten isn’t in the office just now. If he knew you were coming . . . well, he told me to take care of you. ‘Anything she needs,’ Mr. Rooten said.’’

  Siobhan shook hands without standing.

  ‘‘Can I get you anything else? Something to eat. One of the girls brought some cookies in this morning. Homemade. Real tasty.’’

  Siobhan smiled. ‘‘No, thank you, Mr. Overthal. I’d like to introduce you to Sara Townley.’’

  I stood to shake his hand.

  ‘‘Nice meeting you, ma’am.’’

  Ma’am. He had two decades on me. Those family connections must be pretty strong indeed.

  ‘‘Sara has a few questions to ask you.’’

  We sat down. Overthal turned his attention to me like an eager-to-please puppy. He leaned forward onto the table.

  ‘‘Anything.’’

  ‘‘Has Henry DeVries come into the office today?’’

  Overthal blinked. ‘‘Henry DeVries doesn’t come into the office, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Never?’’ That surprised me. How could he do a radio show without the studio?

  ‘‘No. Runs his show on remote. Tapes most of them in advance from his own place.’’

  ‘‘Is that the warehouse in Bay Terrace?’’

  Overthal looked from me to Siobhan. ‘‘What’s this about?’’

  ‘‘Last night there was a shooting in Bay Terrace. A man was killed.’’

  He leaned back and steepled his fingers. ‘‘You think it was Henry?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. I’m asking you.’’

  If Pike Overthal was upset at the thought of losing a valued employee, it didn’t show. I expect Morris, my boss, the anal-retentive senior partner, would be even colder if I went to the ever-after.

  Pike reached forward and punched a button on the speakerphone in the middle of the table.

  ‘‘Agnes?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘See if you can get DeVries on the phone.’’

  ‘‘It’s only two o’clock, sir.’’

  ‘‘I don’t care. Wake him if you have to.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘What’s your connection, Ms. Townley?’’ Gone was the enthusiastic sycophant. Maybe he wasn’t just a pencil pusher. This Overthal soun
ded like a real journalist.

  ‘‘I was supposed to be meeting him.’’

  Overthal shook his head, his eyes cagey. ‘‘Now, I know that’s not true. Henry didn’t meet people.’’

  ‘‘He did interviews.’’ I sipped coffee. I could feel the buzz surge in my bloodstream. Apparently the good stuff came with more caffeine.

  ‘‘Not the way you mean. He sometimes had conversations with the fringe, if you see my point. Guys who had the same conditions of anonymity and need for security. He didn’t meet with society types or their friends.’’

  ‘‘He agreed to meet with me to discuss an interview he did with Charles Smiths.’’

  Overthal’s face closed up. Recognition for sure. But what else? Was it just a reporter trying to get beneath a story, protect a source? Or did he know something he wasn’t going to tell me?

  ‘‘What about Smiths?’’ Overthal said.

  ‘‘It was his information, not mine.’’ I could lie, too. ‘‘He wanted me to look at a copy of the transcript of the interview to see if I could come up with some answers for him. Maybe som explanation for why Smiths would do an interview now, when he’s been deliberately avoiding the spotlight for so long.’’

  ‘‘Why would he think you knew?’’

  I reached into my pocket to make sure I’d picked up my card from the receptionist. She’d never even glanced at it. The hard cardboard reassured me that she couldn’t tell him anything.

  ‘‘Because I called him to ask about the interview. I work in Seattle. Smiths is a major donor there, and he doesn’t give interviews. I thought that if I could figure out why Smiths chose to speak with DeVries, I could use it to get close to him. Maybe open him up for some of our local causes. He’s a big giver in San Diego, and Seattle could use some of that generosity.’’

  ‘‘Okay.’’ He sounded doubtful.

  ‘‘He’s never participated in any of our annual fund-raisers for the mental health facility or the arts. We have the annual charity ball in a few days,’’ Siobhan offered. ‘‘We help a lot of important causes, from cancer research to prison reform.’’

  Less than an hour in my company and I’d turned Connor’s little sister into a liar. I was nothing if not efficient.