“Well, she says you saved her life when you ran between her and the shooter.”
David turned and gave me a look. I hadn’t exactly mentioned that part, figuring I would get just this reaction. I gave him an apologetic shrug. “I had to do something.”
“Let me make the argument that hiding also constitutes doing something,” he said.
“She was going to shoot that girl.”
The detective jumped back in, sensing a squabble coming. “How did Jondin seem to you? During the events?” Rodriquez asked.
I sat and thought about that. Tried to picture that cold, beautiful face. Then it struck me. “Expressionless. She seemed … detached.”
“Not angry?”
“No.”
“Did she say anything?” he asked.
“No. She didn’t make a sound until she got hurt and then she just screamed.” The detective gave a gusting sigh and leaned back in his chair. “What?” I asked and gave him an encouraging smile.
“Jondin claims she has no memory of the events. None. Says she has no idea even where she got the guns,” the detective said.
“She had a freaking arsenal. That’s not something you buy in an afternoon,” I said.
“Have you been able to trace them?” David asked.
“It’s only been a day. Once we have that information, hopefully, it will give us some more to go on.”
David stood. “Well, it seems you’ve exhausted your questions for Ms. Ellery.”
Rodriquez scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it for now. Thanks again for coming in.”
We shook hands all around though I noticed that the policeman thrust his hand into his pants pocket after the cold clasp of David’s hand.
“If you should think of anything else.” He handed me his card.
As David and I walked to the elevator I said, “Well, that was painless. You probably didn’t need to come with me.”
“I was not going to leave you alone.” He then suddenly added. “You tend to get into trouble when left alone.”
“That is so totally unfair,” I said. The elevator arrived with an anemic ding.
“Oh really? Three werewolf assaults, and now this.” We stepped onto the elevator, and David punched the lobby button.
“I wasn’t the target of this. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I countered.
“You could say that’s how all the trouble started back in New York. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when Chip got killed, and then things … escalated.” He gazed down at me. And now you’re digging into these events here. I worry, Linnet.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, and hoped it wasn’t famous last words.
10
Even though I had a million questions buzzing around in my head and things I needed to do, by the time we finished at LAPD headquarters I was a zombie. I would think I had grasped a thought thread only to have it turn to smoke or grind to a halt as my brain tried to shut down. Since the day’s hearing had been canceled, I collected my car from the office parking garage and very carefully drove myself back to the Oakwood.
There was a takeout menu from a nearby Chinese place hanging on the doorknob. That looked good to me. I ordered in kung pao chicken with fried rice, sat down to wait for the food, and tried not to fall asleep. Didn’t work. I was jerked awake by a knock at the door.
“Just a minute,” I called, stumbled over to my purse and grabbed out some cash.
After some fumbling I got the chain off the door, threw the deadbolt, and opened the door. Instead of the usual pimple-faced delivery teenager there was my father. Fatigue had painted dark circles beneath his gray eyes, which were filled with worry. I gave a half sob, half moan of relief and fell into his embrace.
“Oh, Linnie, honey.” One hand was patting all over my back as if reassuring himself that I was there and intact.
“Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here, but it’s such a long way—”
“Shhh.”
“Come in.” I noticed there was an overnight case at his feet. He gathered up his small bag and followed me into the apartment.
We settled onto the couch and I nestled against him. “How did you find out?”
“It was all over the news.”
“About me?”
“No, about the shootings, but then Shade let me know you had been there. Now, tell me what happened.”
So, I did. After I finished we sat in silence for a few minutes. Then I hesitantly asked, “Daddy, do you think there’s something weird about me?”
The arm around my shoulder stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Everybody talks about how lucky I am, but I don’t feel lucky because these awful things keep happening to me or around me.” I sighed. “Eventually I’m going to be afraid to leave home.”
“Well, speaking of home … why don’t you come back to Rhode Island with me? Catch your breath. Decide what you want to do.”
“Is Mom away on a trip?”
“No.”
“Then you know how relaxing it’s going to be. We drive each other crazy. I want to see it through out here, and David needs my help.” I didn’t mention my belief that some other force was at work or my determination to figure out what it was. That would only have worried him.
A memory came jostling and pushing its way to the fore. Last time I’d been in terrible danger during the werewolf attacks my dad had been adamant that I not leave IMG. In fact he had made damn sure my job was secure even before he came to see me. Now suddenly it was all “Why don’t you come home?” I pointed this out to him.
He spread his hands apologetically. “This is the fourth time you’ve been in terrible danger. I guess I’m worried that if it happened again you wouldn’t be so lucky.”
“Hey, I made it past the third time. Isn’t that the key? Should be smooth sailing from here on out.” I suggested with gallows humor.
There was a knock. My dad looked at the door, concern pulling his brows into a sharp frown. “I ordered takeout,” I explained as I once again gathered up cash and went to answer. This time it was the pimple-faced adolescent. I handed over cash, told him to keep the change. There were delicious smells emanating from the depths of the bag.
“Dinner?” I said, and held up the sack.
“Why don’t I take you out, and you can save the leftovers for another night?” he suggested.
“I like the way you think,” I said. I stowed the little white cartons in the fridge and ran into the bedroom for a jacket.
He was holding his phone when I emerged, and I saw he was on Google. “There’s a steak place just down from here. Damn good reviews too. Supposedly their garlic bread isn’t to be missed.” he added.
The Smokehouse was totally my dad’s kind of place. Red leather booths, wood paneling, dark carpet, and unlike the more modern concrete-and-chrome restaurants, it was very quiet. The bar was a dark mahogany horseshoe, and I kept thinking I would see Sam Spade in a trench coat with a fedora pulled low over his eyes slouched there. I told my dad what I was thinking, and he gave me a smile.
“Except no man in that era would ever have worn a hat indoors,” he said.
“Oh, right,” I said as the maitre d’ led us to our table. “Is it true that men stopped wearing hats because President Kennedy didn’t wear a hat at his inauguration?”
“That’s the legend, but now they’re coming back because vampires all wear them.”
“Well, if they’re using them as sunshades they’d be better off with a sombrero,” I said as I slid into the booth.
My dad chuckled. “Yes, but that wouldn’t look very dignified, and they’re all about the dignity.”
“Well, those umbrellas they all carry look pretty silly too.”
A young waiter approached our booth, and we ordered.
I went with a small piece of rare prime rib with a side of crab legs. Dad had his usual, a New York strip steak, medium.