David picked up a pen and flipped it between his fingers. “I should ask some of the uniforms and the crime scene people if they spotted him. Not proof of his involvement but certainly suggestive.”
“And still not enough to pull in the authorities, if that’s what you were thinking,” I said. “Look, since he knows I’m alive, then there’s no advantage to having us meet. And I’ve got a ton to do, so if I can miss the hearings that would probably be good.”
“Do you want him to worry over what you are up to or think you’re shattered by the experience and have run back to New York?”
“Much as I hate to play the victim, let’s go with shattered. He’s more likely to believe that anyway; he has a really low opinion of humans. Also, if he’s worried, he might change his plans, and we’re already working off a whole lot of assumptions about just what those plans might be.”
“Yes, and that’s what worries me,” David said sourly. “But we can’t risk spooking him, so I’ll put it about that you have returned to New York.”
“Qwendar knows where I live, and I think he’s had people watching me, so I better be seen going to the airport. I can then double back, rent a different car, and hopefully shake him.”
“Yes, that makes sense, though I am disturbed by how good you are at all this hole-and-corner behavior. Oh, I have enlisted Hank in this mad endeavor. He’s a vampire and of my line, and I figured we could use the extra help.” With that he waved me out of the office.
Jeff was at home. With my phone’s navigation app guiding me I headed off for Newport Beach. The actor’s house sat on a promontory and looked out over the Pacific. Today it was a deep azure with only small whitecaps. I drove up to the gate and put in the access code that Jeff had provided. The large gates swung open, and I drove up the curving cobblestone driveway to the house. It was an Italianate structure with the usual red tile roof, lots of balconies filled with pots of blooming geraniums. Bougainvillea tumbled over stone walls in a riot of red and pink and purple.
Once parked, I paused and listened to the deep-throated roar of the ocean breaking on the cliffs below the house. The air was moist on my skin and the smell of brine tickled my nostrils. Jeff opened the front door before I could ring the bell.
“How?” I pointed at my car, me, the door.
“Security cameras. I saw you driving in. Come in and meet Kate.”
The entryway was polished flagstone. A curving staircase terminated directly in front of the door. The rich mahogany glowed in the sunlight pouring in a round, faceted window halfway up the stairs. For an instant I imagined myself in a gorgeous gown descending those steps while John looked up admiringly. I pushed away the fantasy and followed Jeff down a hall, through a modern white and chrome kitchen large enough to hold a long benched table and into a room that looked like an enclosed deck. The room was a horseshoe-shaped curve lined with windows and finished in heavy teak. It made me think of Tahitian beach houses. The ocean flexed and rolled outside the windows.
Kate Billingham sat on a window seat, a book held loosely between her fingers. She was lovely in person, with long auburn hair brushing her shoulders, dark brows, and pansy brown eyes. Without lighting and professional makeup I could see tiny crow’s feet around her eyes and a few lines in her forehead. Clearly no Botox had been applied to that heart-shaped face.
She stood and extended her hand. “How do you do? I’ve heard so much about you from Jeff.”
“Uh-oh,” I said.
The hair swirled as she shook her head. “No, no. All good. About how brave you are, and I believe he called you ‘sharp as a tack,’ which in Midwesterner speak is very high praise indeed.”
I glanced over at the actor, who smiled and shrugged. “Thank you,” I said.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll have coffee and snacks waiting in the kitchen when you’re done.” She floated out of the room.
Jeff indicated a window seat. I sat down, and he pulled around a wicker chair to sit facing me. “Okay, you sounded very serious on the phone. What’s up?”
“First, a question. Can you get six people into the Academy Awards? And not in the nosebleed seats, but down on the main floor.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s going to be another Jondin incident, but with Jujuran in the starring role this time. Or some other Álfar that he can get blood from. Or maybe a lot of Álfar, I don’t know, but it will be bad.”
“Okay, you are officially scaring the crap out of me, and I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Blood? Him? Who him? Jujuran?”
“Qwendar. He’s on a holy crusade to save his people from evil human influence, and he’s doing it by forcing elves to kill humans. Then we turn on the Álfar, igniting a big war, the Álfar retreat back into Fey, the other Powers get worried because they’re always worried about peasants with pitchforks, and we’ve set back human-Powers relations by decades if not centuries. And you think I sound crazy,” I finished.
“Weirdly enough, I don’t.” He gave me a sick smile. “Maybe because I’ve starred in too many action movies, but it all makes a sort of twisted sense.” He stood and paced, the distressed teak floorboards creaking lightly with each step. It set an odd counterpoint to the sigh and boom of the waves below us. “Was he behind Kerrinan and Jondin?”
“I believe so. I talked to someone who has lived in Fey. He said a really powerful Álfar, trained in their techniques—mental powers, magic, whatever you want to call it—could control someone’s actions.”
“Meaning Kerrinan and Jondi weren’t…” Jeff stopped, snapped his fingers irritably. “What’s that Latin phrase?”
“Compos mentis.”
“That’s it. In their right minds”
Jeff crossed to me and leaned in close. “If you think he’s going to do something at the Awards we’ve got to warn the authorities.”
“And tell them what? That I think a respected representative of the Álfar Council is a murderous manipulator who has mysterious powers that can cloud men’s minds and force them to do horrible and violent acts? I couldn’t get a deputy this morning to believe I had nearly been murdered because Qwendar had used his powers to establish an alibi.”
“Whoa. Wait. Whoa. You do not get to just casually toss out that you were nearly murdered and not give me the whole damn story.”
I pressed my fingers hard against the skin above each eyebrow where an incipient headache was lurking. I blew out a breath. “I guess I’m just tired of going through it again and again. Suffice it to say that Qwendar realized I had figured out his game, and he decided to stage my suicide. I didn’t oblige.”
Jeff gave me a quick, hard hug. “Holy crap, Linnet, that’s awful.”
“Which is why I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Right, right. Okay.” Jeff was back pacing again. “Okay, so if our authorities won’t listen to us, how about we go to the Álfar authorities? Talk to this council of theirs.”
I shook my head. “I’d rather not, and here’s why. They might deal with Qwendar, but they’d probably just yank him back into Fey and sweep it all under the rug. That won’t help Kerrinan and Jondin.”
“You think the Álfar would actually throw Kerrinan and Jondin under a bus?” Jeff asked.
I shrugged. “They’re the Álfar equivalent of politicians. Are they really going to want to tell the world full of nervous humans that there’s Álfar magic that can turn any Álfar into a killer? Better to let the humans think these were isolated incidents with a couple of nutty actors. But if Qwendar acts again, and I can prove he’s doing it, it may clear them.”