The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh. Страница 62

With the exception of Lauren’s socially-challenged spouse, they were all nice enough,

although I don’t think I imagined the curious looks. I wasn’t sure if they were on Lisa’s

behalf or my own, but it didn’t matter. Odds were I’d never have to see any of these folks

again. It was an easy, if boring gig. I switched on automatic pilot, gliding along shaking hands

and making small talk.

Our duty done, we circled back toward Lauren, who looked less like a beautiful statue.

Natalie tilted her head, appraised me smilingly. “What do you think of us, Adrien? We

can’t read you at all.”

“I think you’re all…amazing.”

“Hmm.” She gave me an unexpectedly shrewd look. “I don’t think we should take that

at face value.” And before I could respond, “You know, Em’s right. You do sort of look like

that actor. The one in A Place in the Sun.”

“Elizabeth Taylor?”

She giggled, then had to report this witticism to Lauren, who smiled vaguely, her eyes

following the progress of her husband, who was now at the bar.

The bar sounded like a good idea, but I didn’t want to rub shoulders with my soon-to-

be brother-in-law.

And that’s when I noticed Oliver Garibaldi.

He was talking to Lisa. She laughed, her voice rippling across the pool. He gazed at her

with that enigmatic hooded gaze. I wouldn’t say it all fell into place, but I did recognize a

piece of the puzzle – with a stab of alarm.

“Excuse me,” I said to Lauren and Natalie, and cut my way through the space heaters

and strategically placed futons and giant pots of flowers.

Lisa smiled as I reached them. “Oh, Adrien, have you met Oliver?”

“Yes. How are you?”

Oliver said, “We meet again.” I was struck again by that light, fruity voice. You

expected God-like John Huston tones.

“This handsome stranger is my son,” Lisa informed him.

“I didn’t realize you knew each other,” I said to Lisa.

“Oliver is an old friend of Bill’s.”

Garibaldi said smoothly, “We met many years ago. We share interest in a number of

worthy causes.”

“What causes?”

Lisa laughed. “Adrien writes mystery novels, you know. He’s terribly clever. And

terribly curious.” She patted my shoulder. “My clever grown-up son.”

“I did not realize.” Garibaldi smiled, reminding me of a phrase I’d read describing

Aleister Crowley: “eyes that could spoil everything.”

“Did you ever find your friend?” he inquired.

“My friend?”

“The mystery novelist who disappeared. You thought he had been abducted?”

“Abducted!” Lisa would certainly have pursued this, but she was distracted by the

appearance of yet another bosom buddy from yet another charity committee. Departing, she

squeezed my arm, said urgently, “Darling, we must talk before you leave tonight. Don’t

forget.”

I nodded. Replied to Garibaldi’s inquiry, “No.”

“No? No word at all?”

“You mean like a postcard from the Great Beyond?”

He stared at me. “Perhaps he wished to disappear,” he said at last. “It happens, you

know. Have you never wished it were possible to leave the past behind? To erase your

mistakes, your missteps. To start completely fresh.”

“I don’t think he disappeared voluntarily.” I drained my glass.

“Perhaps not.” He shrugged, a sort of these-things-happen gesture. “Did you find out

any more about this…Black Sable?”

“Blade Sable.” I smiled. “Apparently it’s the junior branch of a larger organization

called The Scythe of Gremory. Kind of like the Cub Scouts.”

Again, a long moment passed without a word from Garibaldi. Then he smiled that twist

of wine-stained mouth. “The Scythe of Gremory. Fascinating. And what purpose does the

Scythe of Gremory serve?”

“I’m not sure they’re what you’d call a service organization,” I said consideringly. “I

don’t think they go in for baking cookies, for example, or contributing to children’s hospital

funds – although they may supply patients.”

The pupils of his eyes were enormous, making the entire eye appear black. He might

have answered, but we were joined by a truly striking brunette. She reminded me of one of

those Botticelli angels, plump, white-skinned, with raven black hair parted down the middle.

“My fiancee, Dr. Ava Wilding.”

Ava and I shook hands. She had a rock on her left finger that looked like the Hope

diamond and a silver star on a chain about her long, white neck. I wonder if she knew about

the red-haired nymphs. Then again, maybe she liked red-haired nymphs.

“You two look awfully serious.”

“My love, this is Adrien English, soon to be William’s stepson. Adrien was asking if I

had ever heard of a religious sect called the Scythe of Gremory.”

Ava raised her brows. “Had you, my love?”

These two should have taken the show on the road. Their timing was impeccable.

“But all is not bad news,” Garibaldi said, apparently changing the subject. “I see that

your other friend has been released by the police.”

“Angus Gordon? Yes. His alibi held up.” I hadn’t seen Angus since the night after his

release from jail. Nor had I seen the investigators hired by Martin Grosser. Or the police.

Even the newshounds seemed to be seeking fresh meat. It was as though everything were in

a holding pattern.

“That must be a relief to you,” Ava said. “Nothing hurts us more than when bad things

happen to the people we love.”

Stillness washed through me.

“The pendulum swings between a tear and a smile,” Garibaldi said. “Perhaps it is true of

the Scythe.” He gave one of those French shoulder lifts.

Ava sipped her drink and said, “You run a bookstore, don’t you? I think that’s what

Lisa said. In Old Town?”

I said, “Yes. Cloak and Dagger Books.”

“Is business good?”

“It could be worse.”

“Things can always be worse.” She smiled like a Renaissance courtier, glanced at

Garibaldi. Winked. Winked?

Garibaldi said, “This sect, the Scythe of Gremory – if such a group existed, you must

realize what a premium they would place upon discretion. It would not be easy to find

someone willing to…”

“Betray the secrets of the guild?”