Who Needs Enemies

“I’ve made arrangements for you to, yes.” He paused. “How’d things go at Mona’s apartment?”



Telling Lyle over the phone that she was more than likely dead was not something I wanted to do. Yet I couldn’t lie, either. Lyle knew me well enough to detect it. So I simply said, “Did you know Mona was collecting photos of her clients?”



Lyle was silent for a moment. “No, I didn’t.”



“Well, someone did. One of the memory cards is missing from the book.”



“Book?” Confusion edged his voice. “What book?”



“The little black book I found in the laundry basket. She was keeping the memory cards inside it.”



“Why would anyone want to hide something like that in a laundry basket?”



“As my mom used to say, would you go through a pile of dirty socks on the off chance there was something worth stealing within them?”



Lyle snorted. “Good point. You developed the cards yet?”



I resisted the impulse to yet again remind him that photos were digital and were no longer processed—not in the sense he meant, anyway. “I’ve done both lots, actually.”



“Really? Did you get anything worthwhile from mine?”



“Yes. And remind me to give you photography lessons some time.” I hesitated. “I’ve printed several shots of the driver. I thought you might know someone who could run a check on him.”



“Great. I’ll drop by just after seven tonight and pick it up. Did you uncover anything else?”



Yeah, someone strangled Mona and dumped her in the sea. “Did you know Val owned the apartment block Mona’s living in?”



“Really?” Surprise ran through his voice. “He must be keeping a low profile, because I haven’t spotted him.”



Val and low profile were two words that didn’t often associate with each other. “He stopped an argument between two men in Mona’s apartment a couple of days before she disappeared. He’s working on a sketch for me.”



And what would I do if one of them was Bramwell? Maybe I’d better hassle my brother to get the sketches done this afternoon. Forewarned was forearmed.



“Then why didn’t he mention it to the cops? It certainly wasn’t in any of the reports I read.”



“It wouldn’t be.” And not only because it might have landed him in trouble with the guild. Val had a long history of his brain going to mush when confronted by a uniform. All his boyfriends, past and probably present, had been military, firemen, or cops.



“Push him for those sketches, Harriet,” he said, voice edged with exasperation. “The sooner we get them, the sooner we can track the men down and see if they had anything to do with her disappearance.”



I frowned. “Why are you so certain that she was in trouble?”



Silence met my question. I swiveled the chair around and stared out the rain-covered window. The response that eventually came wasn’t the one I wanted.



“What do you mean, was?” Lyle’s voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.



I silently swore. One little slip, and the game was up. I sighed. “The body of a siren washed up on Sandridge beach this morning.”



“And just when were you planning to tell me?” His voice still held a monotone note, yet somehow managed to hint at fury.



“Certainly not over the damn phone, and certainly not before I knew for certain it was her. Which I don’t.”



The silence stretched on again. I let it, knowing Lyle needed time to pull himself together.



“I’ll see if my contacts can verify ID.”



Good. It’d save me from risking an encounter with Kaij. “I did talk to a dwarf who was at the scene—apparently he was Mona’s driver.”



“Darryl,” Lyle muttered. “Was he able to confirm whether or not it was her?”



“No.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, because he hadn’t actually come straight out and said it was Mona. “He did mention that Mona had intended to give it all up and save her song for just one man. You know anything about that?”



“It was me.” The admission was grudging. “But it was complicated.”



“No doubt.” For one, Lyle was already married. And two, he’d lose whatever standing he had left with not only the council, but with Elven society in general. “Did Adelia suspect something serious was going on? Is that why she was having you followed?”



He snorted. It was a fierce, disparaging sound. “The bitch wants to get her greedy little paws on my money. If she can prove I’ve been having a serious, long-standing affair with a siren, she gets more.”



If social standing was the first most important thing to an elf, the second was money, and the third was offspring. Lyle had none of the first, plenty of the second thanks to both his previous job and the fact that the Philleckys were old money, and none of the third. “So even though you’ve been with Mona long-term, you had no idea she was photographing clients? Or why she might have been doing that?”



“How the hell would I know that, when I didn’t even fucking know until-” He cut the sentence off abruptly, making me wonder just what he’d been about to reveal. “Sorry, Harriet. I shouldn’t be getting angry at you when you’re just doing the job I asked you to do.”



“It’s okay, Lyle. Really.”



He sighed. “I see you tonight. By then, I’ll know one way or the other.”



“Hopefully.”



He hung up. The phone rang almost instantly.



“Finished those sketches for you, darls,” Val said, without preamble. “When are we having that dinner party?”



“As soon as I can get the ogres out of the kitchen.”



Val’s sigh was overly dramatic. “Don’t tell me you’re still collecting oddbods?”



“I seem to have an affinity for them. Can you scan the pics and email them across?”



“Not a hope, seeing I haven’t a computer. But I could magic a copy over, if they’re that urgent.”



“They are. Thanks, Val.” The copies might only last a few hours, but all I really needed was enough time to photocopy them.



“Hang on a minute.” The phone clunked down, then Val began muttering an incantation. A few seconds later, two rolled-up pieces of paper plopped into existence, the edges glowing a weird pink color as they hovered at eye level.



“Got them?” Val asked.



Energy tingled across my fingers as I grabbed them. “Yep.”



“So, our dinner date?”



I sighed. He was going to harp on this until it happened. “How about Tuesday night?”



“I’m all a-tingle.”



“Oh, so am I.” My voice was dry. “How many friends are you bringing? Remember, my place isn’t that large.”



“I’ll restrict myself to Bryan, then. He’s a fireman.”



I smiled. “Fine. I’ll get back with details later, Val. And thanks again.”



I hung up and unrolled the drawings. The first one was of a man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties, with a heavily receding hairline, a prominent nose, and somewhat narrow dark brown eyes. Whether Val had intended it or not, the impression this sketch gave me was of a personality that was calculating—shifty.



The second man had black hair, striking blue eyes, an arrogant, somewhat aristocratic nose, and wing-tip ears.



I closed my eyes and shook my head in disbelief.



It was Gilroy, my other half brother. Which made me wonder why Val hadn’t recognized him, until I remembered he took even less interest in politics and keeping up with the news than I did. And it wasn’t like I’d had pictures of Gilroy growing up. I’d had no idea what he’d looked like until he’d gone into politics and I started seeing stories about him at work.



Obviously, though, he’d taken after Bramwell in more ways than one. But how he’d managed to keep his tastes for sirens a secret for so damn long was anyone’s guess. Gilroy was a politician—a high ranking member of the Liberal Party and the shadow minister for Education. He had both the desire and the backing to go right to the top—and, in fact, was predicted to become the first ever non-human prime minister. He was a favorite with the media, who followed him like puppies, charmed by his re-tooled smile and effusive personality.



If Gilroy had been hooked by a siren, then surely the press would have found out by now. Or maybe they had. Maybe Bramwell was shelling out big bucks to keep someone quiet. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. As Maggie had so aptly noted, there were a lot of skeletons in the Phillecky cupboards, and not all of them were dead.



But it was a development Lyle was not going to be happy about. I mean, his nephew was sleeping with the siren he wanted to marry, and might well have been involved in her disappearance.



At least it did explain my father’s presence outside Mona’s. Maybe he’d been trying to talk some sense into Gilroy. Or, perhaps, Mona.



But no matter what, this was going to get ugly. And I’d put money on the fact that some of that ugly was headed my way. It had been that sort of week, and it certainly didn’t show any signs of improvement.



I pushed to my feet and realized everything was quiet downstairs. Maybe the ogres had finally left...then my gaze caught the time. It was two-twenty. Time for the one and only religion ogres truly believed in—football. They were no doubt gathered around the plasma right now, on their knees and fervently praying for the center bounce that would start the day’s proceedings.



I smiled then gathered everything I needed together and headed downstairs. I hadn’t been far off in my estimation—they weren’t on their knees, but they were sprawled all over the floor, eyes locked on the TV screen, expressions filled with expectation and happiness.



“You lot planning to stick around awhile?” I picked my way through the sea of legs and opened the side window. If I didn’t get some air into the place, I wouldn’t be able to sleep later tonight.