Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

O h, good evening, s-sire. You have more questions for me?”

As the anxious inquiry was posed by Broadius’s maid, Petrie, Tohr stepped closer to the door of her third-floor apartment. Gone was the uniform, the flush from the cold, and a lot of the panic. She was wearing jeans and a comfortable sweater, and her salt-and-pepper hair was loose down her back.

But of course, she was tense. Anybody would be when a couple of brothers showed up on their stoop.

“Just one.” He smiled to try to reassure her. “May we come in?”

“Yes, of course.” The female moved back with deference and indicated the way forward. “Anything I can do to help.”

The building she was in was on the outskirts of the downtown, and it was filled with vampires, the fifty-unit development a nonprofit that was owned and managed by the Brotherhood for the benefit of the species. All kinds of domestics lived in the converted hotel, the maids, chauffeurs, butlers, and bartenders servicing the new glymera and all their new-built mansions, glitzy parties, and vacation homes.

And whereas most of their employers adhered to the old-school tradition of aristocrats taking advantage of the help, here, the civilians and doggen were watched over and protected.

“May I get you some coffee?” She glanced at Qhuinn and did a double take at all the piercings in his ear and his black-and-purple hair. “Tea?”

Tohr shook his head and noted that something smelled delicious. Stew? He’d comment on it, but no doubt she’d feel obliged to offer them some, even if she didn’t have much.

“I think we’re good, but thank you,” he said.

“Okay.”

The living area was tidy, the pale blue sofas and creamy rug making him think they were on a cloud. Winsome pastel drawings of fields of flowers and cute cottages marked the walls, and the fact that there wasn’t a TV suggested maybe the female was a big reader, and if she did do a movie or a TV show, it was on an iPad.

Everything about her made him think she was an old-fashioned Merchant Ivory kind of girl.

“I’m afraid I’m not dressed properly,” she said as she swept her graying hair back and tucked it in at her nape. Like she was hoping her sweater’s collar would hold the makeshift bun.

“There’s no need to worry. We weren’t expected, and even if we were, this is your home.“

“I was going to call you, actually.”

As he sat down on one of the couches, he set his butt on the very edge of the cushion. In his black leather-and-dagger duds, he felt like an ink spot ruining a nice tablecloth. Meanwhile, Qhuinn stayed by the door, as if he recognized his presence was overwhelming to her.

The maid did not sit down. At least not until Tohr indicated the armchair across from him—and as she finally took a seat in her own place, he gave her a gentle smile. Yup, she was one of the traditional types who were in the New World, but still living the way things had been done in the Old Country, and he wondered if Broadius had ever appreciated the graciousness.

Thinking about all the gaudy in that house, he doubted it.

While she twisted her hands in her lap, he said, “How are you doing after last night?”

“My daughter is coming up from Philadelphia to stay for a week.” Petrie pointed toward her little kitchen. “That’s her favorite Last Meal on the stove. It’s just beef and potatoes and carrots, but young have their comfort foods—I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I’ve never had members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood in my home before.”

As she looked down at her hands, Tohr took out his phone. “You said you were going to call us?”

“Well, I thought of something.” She stared off into the middle distance between them. “But maybe it’s nothing.”

“Tell us. You never know?”

When she just sat there, worrying her lip, Qhuinn crossed over and sat at the other end of the sofa. Another ink spot. “That’s my son’s favorite meal, too.”

“I’m sorry?” she said, as she returned from wherever she’d been in her head.

“Beef stew.” Qhuinn flared his nostrils on an inhale. “It smells fantastic—and it makes me think of him.”

“Really?”

The brother nodded. “When he was little, he was a picky eater—and it lasted right up to his transition, actually. Sometimes stew was the only thing we could get him to eat.”

Her body relaxed a little and she crossed her ankles, tucking them into the kick pleat of the chair. “Well, I can give you what I’ve made. It would be an honor.”

“Oh, you keep that for your daughter.” Qhuinn smiled. “But I think I’ll have my mate’s mahmen whip some up. No one beats granmahmen ’s cooking, even though my son’s a grown male.”

“How old is he?”

“Rhamp is ten years out of his transition—and I can’t believe I’m saying that. I had him and his sister young myself. And yes, they’re twins.”

“You have twins?” Petrie put her hand on her collarbone with a rush of surprise. “My sister and I are twins.”

“No kidding! Identical?”

“No, but we do look so much alike and we’re so close. She lives next door.”

“That’s really cool.” Qhuinn laughed. “I bet your sis has been over here a lot in the last twenty-four hours. My two kids are inseparable—especially when times are . . . stressful.”

The maid took a deep breath, but not like she was bracing herself. “Anna stayed with me all day long. And she’s coming back after she gets off her shift. I . . . don’t have work right now.”

As the female’s face tightened, Qhuinn leaned forward onto his knees. “You know, we’d be happy to talk to some people. We have a lot of contact with folks, and if you’re concerned about . . . things like that . . . we’ll put a word in. Won’t we.”

Tohr nodded immediately. “Absolutely.”

“I have some savings.” She retwisted her hair. “But I am worried about the future. I’m just feeling a little ragged. I’m not sure I trust my composure, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Qhuinn said. “And it’ll get easier, I promise. You’ll never forget what you saw, I’m not going to lie. It’ll get draped over by other, more normal things, though.”

“Really?”

“Is your daughter mated?”

The maid blinked as if she were surprised at the subject change. “Ah, no. She isn’t. But she’s dating a very nice male. I think things are headed in that direction—and he lives in Caldwell, so she’d come back here. I’d love that. My hellren passed seven years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.” Qhuinn nodded gravely. Then he shook his head in a wry way. “I don’t know if either of my kids will ever get mated.”

“No?”

“My son works hard, but he’s always at the clubs with his friends. My daughter . . . well, she’s a free spirit. I don’t know who’s ever going to tie her down. He’d have to be a helluva male.”

“Fate has a way of working miracles. I wish them the very best.”

“And I do the same for your daughter.”

Well, what do you know. Qhuinn still looked fierce as hell, especially with all the metal in that ear—oh, and his eyebrow was pierced, too. But it was amazing how bringing up young could level all kinds of playing fields.

And now there was nothing awkward in the pause: As the maid looked over at Tohr, it was clear she was ready to talk.

“I’d like to show you a picture of someone.” He put his hand up. “There’s no pressure. I just want to know if you’ve ever seen them before?”

“Of course.”

He already had the still snapshot from the waiting room at the Audience House up on his phone, and he turned the screen around.

As Petrie’s eyebrows pulled together over the bridge of her nose, he motioned forward with the Samsung. “Here, take my cell.”

She nodded absently and they met in the center of her area rug for the exchange. The female eased back slowly, concentrating on the image.

“Am I supposed to know her?” she asked as her eyes lifted.

“So you don’t recognize the female.”

The maid slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen her before?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Have you ever heard of anybody by the name of Candice, daughter of Meiser?”

“No?” She glanced back and forth between him and Qhuinn. “Should I have?”

“Not at all. I’m just following up on possible leads.”

Tohr was aware of an acute disappointment as he took his phone back, but come on. Just because it wasn’t every night that a member of the aristocracy was murdered in an apparent hit after someone left a bunch of mysterious paperwork in the damn waiting room . . . did not mean that the two things were connected.

Sometimes the mind made ties out of thin air.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she settled back in her chair. “Who is she? Do you think she’s connected to . . . what happened to Master Broadius?”

Tohr shrugged and got to his feet. “We’re investigating all kinds of leads and this was a long shot. So no, I don’t. We thank you for your time.”

The maid got up, too. “I’m here. For anything, for any way I can help—”

“Wait,” Qhuinn cut in. “You said you were going to call us?”

“Oh, yes.” Her worried eyes seemed to cling to the brother’s mismatched stare. “But I don’t know . . .”

“It’s okay,” the brother said softly. “Whatever it is. And if you’re worried about discretion, be assured that anything you tell us will not be shared widely.”

“Thank you.” She nodded. “I only worked for Master Broadius for about a year. I think I was among his first domestic help? There’s a cook and a chauffeur, too—you must talk to them as well?”

Tohr nodded. “They were contacted last night just before dawn and they’re being interviewed right now.”

“They had been given the week off.”

“Because Broadius was leaving,” Tohr murmured. “On a trip, wasn’t he.”

“Yes, that was on his schedule.”

There was a long silence. Then she glanced at Qhuinn again. When he inclined his head, she squared her shoulders and leaped.

“I never understood where the money came from.” She put her hands up. “I didn’t judge him. I needed a job and it paid well so I was grateful. But I never understood—I mean, he didn’t seem to work, and yet he made a big deal about how he was a self-made male. How he didn’t come from a Founding Family. He didn’t have a desk or a computer, though, and he never talked about an office or a profession, had no associates over for dinners or social events. I’m not a sophisticated female, but . . . I mean, all he did was buy things for the house. Paintings, art, furnishings. It was a churn of deliveries all the time, so he had to have income of some kind . . .” The maid seemed to retreat into herself. “And then one night, about a month ago? I found the guns.”

“ Guns ?” Tohr tilted his head. “Like for his personal security?”

The maid shook her head and focused very, very clear eyes on his own. “Crates of them. An entire U-Haul truck full.”