Bryce pushed off the counter. “Too late to stop it now. I’ll get the marinade going.”
Right. Time to deal with issues we could handle. “Do that,” I said. “Then we can discuss our strategy for this evening.”
? ? ?
After a short meeting with the boys to hammer out a plan for how to assess Pellini, I headed to the basement to prepare a summoning. Of the twelve varieties of “summonable” demons, I only knew of two—kehza and nyssor—that could detect innate summoner ability in a human. Kehza were man-sized and winged, with a plethora of claws and teeth and a head that resembled a Chinese dragon’s. Nyssor resembled angelic human children except for their too-large eyes with slitted pupils and a mouth bristling with pointed teeth. Either would do a bang-up job of telling us what we needed to know. However, the nyssor creeped me the hell out, which meant I’d be summoning a kehza, thank-you-very-much.
Of course, the other option was to throw Fuzzykins at Pellini since she didn’t like summoners one bit. Unfortunately, that method—while entertaining—wasn’t fully proven, and we needed to be sure. Then again, if Pellini did anything to annoy me, I could throw the cat at him anyway.
I retrieved my box of implements, set it on the table and removed my chalk and knife. My phone buzzed the moment I unsheathed the knife. Sighing, I peered at the number. I didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t always spell bad news. Right? A total stranger might call to tell me I’d won the lottery or inherited money from a heretofore unknown relative.
Yeah, because I was oh-so-lucky like that. Ha.
I set the knife down and scooped up the phone, then yelped as excruciating pain shot through my hand. Hissing curses, I peered at the source of the agony: a splinter the size of a telephone pole lodged beneath the nail of my middle finger.
The stupid phone continued to buzz, not giving a shit about my dire straits. I thumbed the answer button. “Kara Gillian.”
“Ms. Gillian, this is Detective Rob O’Connor with the St. Long Sheriff’s Office.” His voice sounded light, congenial. Didn’t matter. I recognized the threat. The splinter receded in importance. “I was wondering if you might be able to spare some time tomorrow morning to come to my office?” he went on. “Or, if it’s more convenient, I can meet with you at your residence.”
I forced my face into a smile. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see me. Smiling helped me sound friendly. I knew O’Connor used the same trick. “I’m sorry, can you tell me what this is in reference to? If it’s one of my previous cases I’ll need time to get my files.”
“It’s not related to the any of your cases, ma’am,” he said. “It has to do with the events at the Farouche Plantation.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn. My heart thudded as adrenaline dumped into my system. Didn’t matter that I’d known this was coming. “You mean the fire?” I asked in my best innocent and bewildered voice. “I’m not sure how I can be of any help. I’m not part of the FBI’s investigation.”
“Ma’am, this isn’t in reference to your role as a consultant.” It sounded as if his forced smile was starting to hurt his face. “I’m simply trying to clear up a bit of confusion. A couple of witnesses reported seeing a woman matching your description at the plantation during the time in question. If you’d come down to the station and give a statement concerning your whereabouts and activities for that day, we can get this whole mess settled.”
“Is that so?” I kept my voice calm. I wasn’t smiling anymore. No need to make my face ache. “All you want to do is talk to me? Clear up any confusion and get this silly mess sorted out before it gets ugly?” Right. Get me to come in and give a statement, answer a few questions—with no need for an attorney since it was all so friendly and casual-like. And hope I’d cough up conflicting or incriminating information they could later use to pressure me.