"Now what?" Finn asked.
"Now we wait for Bria to take McAllister to booking," I said. "Maybe if we ask nicely, Bria will send us a copy of McAllister's mug shot. I think that would look marvelous matted, framed, and mounted on one of the walls in Fletcher's office or maybe even at the Pork Pit. Don't you?"
Chapter 33
Life more or less went back to normal, although Jonah McAllister's arrest and alleged involvement in the Briartop heist dominated the news. The media didn't exactly convict the lawyer, but they raised enough questions to get all the crime bosses good and interested in exactly what had gone down that night and who had hired Clementine and her giants.
McAllister put some of Mab's embezzled money to use to pay his three-million-dollar bail. I saw him on the news a few times, giving press conferences where he proclaimed his innocence before quickly ducking back into his house. The lawyer looked pale, thin, and shaken, and even his thick coif of silver hair had lost its normal shiny luster. Even when the cameras were fixed on him, his eyes always darted back and forth, as if he expected a hail of gunfire to ring out at any second and put him down for the count.
Good. Let the bastard sweat. He deserved it. Actually, he deserved worse, but this would do - for now. Like I'd told Finn, if McAllister managed somehow to wiggle out of my trap, I could always come up with a more permanent solution. I sort of hoped he would, just so I could finally kill him myself. Time would tell.
Three days after McAllister's arrest, I was in the Pork Pit, chowing down on a cheeseburger that I'd made for my own supper, when the bell over the door chimed, and Bria stepped into the restaurant. She glanced around the storefront, looking over the diners. It was four in the afternoon. Too late for lunch and not quite time for the dinner rush to start, so there were only a few people sitting in the blue and pink vinyl booths next to the windows. The waitresses were in the back, taking a break, although Sophia Deveraux, Jo-Jo's sister and the head cook at the Pit, was standing at the counter that ran along the back wall, slicing sourdough buns for the rest of the day's sandwiches.
I was sitting on a stool behind the cash register, and Bria took a seat close to mine on the other side of the counter. Bria waved at Sophia, who grunted and waved back. The motion made the tiny silverstone skulls on the black leather collar around Sophia's neck tinkle together. Unlike Jo-Jo, who was the epitome of a sweet southern lady, Sophia had fashion tastes that ran more toward Goth. Today she had on black boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt embossed with a white rose dripping scarlet blood from its thorns. The silver glitter on the T-shirt matched the streaks in her black hair.
In between bites of my cheeseburger, sweet-potato fries, and sweet iced blackberry tea, I'd also been reading through my latest book, as I so often did during lulls at the restaurant. In honor of the Briartop heist, I'd decided on Plunder Squad by Richard Stark. I grabbed a credit-card slip from underneath the cash register and used it to mark my place in the book before I set it to the side.
"Hey there, baby sister," I said, pushing away the remains of my burger and fries.
"Hey there yourself." Bria read the title on the spine. "What's that about?"
"An art heist."
She arched an eyebrow. "Okay . . . Is that our next book-club selection?"
"Nah," I said. "I'm reading this one just for me. Besides, it's Roslyn's turn to pick something, remember?"
A few weeks ago, Bria and Roslyn had both read Little Women, which I had been reading at the time. In an effort to cheer me up and take my mind off my breakup with Owen, they'd shown up at Fletcher's house one night, books in hand, along with some wine, cheese, and gourmet chocolates. The three of us had stayed up late drinking, eating, and talking about the book, along with everything else that was going on in our lives. We'd all had such a good time that we'd decided to make it into a monthly get-together.
Bria nodded. "I remember. Although next month, it's my turn. I already know what I'm going to have us read."
"And what would that be?"
"The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett."
"A detective novel, huh? Looks like I'm not the only one in an ironic mood. I approve."
She grinned. "I thought you might. And I thought it was appropriate, given what happened at the museum. You know, Clementine going after something that wasn't quite what it seemed, everyone's plans spiraling out of control."
I had to laugh. "Well, that's one way of putting things, I suppose."
Bria swiveled around on her stool and gazed out over the restaurant once again. "So how are things here? I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately, but I've been busy dealing with McAllister."
"I know. I've seen you on TV more than once."
She blanched. "I hate dealing with all those reporters. Sometimes I think they're more vicious and bloodthirsty than the criminals."
"Actually, to answer your question, the past few days have been quite relaxing," I said. "No one's come in and tried to kill me this week."
"They're all focused on McAllister right now," Bria said. "And with good reason. No matter how many times I listen to his confession, I still can't quite believe he arranged the museum heist and that he almost got away with it. That he would have gotten away with it, if you hadn't been there."
"And if Jillian hadn't been wearing the same dress as I was," I said in a soft voice.
Jillian's face flashed in front of my eyes the way it had so often in the past few days. Her warm eyes, her easy laugh, her soft smile. All gone forever - because of me.
"Yeah," Bria said. "That too. How are you doing with that?"
I shrugged. "Fletcher always taught me to avoid collateral damage. To focus on my target, hit that person, and not involve anyone else before, during, or after my crime. I know that Jillian dying wasn't my fault - not really - but I still can't help but feel responsible for it all the same."
She nodded. "I can understand that. But this is Ashland, Gin. People get hurt all the time in this city. You can't save everyone."
I'd told myself that more than once, but it still didn't keep me from waking up in the middle of the night, the image of Jillian's shattered face fresh in my mind, and me fighting the sheets twisted around my body, as if I could save her if only I could get free of them.
"McAllister would have still hired Clementine to rob the museum whether you'd been there or not," Bria continued. "Maybe Jillian would have gotten caught in the crossfire and still died. Maybe it would have been someone else. There's no way of knowing."
"Or maybe nobody would have died," I countered. "Maybe if I'd realized what Clementine and the others were up to, I could have stopped them before things got so out of hand."
Bria reached over and squeezed my fingers, telling me that she understood my troubled, turbulent thoughts. We were silent for a few moments, then she let go of my fingers and leaned back. She gestured at the cake stand that featured the dessert of the day: a peach pie.
"Is there any chance of me getting a slice of that?" she asked. "And maybe a few other vittles to whet my whistle with?"
I grinned. Bria knew that cooking always helped take my mind off my troubles, and asking for the food was her way of trying to lighten my mood. "Sure thing, baby sister. One fine meal, coming right up."
Bria ordered a burger topped with spicy chili and sharp cheddar cheese, onion rings, potato salad, and a vanilla bean milkshake to go with her slice of peach pie. I moved back and forth behind the counter, grilling the burger and dropping the batter-dipped Vidalia onions into the french fryer to crisp up. Sophia stopped slicing buns long enough to put the ice cream, milk, and a splash of vanilla syrup into the blender to make the shake.
A few minutes later, I set Bria's plates in front of her, and she dug into her meal. As she ate, she caught me up on the latest developments regarding McAllister.
"I still can't believe they let him out on bail," Bria said. "Even if it was three million dollars. At least the judge agreed to make him wear a tracking anklet so there's less chance of him skipping town before his trial. It's been set for later this year."
She dragged half of an onion ring through the ketchup on her plate and popped it into her mouth. "Although I have to wonder if he'll actually live long enough to make it to trial."
Despite the plethora of crimes in Ashland, the court system actually moved along at a fairly quick pace. Normally, there were never that many cases on the docket, since most folks who committed said crimes were usually found toes-up before their trial dates. Revenge was a bitch, especially in Ashland. Justice wasn't blind here so much as it was swift - and permanent.
"Even if he does go on trial," she continued, "there's always the chance that he could walk. It's not like judges and juries haven't been bribed before in this city, and McAllister knows how to work the system better than anyone."
"Well, if McAllister pulls that particular rabbit out of his hat, I may have to revisit my original plan for him."
Bria took a drink of her milkshake and looked at me. "You really think all the news stories about McAllister and the museum heist will bring Mab's relative to Ashland?"
I shrugged. "It can't hurt. The will was made public, what, two days ago? If I were in line to inherit all those millions, I'd be making a beeline to town lickety-split."
Worry tightened her pretty face. She fiddled with the primrose rune around her throat a moment before dropping her hand and twisting around the two rings that she wore, the ones with snowflakes and ivy vines carved into them. "Who do you think this person is? Do you think he or she is anything like Mab?"
I knew what she was really asking - if Mab's relative was going to be as big a threat to us as the Fire elemental herself had been.
I'd gone over it a thousand times in my mind, but the truth was that I had no way of knowing. Maybe this person would take Mab's money and go back to wherever he or she had come from. Maybe he or she would stick around in Ashland and live the high life. Or maybe the heir would be just as cruel and power-hungry as Mab had been. But the carrot had been dangled out there. Now all that was left to do was to see who snatched it off the stick.
"I don't know," I said. "But no matter what happens, we'll be ready for M. M. Monroe, and we'll face him or her down - together."
She nodded. "That we will."
Bria finished up her food. One of the other diners needed a refill on his water, so I left my sister at the counter while I moved through the restaurant and made sure that everyone had everything they needed. I had put the pitcher of water down and was sliding back onto my stool when the bell over the front door chimed. I looked past Bria, wondering who my latest customer might be.
To my surprise, Owen strolled into the Pork Pit.
Chapter 34
Owen must have left work for the day, because he wore a light gray suit and a pair of polished black wing tips, although he'd already taken off his tie and unbuttoned the top of his white shirt.
My eyes traced over him from head to toe, drinking in the sight of him. We hadn't talked since that night at Briartop. I'd thought about calling Owen a dozen times, but I didn't know what to say to him, especially since his friend was dead because of me. Even if it had been a cruel twist of fate. I'd hoped that he might call, but he hadn't, and I hadn't seen or heard from him - until now.
Bria noticed me staring over her shoulder and turned to see who I was looking at. After a moment, she swiveled back around to me. "I take it that you and Owen are still up in the air?"
I grimaced. "Something like that."
"You should go talk to him."
I watched as Owen walked over to one of the booths in front of the storefront windows and took a seat. Since the waitresses were still on break in the back, Sophia grabbed a menu, walked around the counter, crossed the restaurant, and handed it to Owen. He took it and gave her a smile before his gaze drifted over to me. After a moment, Owen lifted his hand and waved at me. I returned the gesture before turning my attention back to Bria.
"Even if I don't know what to say?"
"Even if," she replied. "The two of you are good together, Gin. All I'm saying is don't give up on him just yet. He may still surprise you."
"It's hard, though," I said in a soft voice. "So hard. He broke my heart."
It was something I hadn't admitted to anyone. I'd barely acknowledged it myself. But Owen keeping his distance from me after I'd killed Salina, well, it had hurt. I hadn't expected him to be happy about what I'd done, but I hadn't expected him to go completely radio-silent either. Oh, I knew why he'd done it, and I probably would have done the same if our positions had been reversed. But it had still broken my heart and brought all of my old fears and worries roaring back to the surface. Fears that Owen wouldn't be able to accept me any longer for who I was and what I'd done to the woman he'd loved - even if I'd had reasons for my brutal actions.
"Go on," Bria said. "You're not going to solve anything just standing there staring at him."
"Since when are you playing the part of the big sister?"
"Since now." She grinned. "Now, get."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, giving her a small salute with my hand.
Then I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and went to see what he wanted.
* * *
I followed the faded, peeling, blue and pink pig tracks on the floor all the way over to Owen, who sat in a booth in the back close to the restrooms.