Eternal. V.K. Forrest

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СКАЧАТЬ fish and chips,” Shannon declared cheerfully, swaying in the direction of their table, both hands high in the air, balancing two small plastic trays. “For you.” She plopped a tray down in front of Fia so hard that it rattled. “And you, Sugar.”

      Each tray held a cone-shaped roll of old-fashioned checkerboard butcher paper, overflowing with battered whitefish and finger-sized russet potatoes deep-fried to a golden brown. Glen smiled up at her as she slid his tray squarely in front of him, brushing her bare forearm against his. “Malt vinegar,” Shannon sang as she plucked a bottle from her tiny apron. “Another Houndstooth?”

      “Please.”

      She glanced disdainfully at Fia and turned on the balls of her feet. She knew better than to ask. Fia never drank more than one a night. “Be right back.”

      “Don’t bother asking for ketchup, cocktail sauce or tartar sauce. You can have it ‘old style’—plain—or ‘new style’—with vinegar,” Fia instructed.

      Glen shrugged, dribbled vinegar over everything. He slid the bottle towards her, but she shook her head. “You want to talk about the case?” he asked. Just then, his phone, attached to his belt, vibrated. He unclipped it, looked at the screen, and set it on the table, face down.

      She stuffed a chip in her mouth. Tavia always made them herself, from real potatoes, never served the frozen kind from a plastic bag. They were the best she’d ever eaten, anywhere, any time. “Maybe we should let the details stew. Not discuss anything until tomorrow.”

      He nodded, chewing thoughtfully, and a silence fell between them. Fia wasn’t particularly hungry, but she ate anyway, knowing she should. Shannon brought Glen another beer, flirted for a minute beside the table, and then headed off to the kitchen from where Tavia’s impatient voice could be heard, beckoning her.

      The two ate in silence. Glen was halfway through the second pint before he looked up at her across the table. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you do. You think it’s your case. I know it’s mine”—he didn’t pause long enough for her to answer—“but my SAC says we’re in it together. We might as well make the best of it.”

      He was right. She knew he was right. Her little silent temper tantrum was unprofessional. It wasn’t his fault he looked like Ian. Wasn’t his fault the FBI had drawn these particular jurisdictional lines. She needed to be civil, at least until she could figure out how to get him out of Clare Point and off the case. She was already planning on making a call to Malley’s office in the morning.

      He was still waiting.

      She sighed and sat back in her chair. He was offering a truce, and it was up to her to accept it.

      “I don’t mean to seem bitchy. I’m just preoccupied. Bobby McCathal—”

      “You don’t need to apologize. I’ve never investigated the murder of someone I knew, but I can imagine it would be difficult.”

      His phone vibrated again. Again, he looked at it and then laid it screen down. She guessed it was the fiancée again. The woman was persistent. Twice in half an hour.

      “Frankly,” he said, pushing his empty tray away, “I suppose that was why I was surprised when the chief said you’d been called in. Guess you know someone in Senator Malley’s office, or someone knows you.”

      She didn’t answer that. Instead, she asked him how long he’d been at the Baltimore Field Office, why he was an FBI agent, where he went to college. Fortunately, he picked up the ball and began to tell her about how he’d come to be sitting in this pub with her, investigating a murder on just another Wednesday night.

      She smiled inside. He didn’t realize how high the alcohol content was in the stout, and she sure wasn’t going to tell him. Alcohol always made humans talk. Fia thought about saying something, but decided against it. It wasn’t her problem if he had a headache in the morning.

      The pub began to fill up with those who had eaten at home and were just coming in for a pint and to see what news there was of Bobby. Shannon brought Glen a third pint. All around her, the voices seemed to swell, growing louder in Fia’s head, then quiet, then building, then quiet, again and again, almost in a rhythm. Some people were angry she’d brought the FBI agent into the family pub. Everyone wanted to know how he’d ended up in Clare Point and the explanation, apparently supplied by the chief of police, had to be repeated over and over, until everyone was in the know.

      When Glen finished his stout, he rose, excusing himself to go to the men’s room. While he was gone, Fia took the opportunity to ask if anyone had seen Dr. Caldwell tonight, but no one had. She was wondering if he had started the autopsy. She almost regretted asking, as she set off a new tangent for all of them to follow. Unfortunately, she couldn’t communicate with Dr. Caldwell directly. Although there were a couple of people in the sept who could “talk” over great distances, she didn’t have that gift. Even the walls of a room stopped her short.

      The small pub had gotten crowded and noisy. It was time to get back to the hotel. She was looking for Shannon and the check when Fia’s father walked in. “Fia, your mother was wondering where you were, she was,” he said, approaching the table stiffly, his hands stuffed in his pants pockets. He reeked of cigarette smoke. “You should have come by.”

      She nodded, looking up. He was never stern with her, not even when he was well in his cups, but ever since Ian, he had seemed emotionally distant from her. Even during her teen-year cycles, when she became his child again. She knew she had deeply disappointed him, though he had never actually come out and said it. “I was planning on coming by tomorrow, sometime. I have to be careful.” She glanced up to be sure Glen hadn’t returned. “I guess you heard I got stuck babysitting this other agent.”

      “Your mother has extra rooms open now that they’ve gone home.” In her father’s world, the tourists were simply them or they. “You should have come to the house.”

      He was a big, stocky man with inky dark hair and hooded eyes. He made her feel small. She nodded.

      He was quiet for a second and then tapped the table, turning away, sticking his hand back in his pocket. “You should come tomorrow.”

      She watched him walk through the crowd, wondering how long it had been since they’d had a conversation that didn’t involve him telling her something she should or shouldn’t be doing. Sighing, she glanced around again, looking for Glen, wondering where he was.

      During their meal, he had mentioned how surprised he was that not a single person had approached their table. They wouldn’t officially begin their interviews until the following morning, but he had been hoping people would be talking freely to him. The poor soul had no idea….

      Still not seeing him, Fia rose. She caught Tavia’s eye. The room was getting louder. Check—I better get him out of here before things get rowdy, she told Tavia.

      I don’t know where that worthless colleen is now. Just pay up before you leave town. Better yet, find out who did this to Bobby and your fish and chips are on me. Tavia gave a wave of the bar towel that always seemed to be in her hand and pushed through the kitchen door.

      Glen’s cell phone vibrated, humming and hopping across the tabletop. Unable to resist, Fia picked it up. The front screen said “Stacy.” She didn’t answer it, but she took it with her as she got up from the table.

      Several people stopped Fia on her way toward the restrooms. Everyone had СКАЧАТЬ