Iron Kissed (Mercy Thompson #3)(41)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"Hey, Mercy," he said.

Tony is half-Italian, half-Venezuelan, and all whatever he decides to be for the moment. He does most of his work undercover because he’s a chameleon. He’d worked a stint in Kennewick High School posing as a student ten or fifteen years younger, and Gabriel, who knew Tony pretty well because Gabriel’s mother worked as a police dispatcher, hadn’t recognized him.

Today Tony was all cop. The controlled expression on his face meant he was here on business. And he had company. A tall woman in jeans and a T-shirt had one hand tucked under his elbow and the other holding firmly to the leather harness of a golden retriever. Dogs are sometimes troublesome for me. I suppose they smell the coyote – but retrievers are too friendly and cheerful to be a problem. It wagged its tail at me and gave a soft woof.

The woman’s hair was seal brown and hung in soft curls to just below her shoulders. Her face was unremarkable except for the opaque glasses.

She was blind, and she was fae. Guess what fae I’d run into lately that was blind? She didn’t look like someone who could turn into a crow, but then I didn’t look much like a coyote, either.

I waited for the sense of power I’d sensed from the crow to sweep over me, but nothing happened. To all of my senses she was just what she appeared to be.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead onto the shoulder of my work overalls. "Hey, Tony, what’s up?"

"Mercedes Thompson, I’d like you to meet Dr. Stacy Altman from the University of Oregon’s folklore department. She is consulting with us on this case. Dr. Altman, this is Mercedes Thompson, who would doubtless shake your hand except hers is covered in grease."

"Nice to meet you." Again.

"Ms. Thompson," she said. "I asked Tony if he would introduce us." She patted his arm when she said his name. "I understand you don’t think the fae the police are holding is guilty: though he had motive, means, and opportunity – and he was found next to the freshly killed dead body."

I pursed my lips. I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I wasn’t going to let her railroad Zee. "That’s right. I heard it from the fae who was with him at the time. Zee is not incompetent. If he’d killed O’Donnell, no one would have known it."

"The police surprised him." Her voice was cool and precise without a trace of accent. "A neighbor heard fighting and called the police."

I raised an eyebrow. "If it had been Zee, they would have heard nothing, and if they had, Zee would have been gone long before the police showed up. Zee doesn’t make stupid mistakes."

"Actually," Tony told me with a small smile, "the neighbor who called said he saw the vehicle Zee was driving pull up to the house after he called the police having heard someone scream."

The doctor who was a Gray Lord hadn’t known about the neighbor before he told us both. I saw her lips tighten in anger. Tony must not like her, since he’d never play a trick like that on someone he liked.

"So why are you trying so hard to pin this on Zee?" I asked her. "Isn’t it up to the police to find the guilty party?"

"Why are you trying so hard to defend him?" she countered. "Because he used to be your friend? He doesn’t appear to be appreciative of your efforts."

"Because he didn’t do it," I said, as if I were surprised she’d asked such a stupid question. From the way she stiffened, she was as easy to get a rise out of as Adam. "What are you worried about? It’s no skin off your nose if the police do a little more work. Do you think a fae in the hand is better than searching the reservation for the guilty one?"

Her face tightened and magic swelled in the air. It was searching the reservation that she was here to prevent, I thought. She wanted a quick execution – maybe Zee was supposed to hang himself and save everyone the publicity of a trial and the inconvenience of an investigation that put intruders’ noses into the reservation. She was here to make sure there were no screwups.

Like me.

I considered her and then turned to Tony. "Did you put Zee on a suicide watch? Fae don’t do well in iron cages."

He shook his head while Dr. Altman’s mouth tightened. "Dr. Altman said that as a gremlin, Mr. Adelbertsmiter would be fine with the metal. But if you think I ought to, I will."

"Please," I said. "I’m very concerned." It wouldn’t be foolproof, but it would make it harder to kill him.

Tony’s eyes were sharp as they looked from me to Dr. Altman. He was too good a cop not to notice the undercurrents between the two of us. He probably even knew it wasn’t suicide I was worried about.

"Didn’t you tell me you had some questions to ask Mercedes, Dr. Altman?" he suggested with deceptive mildness.

"Of course," she said. "The police here seem to respect your opinion about the fae, but they don’t know what your credentials are – other than the fact you once worked with Mr. Adelbertsmiter."

Ah, an attempt to discredit me. If she’d expected to fluster me, she didn’t know me very well. Any female mechanic knows how to respond to that kind of attack.

I gave her a genial smile. "I’ve a degree in history and I read, Dr. Altman. For instance, I know that there was no such thing as a gremlin until Zee decided to call himself one. If you’d excuse me, I’d better get back to work. I promised that this car would be finished today." I turned to do just that and tripped on a stick that was lying on the ground.

Tony was there with a hand under my elbow to help me back to my feet. "Did you twist an ankle?" he asked.

"No, I’m fine," I told him, frowning at the fae walking stick that had appeared on the floor of my garage. "You’d better let go or you’ll get covered with grease."

"I’m fine. A little dirt just impresses the rookies."

"What happened?" Dr. Altman asked, as if her blindness was something that would keep her from knowing what was happening around her. Which I was certain it did not. I noticed that her dog was staring intently at the stick. Maybe she really did use it to help her see.

"She tripped on a walking stick." Tony, who’d disengaged himself from Dr. Altman to catch me when I’d stumbled, bent down, picked it up, and put the stick down on my counter. "This is pretty cool workmanship, Mercy. What are you doing with an antique walking stick on the floor of your garage?"

Darned if I knew.

"It’s not mine. Someone left it at the shop. I’ve been trying to give it back to its rightful owner."

Tony looked at it again. "It looks pretty old. The owner should be happy to get it back." There was a question in his voice – I don’t think Dr. Altman heard it.