“You won’t find her unless she wants to be found,” Iris said.
“That may well be,” Cook responded, “but I was hoping that perhaps Mr. Flynn would be able to give us a lead on where she might be located. Your reputation,” he addressed Connor, “for tracking things down is legendary, and with your vested interest in the matter, I thought perhaps you would be willing to do a little off the record investigating of your own.”
Connor puffed up with the praise, but his response was cautious. “Jilo is a slippery one, Detective. I’ll be happy to give it a go, but I suspect that if she don’t want to be found, I ain’t going to find her.”
“I’d appreciate any help you can offer in the matter—” Cook’s sentence was cut short by the ringing of his cell. He pulled the phone out of its holder, his gaze drifting back to Oliver. He seemed to have a hard time not looking at Oliver; it was as if his eyes were hungry for the sight.
“Cook,” the detective answered his phone. “Yes. That’s correct. I am here with the family now.” As he listened, his reaction indicated bad news—his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “He what? How the hell could he do that? All right. You sure as hell had better. You tell March I want to talk to him the second I get there.” He turned off his phone and looked at us. “Martell Burke disappeared—literally disappeared—from his cell, and I want you all to tell me just how the hell that could have happened.”
“Detective Cook,” Aunt Iris said with raised eyebrows, smiling with only the right side of her mouth. “We want Ginny’s killer brought to justice. I certainly hope you’re not suggesting that we would free the man you suspect of killing her?”
“No ma’am, I don’t think you’d free him, but I sure as hell better not find myself stumbling over his body in a day or two. I need to get back to the station, but y’all can help me by getting me the names and contact information of any relatives who’ve been here for the funeral in case I need to get in touch them.”
He gave Oliver a cold and pointed look. “And don’t you even think of leaving town, Mr. Taylor. If my suspect turns up looking any less than healthy, you, sir, will be the first person I pay a visit. I would suggest you send up a little prayer for Martell’s prompt and safe return to custody.” Cook stared at Oliver for a moment more before slamming out the door.
“We should all keep an eye on each other until they catch this guy,” Connor stated flatly as the sound of Cook’s steps faded away.
“But how could this Burke fellow up and disappear?” Ellen asked. “Unless Mother’s behind it?”
Connor laughed. “Mother ain’t got the juice to pull this kind of stunt off.”
“It appears you are mistaken,” Emmet responded, “as it is unlikely anyone else would have had the motivation to free the man.”
Iris shocked us all by slamming her hands down on the table. “Oliver. Tell me you had nothing to do with this disappearance! You swear to me!”
Oliver’s eyes widened as he shrugged and tried to look innocent. For once he succeeded. “I didn’t Iris. I swear. I didn’t do a thing to Burke.” We all fell quiet and waited. “Nor,” Oliver continued in a somewhat hurt tone, “did I convince anyone else, including Burke himself, to do anything. I really and truly have no idea where he is, or how he managed his Houdini, unless Mother somehow pulled it off.”
“Damned shame.” Connor chuckled. “I would have respected you more if you had. But it is what it is, and we have bigger fish to fry. Let Cook try to round Burke up. We need to deal with the lot drawing. Once we get that handled, we can turn our attention to Burke.”
“He’s right,” Iris said. “We must deal with the matter at hand, and then if the detective still hasn’t apprehended this man, we can deal with the situation ourselves.”
“Wow, you light up the torches and I’ll grab the pitchforks.” Oliver smirked, but Iris’s expression told him she was having none of her little brother’s nonsense at the moment.
“We’ll give the law their chance, but if they can’t handle it, we will,” she replied, stressing the word “we” to let Oliver know that he was indeed part of that pronoun. “Ginny’s blood is crying out for justice, and I for one will not ignore its call.”
THIRTEEN
I had a lot of processing to do, so I took the first possible opportunity to excuse myself and go back upstairs. The nine families seemed scandalized that Ginny had kept me ignorant. I wondered what they’d think if they knew they were singing from the same song sheet as Mother Jilo.
Now that enough time had passed for the golem to understand that I was changing for my own reasons and not anyone else’s, I put on a light cotton dress and some comfortable shoes. Nice, not disrespectful by any standards, but also not making any more of a display in Ginny’s honor than was necessary. One of the cousins knocked tentatively at my door and told me that I had a visitor, a young redheaded man who seemed quite anxious to see me. I gave myself a quick look in the mirror and headed downstairs.
Freshly showered and dressed in jeans and white T-shirt, Peter was a fresh breath of air in the sepulchre that our home had become. He beamed when he laid eyes on me, and I noticed that the pulse in his neck became visible as he took me in.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here today. I came as soon as I could.” I hurried over to him and kissed him on the cheek. As happy as I was to see on him, this wasn’t the time or place for more. His disappointed face showed that he’d been hoping for a more impassioned greeting, but he settled for it, placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
“Well if it isn’t little Peter Tierney,” Uncle Oliver said, walking up from the direction of the library. “All grown up, and nicely too, might I add.” He gave Peter a big theatrical wink.
“Will you stop flirting with my boyfriend?” I blurted out. It felt odd to call him that…but appropriate. Somehow he was so much more to me than a simple boyfriend; boyfriends could come and go, but Peter was a true friend, a fixture, someone I’d always want in my life in some capacity. It wasn’t passion, but a conscious decision that had led me to choose him as my own. But simply saying the word had made me see him in a more romantic light, as sure as if I had uttered a magical incantation.
“Oh, now, Mercy.” Oliver feigned hurt. “I’m simply appraising, perhaps complimenting, but never flirting.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor.” Peter laughed. “If I ever go gay, it will be for you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Oliver responded. “But I’d rather you make that little girl there happy.”
“Gonna do my best to do just that, sir.”
“Sir.” Oliver chuckled and walked away.
“He can really be too much,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Ah, he isn’t that bad,” Peter responded. “And he sure does love you.” He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled his face in my hair. I took a deep breath and let myself relax in his embrace.
“Yeah, I know he does,” I said. “In his own way at least.”
