3

Girimonte showed up again about four o'clock, alone. She dropped into her chair and lit a cigar. "Harry had to make a pit stop. Did you have an exciting day, Mikaelian?"

He gave her a thin smile. "Rewarding. I'm too short to be the Philos burglar."

"Too bad." She dragged at the cigar. "Everyone we talked to says about the same thing about Holle. He was a quiet, friendly man who always had room to put someone up for the night, was always a gracious host and never too busy to lend a hand if someone needed it. He didn't make enemies. And no one has ever heard of a Lane Barber." She blew out smoke. "Face it, Mikaelian; you're still our best suspect. Why not just save us all trouble by confessing. You can probably beat the rap with an insanity plea. Just say your condition has unbalanced you . . . vitamin deficiencies due to your diet. The Twinkie defense revisited."

Garreth clenched his fists in his jacket pockets. Her blood scent curled around him with the sweet smell of her cigar. A pulse throbbed visibly in her long mahogany throat. He watched it, malicious hunger licking at him. Perhaps there was a human or two after all he would not mind drinking from. Better not wander into any alleys with me, Girimonte.

The squadroom door, shut now that the smell of garlic had dissipated, opened. Harry came in . . . not alone. "Look what I stumbled over at the elevator."

Lien followed Harry, but it was the woman behind her who brought Garreth jumping to his feet. "Grandma Doyle! What are you doing here?"

His grandmother gave him a broad smile. "Why else but to visit me own dear grandson?"

Lien said, "I know you want to spend time with Harry, Garreth, but today would you be willing to leave early with Grania and me?"

The name puzzled him for a moment. After a lifetime of calling her just Grandma Doyle, it was hard to remember that she had a regular name: Grania Megan Mary O'Hare Doyle.

Girimonte straightened in her chair, frowning. Garreth caught Harry's eye questioningly.

Harry glanced past in the direction of Serruto's office. Garreth did not turn around to see the lieutenant's reaction, but when Harry's eyes shifted back to Garreth, Harry dipped his chin in assent. As Garreth moved past him toward the door, he warned, "Stay with them. If I hear you've taken off on your own, we'll be after you with a warrant."

Garreth gave him a thin smile. "I don't throw away an alibi, Harry."

Riding down in the elevator he said, "Grandma, do Mom and Dad know you're here?" He had uneasy visions of Phil Mikaelian calling his old buddies and setting every law enforcement agency in the state looking for her.

She sniffed. "Am I a child, that I need permission to go where I wish? I've been looking after meself quite well, thank you, since I was seventeen." She paused. "I left them a note."

Maybe only the San Francisco police would be asked to check on her. "Why did you really come?"

This time she did not smile. "I saw you last night, lying dying and someone laughing like the devil's own above you." Her eyes flashed. "I'll not sit home knitting when me flesh and blood are in mortal danger."

Despite the wash of fear in him, he wanted to hug her. And despite the fear, he could not resist pointing out an error in her Feeling. "Not from a violet-eyed woman."

She gave him the same withering stare she used to in church just before thumping him on the head with a knuckle. "There's a violet-eyed woman involved, isn't there?"

He wilted under the stare as he always had. "Irina Rudenko."

She smiled in satisfaction. "I went to Lien's studio from the bus station. I see why you like her. She's a fine, intelligent woman. We've been discussing you."

His stomach took a sickening plunge. "Grandma—" The elevator opened. Catching her arm, he hurried her out, down the corridor, and into the parking lot. "Grandma, please, you didn't tell her—"

"What you've become?" Lien said from behind him. "She didn't have to; I already knew. After our talk last night, I opened your thermos."

His stomach dropped. He turned slowly. "And from that you figured out the rest." Exactly what he had been afraid of.

She smiled. "After all, I am Chinese, and we understand that reality is not as simple as it appears. Once we made gods out of characters in novels. If fiction can be considered real, then it follows that some of what we consider fiction may be real. It's a relief to finally understand your behavior."

Belatedly he realized she was not shrinking from him, nor regarding him with revulsion. "And . . . you don't mind?"

Her chin snapped up. "Of course I mind! Look how unhappy it's made you. I'd like to kill that woman for what she's done to you! But I accept what you are, of course. What else can I do?"

He could hardly believe what he heard. "You . . . aren't afraid of me?"

"Afraid of someone I love?" she said indignantly.

He stared at her in wonder. Knowing about him had not changed her feelings toward him? Could it be Irina's "hold" on Holle and the housekeeper was not one of fear after all, that humans and vampires could actually be friends?

"I did wonder where you collected a thermos of blood," Lien went on. "It was . . . reassuring to realize that the lip and lid of the thermos smelled of horse." She peered anxiously at him. "Is this change in you responsible for the trouble between you and Harry?"

"Partly." As long as she knew about him, he might as well give her some of the rest. "I thought at first a vampire was responsible for these murders, but since I couldn't tell anyone that, I investigated on my own. Harry suspects I know more about the case than I'll admit. Since he doesn't know why I'm keeping the information to myself, he—" No, he could not tell her about being a suspect! "He assumes I'm shutting him out to grab the glory of the collar for myself."

"You're a terrible liar," Grandma Doyle said. "Why don't you admit he's afraid you're the killer."

Her Feelings were just too damn accurate!

Lien caught her breath. "Oh, god. Poor Harry. Poor Garreth. I wish you'd trusted our friendship enough to confide in us."

Guilt stabbed him. If only he had.

His grandmother poked him. "There's no point feeling guilty about that now. What's done is done."

Lien nodded. "Now we have to clear up this ridiculous mess. Tell us what to do."

Warmth spread through him. What super ladies, both of them. He shook his head. "You do nothing. I don't want you involved. It's dangerous."

"I Ching says you must appoint helpers in order to reach suc­cess," Lien reminded him.

Grandma Doyle pushed him toward the car. "Tell us everything on the way home."

Now he understood why he had always felt so close to Lien. She and his grandmother were spiritual twins. Caught between them, though, he felt like someone on a runaway train. He sighed. Lack of sleep and the drag of daylight left him too tired to try stopping it. "Yes, ma'am, but, Lien . . . head for Pacific Heights while I talk."