5

Lien set him to grating carrots while she and Grandma Doyle worked on the rest of supper. Wrapped in the warm scents of food and the women's blood, sipping blood from a pewter tankard while he fed carrots into the food processor, Garreth's mind churned like the blade of the machine. A day to find the killer when he had no case against anyone. Evidence from the storeroom window might help, though. I Ching was right; he could not work alone. But he needed fellow professionals. However much they wanted to help, Lien and his grandmother had no experience with murderers and he would be irresponsible to risk their lives. It was time to trust friendship and confide in Harry.

He fed another carrot into the food processor. "Lien, Grandma, I'm telling Harry everything tonight."

Lien stopped stirring to glance around at him. Instead of the smile of relief and approval he expected, she bit her lip.

He eyed her in surprise. "What's the matter?"

She sighed. "You're right; you need to tell him. I . . . just wish I could feel more confident that—"

"Feel more confident that what, honorable wife?"

All three of them whirled, startled. Harry stood in the kitchen doorway.

Lien ran to kiss him. "You're home almost on time for a change. What a lovely surprise. Garreth, I guess we can feel confident enough to set the table after all."

Harry held her off at arm's length to eye her skeptically. "That serious tone is about setting the table?"

She raised her brows. "Considering how often the dishes develop cobwebs before you show up—"

"It wasn't about setting the table," Garreth interrupted. "I'm sorry, Lien, but this has to be done." He emptied the tankard and set it in the sink.

"Garreth," his grandmother said in a warning voice.

He ignored her. "Harry, Lien is worried how well you'll take learning why I've been acting the way I have."

"Oh, I think I can't handle it. You underestimate me, honorable wife." He gave Lien a hug and shoved her back toward the stove with a slap on the rump. Crossing to the work counter, he took one of the carrots waiting to be fed into the food processor and bit off a chunk. "I already know, in fact. Van told me this afternoon."

Garreth blinked in disbelief. Could Harry, too, really be accepting it so calmly?

Harry chewed the carrot. "I don't know why you didn't say anything before. There's no need to suffer alone, Van says. It's nothing to be ashamed of, though I can see why you might not want your father to know. He'd probably take it personally, as a reflection of some weakness in him."

Grandma Doyle sniffed. "Wouldn't he though."

"Can we leave Dad out of this?" Garreth said irritably.

"He never needs to know," Harry said. "Van told me all about her sister. There's treatment. You can be cured."

Garreth blinked in astonishment. "Cured! Treatment?" In his peripheral vision, he saw the women staring, too. "What treatment?"

Harry glanced at each of them with a puzzled frown. "A combination of medical and psychiatric therapy."

In dismay Garreth realized they could not possibly be talking about the same thing. "Harry, exactly what did Girimonte say my problem is?"

The almond eyes narrowed. "Anorexia, of course. What else?"

No wonder Harry reacted so calmly. Garreth sighed. "I'm afraid Girimonte doesn't have it quite right. I'm—"

"Before dinner is no time to be getting so serious," his grandmother interrupted. "It spoils the digestion." She smiled sweetly. "Sergeant, if you'll be good enough to take yourself out from underfoot, I'll bring you the tea your lovely wife tells me you like to have when you come home from work. Garreth, finish grating those carrots if you please. We'll all talk later."

Whatever "later" meant. Not during dinner, Garreth discovered. Between them, Lien and Grandma Doyle kept the conversation firmly on light subjects. Not after dinner, either. Then they insisted on watch­ing television, though Garreth could not believe either had any real in­terest in Miami Vice.

"Grandma. Lien," he said during a commercial. "May I see you a minute?" In the kitchen, out of Harry's hearing, he demanded, "What are you two doing? We're under the gun for time, and we need Harry."

Her forehead furrowed. "Yes, but . . ." She sighed. "He won't believe you if you just come out and say you're a vampire. He has to be eased into it."

The phone rang.

"I'll get it!" Harry called from the other room.

Garreth ran a hand through his hair. "We don't have time to ease him into it. Tomorrrow this turkey will kill again, Grandma's Feelings say. Tomorrow! Maybe you underestimate him, Lien. You accepted—"

"It's for you, Garreth!" Harry called. "An Irina Rudenko."

Garreth snatched up the kitchen extension. But said nothing to Irina just yet. Harry's breathing came over the line from the family room extension. "I've got it, Harry."

"I'd like to speak to Miss Rudenko, too," Harry said. "Miss Rudenko, I'm Sergeant Takananda of the San Francisco Police. We're trying to find who killed Leonard Holle. I wonder if you can answer a couple of questions."

"About Mr. Hone?" the voice on the far end of the wire said in a tone of disappointment. "Is that purpose of call? What a bummer."

Garreth blinked in astonishment. Only the accent remained Irina's.

The tone went petulant. "Meresa said there was this cute blond guy looking for me. Takananda doesn't sound like a name that belongs to anyone blond."

"I'm the blond one," Garreth said. "Garreth Mikaelian."

"Mikaelian. Mikaelian." She rolled the name around as though tasting it. "Are you guy who kept trying to catch my eye at performance of Beach Blanket Babylon last Saturday?"

Harry said patiently, "Miss Rudenko, this is important. How well did you know Mr. Holle?"

She sighed. "Jesus. I didn't know him. I mean, I knew him, but I didn't know him, if you know what I mean. He's a friend of my mother. They both work for Philos Foundation. I don't know anything about who killed him. What a horror show. Do we have to talk about it? I'd rather talk to you, blondie. Where do I know you from?"

"You don't," Garreth said, and swore mentally. What a time to have to play games. Hang up, Harry, please, so I can talk to her. "A mutual friend suggested I look you up."

"Yeah? Who?"

This version of Let's Pretend could have been fun under other circumstances. Irina played it very well. "Does it matter?"

She giggled. "Nope. Hey, let's get together, say in Japanese Tea Garden, twelve or so, our time? See you then, blondie."

She hung up before either Garreth or Harry could say anything more. But nothing else needed to be said. She wanted to see him and had made an appointment. Garreth grinned in admiration. Harry would interpret it in human terms . . . twelve noon. Our time, she said, though. Vampire time. Midnight.

From the other extension, Harry said, "Okay, meet her, but take along a tail, and steer the conversation around to Holle. She might tell you something she wouldn't me."

Garreth smiled grimly. "I certainly will find out what she knows about Holle's death." Until then, he would go along with Lien and his grandmother and not confess to Harry. If Irina did know something, maybe they could clear up this case without official help. Then there would be nearly a week more to break the truth to Harry before his vacation ended.