Boundary Born (Boundary Magic Book 3) - Melissa F. Olson Page 0,38
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Quinn and I exchanged a look, but trailed her through a beige hallway into a small, tidy living room. Ardie had said she had children, but you would never know that from seeing the house, or at least the downstairs. There was no sign of any toys or clothes, let alone the cheerful clutter that always infested John’s house. The paint, carpeting, and furniture were all different shades of beige and gray. It was like a conservative dentist’s office without the old magazines.
“You can sit there,” she said, pointing at a sofa. She dropped into the opposite armchair. “What is this about?”
By unspoken agreement, Quinn and I remained standing, even though I still felt a little light-headed. “Several of the Denver vampires have recently succumbed to belladonna,” Quinn said, his voice even.
If Ardie was uncomfortable with us standing, she didn’t show it. She leaned back and crossed her legs. “I don’t know anything about that.” She paused and waved a hand. “Well, of course I know about the plant—I’m a horticulturalist. But I have nothing to do with the fetters.”
“Your cousin Billy dealt them,” I pointed out. “And you inherited his property.”
“Which I sold three months ago,” she said, barely glancing at me. “Cleaning out that junk heap cost me a fortune, but it’s close enough to Boulder to still turn a profit. If I remember correctly, the buyers are currently building a new house on the property.” She stood up. “If that’s all?”
“‘If that’s all?’” I repeated, not bothering to keep the incredulousness out of my voice. “You’re trying to tell us you just . . . delegated the removal of hazardous and illegal materials, and we’re supposed to smile and skip out the door?”
Atwood crossed her arms, reddening. “I don’t care what you believe. That’s what happened, and you have no right to come into my home—”
“You have no rights here,” I snapped, taking a single step toward her. “You don’t get it, Ardie. We’re not the police, and we don’t answer to anyone but Maven. For anything.”
Something in my face scared her, and she swallowed whatever she had planned on saying. Quinn glanced at me, and I saw a flash of curiosity and amusement cross his face before he turned to Ardie. He wasn’t usually the one playing good cop. “Dr. Kazinsky, you must understand why we need to cover our bases here. Vampires were poisoned fifteen minutes away from your house. You work with plants, and at some point you had access to the herb in question.” He spread his hands helplessly, as if to say what choice do we have? “We would look awfully stupid if we didn’t at least come speak to you.”
Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands for a moment. When she lowered them, her gaze seemed clearer. “I suppose I can understand that,” she said with a rueful smile. “And I do want to help however I can. Let’s try this again, all right?” She gestured to the couch. “Please.”
She sat back down in the chair, and I followed Quinn to the couch, perching on the edge. I was immensely relieved to be sitting, but I tried not to let it show on my face. “Would you like something to drink, Lex?” she asked. “Hot chocolate, or perhaps something stronger?” Her eyes were eager, hoping to please me. But I wasn’t falling for the new ass-kissing strategy.
“No,” I said flatly. “But I would like to know where Billy Atwood got the belladonna.”
“Ah.” She leaned back in her overstuffed chair, getting comfortable. “Now there’s a good question. Unfortunately, most of Billy’s contacts were out of state.”
“How would you know that, if you weren’t involved with his business?” Quinn asked reasonably.
She didn’t take offense, just pushed up her glasses with one finger and explained, “You have to know a little about our family. The Atwoods, as I’m sure you’ve heard, have something of an unsavory reputation, but we weren’t always this way. Once we were as respected in this state as the Pellars, maybe even more so. We are trades witches, but we have a bit of a talent for growing things. Obviously I’ve inherited it, given my career choices.” She smiled again, her eyes sparking. For the first time I saw it: energy and joy, an enthusiasm that went beyond enjoyment and into the realm of passion. It made her beautiful. Okay, Lily, I get it. “Anyway, most Atwoods were farmers, but a hundred years