Hearts and Stones - Robin D. Owens Page 0,67
small fortune. Even one of the jewels would pay Garrett well. Squinting, he saw a hole in each ear, too, though the cat didn’t wear studs.
“Doesn’t sound very important.”
Pretty enough it caught the calico kitten’s attention. Housekeeper said it is a lovely piece of excellent craftsmanship. At least a half century old.
“All right, I get it, treasured heirloom.”
One would think so.
“Which one?” Garrett pounced on the phrase.
The young lord, Laev, Black Pierre sent to Garrett’s mind.
“But not the old lord ... Huathe?” Garrett persisted.
The cat radiated insult. I have been accused of stealing objects!
All right, dead end there. Garrett winced inwardly, a literal dead end as the lord had passed on. Garrett vaguely recalled he’d died in his mistress’s bed. Not a terrible way to go.
Yank his thoughts back to this “case” taking his time, and maybe costing him gilt. “What other items were found in the pigsty?”
A little stuffed goat, much the worse for wear.
“Laev’s childhood toy?” Garrett pressed.
Black Pierre licked a paw. I do not think so, older than him, retrieved from a toy box in the nursery. I do NOT go to the nursery, the FamCat ended haughtily. Nothing there of interest to Me.
“Of course not.”
The cat leapt down from the window, began sauntering toward the door. Time for my treat.
“Obviously that takes precedence over speaking with me.”
Yes. I have told you what needs fixed. Fix it.
“Uh-huh. But before you disappear into the kitchen, what does the Residence have to say about these missing items?” Garrett wasn’t sure what all an intelligent house sensed, and what kind of memory it might have, but may as well ask.
Black Pierre glanced over his back at Garrett. The Residence is quiet on this. It has not spoken to Me, though I have requested information. It does not inform the young lord that I did NOT take the object. I do not know why it is so recalcitrant. The feline sniffed in contempt. Which is probably why the Residence didn’t speak with the FamCat.
They could be trying.
FAMMAN! Black Pierre demanded at the door, then issued a yowl. Time for My treats!
The door whisked open, showing a young teen-aged girl with a harried expression. Garrett figured she must be the lowest kitchen maid. Black Pierre strolled inside.
“Greetyou,” said a male voice behind Garrett. He stood and turned.
A tall young man with noble-style longish black hair stared at Garrett. As he strode closer, Garrett met his steady violet gaze, the color denoting the Hawthorn Family. Though he dressed in the richest of clothes, he moved with a walk not as arrogant as Garrett expected, not truly the walk of other FirstFamily members he’d seen around and about in the city. Surprising. His face also showed a few lines deeper than a man of approximately thirty should hold.
“Greetyou, Garrett Primross, Private Investigator.” T’Hawthorn, the man must be the GreatLord himself, stopped outside longsword point and inclined his torso.
The guardswoman must have told her boss of Garrett’s admission to the estate.
Though Garrett had rarely used the formal salutations that nobles preferred, he, like everyone, knew the courtesies. He just hoped they sounded smooth. “Greetyou, GreatLord T’Hawthorn.” He bowed, but didn’t think it was the proper degree. Fligger. All right, he shouldn’t care, but something in the man’s gaze and manner engendered reluctant respect. As if the guy had weathered significant storm-problems in his life.
Who’d have thought that?
Wait, hadn’t there been a duel between the Hawthorns and the Hollys? And anyone going against the warrior Hollys would be bound to lose. And this man wasn’t the late T’Hawthorn’s son. Probably his Son’sSon. So something happened to this new lord’s father.
Garrett really should have done some basic research before he’d left his office ... with a cat. But he’d treated the “case” as minor. Somehow it didn’t seem as negligible now as he thought.
The man picked up a redwood chair and placed it next to Garrett’s, dropped down into it, and Garrett sat, too. With his arms braced on the flat ones of the chair, T’Hawthorn tapped his fingertips together. When he noticed Garrett’s gaze focused on his hands, he gave a tired smile and stopped the movement. “My FatherSire’s habit.”
Going straight to his own largest concern, Garrett said, “Black Pierre feels insulted at being accused of stealing a Hawthorn Family treasure.”
A twitch of the lips up from the GreatLord. “Of course he is.”
“He informed you that he didn’t steal the item?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe him?”
The nobleman sat up straight in the back-slanted chair. “There’s no reason for