attack on you,” he said, “but yeah, that was classic Highsmith. Listen, I’m glad we’re working together, and it’s not babysitting as far as I’m concerned. My district is Malibu, and we can pool our resources.”
“Okay, thanks. And sorry,” she said. “I’m just really pissed. And disappointed. I expected...I don’t know what. Some kind of big mobilization, kicking into high gear. Something.”
“Then we’ll kick ourselves into high gear,” Reggie said. “Here’s the deal about Malibu. There aren’t any Elven living on the beach. None of them will set foot west of Pacific Coast Highway. They’re all in the mountains off Las Virgenes and Kanan Dume, all the hermit types. If it was a Unabomber we were looking for, those are the first people I’d check out, but I doubt if most of my Elven have even heard of Charlotte Messenger or Gina Santoro. That said, if we can get them to talk, they may know things, so say the word and we’ll start interviewing them. Tomorrow, say?”
Sailor looked at him, and he looked back unflinchingly, not bothering to block his thoughts. I like you, you’re pretty, you’re hot, I’d like to be your friend and Highsmith’s an ass, but we can make this work to our advantage, he said. Not in so many words, but in thought patterns. It wasn’t as clear as if he were an Elven, but she could understand him, the way she understood French after having had three years of it in high school.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Reggie glanced toward the house. “As for the Keepers, some of them will share information with us, help us out—especially given who your dad is. But the others will go right to Highsmith if you deviate from the plan. And if he thinks you’re doing an end run around him, he’ll make your life on the Council hell. So, you know, be careful.”
Sailor flashed on Darius Simonides, whose advice she’d all but ignored. “Can you fill me in on who’s who?”
“Yeah, I can.” Reggie looked at his watch. “Only not now, because I have to go show a property in the Colony. I’m a Realtor. Tomorrow?” He handed her a business card.
“Tomorrow,” she told him.
* * *
Sailor was in her car and halfway to the 101 Freeway before she got a good cell signal. She called Declan.
“Sailor,” he said, instead of hello.
“I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know. About—” speak in code, she thought “—how I spent my summer vacation.”
There was a pause. “Change of heart?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good news,” he said. “And what’s it going to cost me?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Provocative answer. And when will that be?”
Her first impulse was to say “the sooner the better” because she wanted nothing more than to see him again. But she hesitated. What did she have to report, really? That the Elven Keepers as a whole were doing essentially nothing. But she herself was no different, either. What was she bringing to Declan, to their partnership, other than her own blood samples? Where were her investigative skills, her resourcefulness? She had to step it up. The afternoon had been a waste, but the day wasn’t over yet.
A billboard image of a cupcake flew by, and Sailor had an inspiration. “I’ll see you,” she said, “after I run one quick errand.”
“Kimberly Krabill wants another blood sample. She’s free for an hour, and then she has rounds at the hospital.”
“It will take a little longer than that, given the traffic.”
“Sailor, that’s not going to work for me.”
“I’ll call you when I’m done. Bye, Declan.” She hung up.
Her next call was to the morgue.
Chapter 8
Sailor weaved in and out of traffic heading east, growing more indignant with each passing mile. Except for the elderly Justine Freud, Reggie, Sailor herself and maybe three others, the Council was apparently willing to be dictated to by Charles Highsmith. And her own performance had been nothing to write home about. She’d been outspoken but not persuasive, passionate rather than strong. She’d forgotten the “listen instead of speak” dictum until the end, which in any case would have been hard to pull off because of the feverish episode, which made her excessively chatty. And she had only one alliance to report to her godfather, with the second-youngest and probably least-powerful Keeper, Reggie.
Halfway to downtown, Highsmith’s assistant called to set up the threatened physician’s appointment, and Sailor managed to say, “No, thank you,” rather than “Over my dead body.” She was proud of her restraint.
An hour later, turning