Deadly Quicksilver Lies Read Free

And she knew it.
    Businesslike, Garrett. Businesslike.
    “Ma’am, Mr. Garrett? Am I that far past it?”
    I sputtered. I stumbled around and tripped over my tongue till it was black with footprints. She finally had mercy and smiled. “Can we get in out of the weather?”
    “Sure.” I stepped aside, held the door. What was wrong with the weather? It couldn’t have been nicer. There were barely enough clouds to keep you from falling into a sky as blue as you will ever hope to see.
    She brushed past without tricks, just close because she had to. I shut my eyes. I ground my teeth. I babbled, “My office is the second door on the left. I can’t offer much but beer or brandy. My man Dean is away.” The woman had to be a witch. Or I was out of practice. Bad.
    “Brandy would be perfect, Mr. Garrett.”
    Of course. Pure class. “Coming right up. Make yourself at home.” I dove into the kitchen. Dig dig dig till I found some brandy. A bit of a tippler, Dean hides the stuff all over so I won’t know how much he has bought. I poured from a bottle that I hoped contained good stuff. What did I know about brandy? Beer is my favorite food. I zipped to the office. The seasoned redhead had set up camp in the client’s chair. She frowned as she studied Eleanor. “Here you go.”
    “Thank you. An interesting painting. There’s a lot there if you look long enough.”
    I glanced at my honey as I settled. She was a lovely blonde, terrified, fleeing something only hinted at in the painting’s background. If you looked at that painting right, though, you could read the whole evil story. There was magic in it, though much of that had gone once I got the man who murdered Eleanor.
    I told the story. My visitor was a good listener. I managed to avoid getting totally lost in my own chemistry. I observed carefully. I suggested, “You might introduce yourself before we go any further. I’m never comfortable calling a woman ‘Hey You’.”
    Her smile softened the enamel on my teeth. “My name is Maggie Jenn. Margat Jenn, actually, but I’ve never been called anything but Maggie.”
    Ah, the monster of the prophecy. Winger’s old crone. Must have lost her walker. I blurted, “Maggie doesn’t sound like a redhead.”
    Her smile warmed up. Incredible! “Surely you’re not that naive, Mr. Garrett.”
    “Garrett is fine. Mr. Garrett was my grandpop. No. It hasn’t escaped me that some women miraculously transform overnight.”
    “This is just a tint, really. A little more red than my natural shade. Just vanity. One more rearguard skirmish in my war against time.”
    Yeah. The poor toothless hag. “Looks to me like you’ve got it on the run.”
    “You’re sweet.” She smiled again, turning up the heat. She leaned forward...
     
     

3
    Maggie Jenn caught my left hand, squeezed. “Some women enjoy being looked at that way, Garrett. Sometimes they want to look back.” She tickled my palm. I stifled an urge to pant. She was working me and I didn’t care. “But I’m here on business and it’s important, so we’d better get to it.” She took her hand back.
    I was supposed to melt, going through withdrawal.
    I went through withdrawal.
    “I like this room, Garrett. Tells me a lot. Confirms what I’ve heard about you.”
    I waited. Clients go through this. They’re desperate when they arrive. They wouldn’t come to me if they weren’t. But they stall around before admitting that their lives have gone out of control. Most end up telling me how they chose me. Maggie Jenn did that.
    Some change their minds before they get to the point. Maggie Jenn did not.
    “I didn’t realize I was so well known. That’s scary.” Apparently my name was common coin among the ruling class, to which Maggie Jenn clearly belonged, though she had not revealed where she fit. I should avoid the flashy cases. I don’t like being noticed.
    “You’re on everyone’s list of specialists, Garrett. If you want a coach built, you go to Linden Atwood.