Iron Kissed (Mercy Thompson #3)(73)

He looked around with a frown. "Do you think it looks all right? My fiancee - ex-fiancee - told me I needed a decorator for the kitchen."

"It's lovely," I assured him.

A bell chimed and he opened the oven door and pulled out a small pizza. My oven's timer buzzes like an angry bee.

The smell of the pizza distracted me from my oven-envy.

"Now that smells marvelous," I told him, closing my eyes to get a better sniff.

A red flush tinted his cheeks at my compliment as he slid it onto a stone round and cut it with expert speed. "If you'll get the salad and follow me, we can eat."

Obediently I took the wooden bowl of greens and followed him through the house.

"This is the dining room," he told me unnecessarily, since the big mahogany table gave it away. "But when I eat alone or with just a couple of people, I eat out here."

"Out here" was a small circular room surrounded by windows. The shape of the room was innovative, but it was outblanded by beige tiles and window treatments. His architect would be sad to know his artistic vision had been swallowed by insipidness.

Tim set the pizza on the small oak table and opened the roman blinds so we had a view of his backyard.

"I keep the curtains down most of the time, or it gets like an oven in here," he said. "I suppose it will be nice in the winter."

He'd already set the table, and like the kitchen, his tableware was a surprise. Handmade stoneware plates that didn't match exactly, either in size or color, but somehow complemented each other, and handmade pottery goblets. His was blue with a cracked glaze finish and mine brown and aged-looking. There was a pitcher on the table, but he'd already filled the glasses.

I thought of Adam's house and wondered if he still used his ex-wife's china the way Tim obviously used the stuff his ex-fiancee or maybe the decorator had chosen.

"Sit, sit," he said, following his own advice. He put a piece of pizza on my plate, but allowed me to get my own salad and a generous helping of some kind of baked pear dish.

I took a cautious sip of the contents of my glass. "What is this?" I asked. It wasn't alcoholic, which surprised me, but something both sweet and tart.

He grinned. "It's a secret. Maybe I'll show you how to make it after dinner."

I sipped again. "Yes, please."

"I noticed you're limping."

I smiled. "I stepped on some glass. Nothing to worry about."

We both quit talking as we dug into the meal with appetite.

"Tell me about your friend," he said as he ate. "The one the police think killed O'Donnell."

"He's a grumpy, fussy old man," I said. "And I love him." The pears had some sort of brown sugar glaze. I expected them to be too sweet, but they were tart and melted in my mouth. "Mmm. This is good. Anyway, right now he's ticked off at me for poking my nose into this investigation." I took a deep drink. "Or else he thinks it's dangerous and I'll quit investigating if he makes me think he's angry with me." Zee was right, I talked too much. Time to shift the conversation Tim's way. "You know, I'd have thought you would be angry with me when you found out I had an ulterior motive for attending your meeting."

"I always wanted to be a private investigator," Tim confided. He'd finished his food and was watching me eat with a pleased expression. "Maybe if I liked O'Donnell, I'd have been angrier."

"Were you able to come up with a list?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he lied.

I frowned at him and put down my fork. I'm not as good at smelling a lie as some of the wolves. Maybe I'd misread his response. It seemed like an odd thing to lie about.

"Did you make sure that Austin wouldn't talk about it to anyone?"

He nodded and his smile widened. "Austin won't tell anyone. Finish up your pears, Mercy."

I had eaten two bites before I realized something was wrong. Maybe if I hadn't been fighting this kind of compulsion with Adam, I wouldn't have noticed anything at all. I took a deep breath and concentrated, but couldn't smell any magic in the air.

"This was terrific," I told him. "But I'm absolutely full."

"Take another drink," he said.

The juice or whatever it was tasted better with every sip - but...I wasn't thirsty. Still, I'd swallowed twice before I thought. It wasn't like me to do anything someone told me to do, let alone everything. Maybe it was the juice.

As soon as the doubt touched my mind, I could feel it. The sweet liquid burned with magic and the goblet throbbed under my hand - so hot that I was surprised my hand wasn't smoking.

I set the old thing down on the table and wished the stupid book had included a picture of Orfino's Bane - the goblet that the fairy had used to rob Roland's knights of their ability to resist her will. I'd bet it would match the rustic goblet beside my plate.

"It was you," I whispered.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Tell me about your friend. Why do the police think he killed O'Donnell?"

"They found him there," I told him. "Zee could have run, but he and Uncle Mike were trying to gather all the fae artifacts so the police wouldn't find them."

"I thought I got all the artifacts," said Tim. "The bastard must have been taking more things than the ones I sent him for. Probably thought that he might get more money for them somewhere else. The ring isn't as good as the goblet."