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35
Kirra’s Condo
SATURDAY
Kirra opened the Chinese takeout cartons, spooned hot and sour soup into two bowls on her kitchen table. “There is really no need for you to stay here with me, Griffin.”
“You want me to sleep in my Range Rover?”
“Well, no, but you could come back in the morning.”
“Sorry, Mandarian, I have my orders. Anything happens to you I’m busted to resident agent on the Mars colony.”
“Sure you are,” she said, but she did grin. “Sit down, you bloody moron, and eat the soup. Feng Nian makes the best hot and sour soup in Porte Franklyn.”
“I’ve always thought moron was enough, but bloody moron?”
“Well, sure. Fact is there’s a truckload of other things Aussies call each other, but I held back; I mean, you’re a federal agent and all, it wouldn’t be good to be crude.”
Griffin took a sip of the soup. “Not bad.” He studied Kirra. She was trying hard to stay natural, to hide the fear that had to have been eating at her since a hired assassin had come close to killing her yesterday. He saw the strain in her eyes, how she seemed to fold in on herself when she wasn’t engaging him. He’d bet she knew in her gut it had to be Melissa Kay Grissom’s crazy psycho voice she’d heard shouting at her the night her parents were killed, even though Kirra had never met her. She was pointed right at Ryman Grissom, so why not both of them? Was she planning to prove to herself it was Melissa Kay Grissom she’d heard, to get close enough to her to hear her voice?
Kirra got up and fetched a couple more napkins from a drawer. She was still wearing her snug cigarette jeans and white cami that showed her arms, winter pale, smooth with muscle. He looked at her hands, capable hands, her fingers long and slender. She wore an unusual ring on her left pinkie finger, with symbols that looked like the Aboriginal art in her living room. She was lean, coltish, he supposed, except for her butt. She had an excellent butt. He did a fast slam on his mental brakes, but out of his mouth came, “You smell good.”
Her head jerked up. “What? I smell good? You mean like the soy sauce in the soup?”
“Well, maybe a touch, but no, you smell mainly like roses, faded roses, just about ready to droop.”
“That sounds like an awesome insult.”
“I like faded roses. Their smell is sort of vague, with a whiff of sweetness, not as much in-your-face.”
“You made that up. What if I told you it was jasmine, not roses?”
“You’re lying, it’s roses.”
“Yes, all right. My uncle Leo bought me a bottle for my sixteenth birthday. He said it was his favorite. He got this sort of sweet faraway look on his face and I knew even then he must have been fond of a girl who wore it.” She shrugged. “I’ve worn it ever since. And no, Uncle Leo never mentioned her name to me. You’re really not planning on going anywhere, are you?”
Griffin smeared peanut butter sauce on his green onion pancakes, breathed in as it melted over them. “Nope. How’s your sofa? Springs nearly ready to break through the fabric? Is it long enough for me?”
She sighed. “It’s long enough and really quite comfortable. Uncle Leo always insists he sleeps on that sofa. It’s good to know I smell vague.”
“With a whiff of sweetness. I’ll get my duffel from the Range Rover later.” Time to stick a toe in the water. “Do you have any idea who that woman was you heard?”
There was no doubt who he was talking about. “No, but I’m going to find her.”
He took another bit of soup. “What you said about her voice—she sounded crazy, wild, scary?”
“That’s right. If I had to put on a label, I’d say she was a card-carrying psychopath. She didn’t sound sorry she’d helped murder my parents, she sounded excited.”
“I might know who she probably is.”
Kirra reared back in her chair. “How could you possibly know? You live in Washington.”
“Last Tuesday, before we came to speak to you, Savich and Pepper went to see Elson Grissom in the hospital. His daughter, Melissa Kay, was there. Savich said she was like a bomb, ready to explode. If she’d had a gun, she might have shot the both of them. He said only her father could rein her in. Do you know anything about her?”
Kirra fiddled with her chopsticks. “Like you, I read everything Eliot Ness sent to Dillon and Jeter about Elson Grissom. I did some research on his family online, including Melissa Kay. She’s been out of control on and off since she was very young. There were DUIs, bar fights, and car wrecks, but none of them turned out to be her fault. Daddy always bailed her out of trouble. If I could hear her voice, I might know for sure.”
He said, “Say it was Melissa Kay, she would have been very young, right?”
