Grim Offerings (Aisling Grimlock Book 2) Read online

  “There wasn’t enough room in the boat for two more people,” I said. “You guys needed your beauty sleep.”

  “You’re mean,” Redmond said. “If I was on your team, we would’ve crushed them.”

  “We won without you,” I said. “That’s all that matters.”

  “We’re having a tournament,” Redmond countered. “We’ll do it in the parlor.”

  “The parlor has wood floors,” I pointed out.

  “So?”

  “Sharks can’t swim on wood,” Jerry supplied.

  “We’re not playing shark attack,” Braden said. “We just want to fish.”

  “That’s an entirely different game,” I said. “We were playing shark. The fishing was incidental.”

  “You didn’t say that when we were losing,” Griffin said.

  “That’s because you fish like a woman,” I said.

  Griffin smirked. “You’re kind of cute when you’re competitive.”

  “She’s always cute,” Jerry said.

  Dad cleared his throat. “So, down to business,” he said. “We have a limited load today. I only need two of you to work. Volunteers?”

  No one raised a hand.

  “Cillian is out,” Dad said. “He needs time to rest. The rest of you are going to have to draw straws.”

  I groaned. I was too tired to work. Sure, it was my own fault, but I would never admit that in front of my brothers. “I think Redmond and Braden should do it,” I said. “They got a good night’s sleep last night.”

  “Whose fault is that?” Dad asked.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to work. I wondered briefly if I should start crying again, but then another thought entered my mind. “I fought off and killed a wraith last night. I think I should be exempt.”

  Dad sighed. “Fine.”

  “What?” Aidan was angry.

  “She needs her rest, too,” Dad said. “That leaves the three of you.”

  “I’m exhausted,” Aidan said. “I think it should be Braden and Redmond.”

  “Playing shark attack is not an acceptable reason to get out of work,” Dad said.

  “It was for Aisling.”

  I stuck my tongue out. “I got out of work because I’m awesome and brave,” I said. “I fought off a wraith and saved the universe. You lost at shark attack. This should be your penance.”

  “I agree,” Dad said. “It’s you and Braden.”

  “Oh, man,” Braden complained.

  Aidan narrowed his eyes as he regarded me from across the table. “You’re going to get your ass kicked later.”

  “Bring it on.”

  BECAUSE Griffin had to put in an appearance at his office, I was left to my own devices for the bulk of the afternoon. Jerry had an important wedding to start planning and Maya had a shift at the hospital. I was a lonely little orphan.

  Therefore it made perfect sense to go to Eternal Sunshine Cemetery. I told myself I was going because I wanted to visit my mother’s grave. I even stopped to pick up a bouquet of lilies to place near her marker in the mausoleum.

  I had other things on my mind, though.

  My mother’s marker was in our family mausoleum, so that was my first stop. The fire that had taken my mother’s life had raged so ferociously we had only remnants of bone to inter. Of course, we found out later she’d survived thanks to Genevieve Toth – only to die later without her family – but I still considered this her final resting place. My father had been so ravaged in the wake of her death Redmond had to pick out her marker. It was simple, the only adornment a lily on the corner.

  I placed the bouquet in the holder next to the marker after pulling a dead bouquet of flowers out and tossing it into the trash. I ran my hand over the lifted letters, tracing the name “Lily Grimlock” as I went. People say you can find solace talking to the dead. I found only sadness.

  I sat on the bench in the middle of the mausoleum and studied the plaques around me. Grimlocks had been laid to rest here for almost a century. Some I knew, like my grandparents; others were merely names from family lore.

  After a few moments, I got to my feet. “I’ll come back when I can, Mom.”

  I never talked to her. I had no idea what to say. My mother had never appeared on our list when it was time. It was a neighboring family, one that worked out of Ann Arbor, who we assumed collected her. That’s the way it works in our business. The higher-ups always worried that reapers would try to save their own, so whenever possible, the soul-gathering task was handed off to others.

  We’d never questioned her collection. Now, though, I had to wonder who collected her when she died that second time. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. She was gone either way.

  I was still slightly bitter. The opportunity to say goodbye to my mother would have meant a lot. I felt robbed on that front, even though I understood why it was necessary. I kissed my fingertips and pressed them to her marker briefly. “I’ll talk more next time. I promise.”

  It took me a few minutes to collect myself once I left the mausoleum. It wasn’t that I didn’t like to think about my mother. In fact, she was a headliner in some of my favorite memories. It was just too hard sometimes. It was easier to lock her away in a box, one that I opened only when I felt especially depressed – or had PMS. Speaking of PMS, I was about due to stock up on chocolate.

  I turned my attention to the mausoleum two doors down. It belonged to the Olivets, descendants of Genevieve Toth. When the big wraith confrontation had occurred weeks ago, it was in that mausoleum. That was why I’d really come. I was curious about whether the wraiths were gathering here again. I just wanted to be sure.

  I scanned the cemetery to make sure no one was watching me, and then made my way to the door. Most people don’t lock their mausoleums because the cemetery is closed at night. I wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. I pushed it open and readied myself in case I had to make a hasty retreat. Part of me expected danger. The other part knew I was readying myself for nothing.

  The mausoleum was empty.

  I blew out a sigh as I shuffled inside. I searched every corner, taking special care not to miss anything, and then turned back to the door. That’s when a hint of color caught my attention – a lone flower in one of the vases.

  I stepped toward it, curious. It wasn’t fresh. It had been here several days, and had wilted, but it hadn’t been here during the big fight. That meant someone had been here.

  That doesn’t mean it was a wraith, I chided myself. It’s not as if they can walk into flower shops and buy blooms. It must have been a family member. I moved up to study the four markers surrounding the flower. None of them offered hints. All of the occupants had been gone more than twenty years, and in two cases, they’d died more than fifty years before.

  I exhaled heavily. There was nothing here. It wasn’t as though I was expecting easy answers. Some answers would have been welcome, though. With a final glance over my shoulder, I left the mausoleum and closed the door behind me.

  If I wanted to solve this, I was going to have to broaden my horizons. I needed to think.

  Twenty-Three

  When I returned to the townhouse, a huge bag of chocolate in hand – the beast is ready to rage, people – I found someone waiting for me on the front stoop. The figure wasn’t large and dressed in a cloak, so I wasn’t particularly worried.

  That changed when I realized who was standing there.

  “I … what are you doing here?”

  Morgan Reid lifted his head when he heard my approach and blessed me with a flirtatious smile. “Is that any way to greet a gentleman caller, Aisling Grimlock?”

  I froze. I’d never told Reid my real name. How had he figured it out? “Mr. Reid,” I said, shuffling on the sidewalk instead of closing the remaining few feet separating us. “How did you find me?”

  “I looked you up on the Internet.” Reid didn’t appear ruffled by my standoffish nature.

  “How?”

  �
�I typed your name in that little window on the Google home page.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know my name?”

  Reid shrugged. “You told me.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “I think you did.” Reid wasn’t backing down.

  I pursed my lips. “Okay, maybe I did tell you my real name,” I conceded. I totally didn’t. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  Reid produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. It didn’t escape my attention that they looked as though he’d bought them from a grocery store – and the day-old bin, at that.

  “You’re here to scare me with wilting flowers?”

  Reid frowned. “They’re not wilting.”

  “That one is brown.”

  “It’s depressed because you’re rejecting it,” Reid said, trying for something approximating charm.

  Whatever. “So, what are you doing here?” I clutched my bag of chocolate to my chest.

  “I’m asking you to dinner,” Reid said.

  Oh, well, Hell had frozen over. “I’m flattered … but … I’m going to say no.”

  Reid wasn’t about to be deterred. “Can I ask why?”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “I thought you were married.”

  I scowled.

  “Are you saying you and your brother have divorced and you’re now dating?”

  He was really starting to bug me. “I was never married to my brother,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’m not involved. I believe you met him the other day.” Before you disappeared like a sneaky rat, I silently added.

  “Are you engaged?” Reid studied my hand for a ring.

  “No.”

  “Then you’re still open for offers as far as I’m concerned,” he said.

  I had a feeling Griffin would feel differently. “Well, I’m not.”

  “You could be.”

  “Nope.”

  “You should be.”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you really going to turn me down?” Reid faltered for the first time.

  I considered my options. We’d been trying to find more information on Reid since he escaped death the first time. Now that he’d done it twice, things were starting to get out of control. Oh, hell, what could it hurt to have dinner with him?

  “Nope,” I said. “Let’s go to dinner.”

  Reid arched an eyebrow, surprised. “Really?”

  “I have to put this bag inside, and you’re going to stand right over there while I do it,” I said, pointing to a spot on the lawn. “If you move from there, I’m calling the cops.”

  Reid grinned. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “You’re still going to have dinner with me, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “You’re buying, and I’m picking the restaurant.”

  “I can live with that.”

  We’d have to see about that.

  “REALLY, this is your favorite restaurant?”

  I glanced around the Coney Island dubiously. On short notice, it was the brightest and most populated place I could think of within walking distance of my townhouse. There was no way I was getting into a money launderer’s car – especially when people kept trying to kill him. “I love hot dogs.”

  Whoops. That was probably the wrong thing to say to a guy who I was sure was a demented pervert.

  “Fine,” Reid said, reaching for a menu. “What’s good here?”

  I made a face. “It’s a National Coney Island.”

  Reid waited.

  “Everything is good here,” I said.

  Reid pressed his lips together. “Okay. What do you recommend?”

  “Whatever you want,” I said, ignoring the menu. Seriously, who looks at a menu at a coney restaurant?

  “What are you going to get?” Reid asked.

  “Two coneys and chili fries.”

  “That’s a lot of onions,” Reid pointed out.

  “I’m getting them on the fries, too.”

  Reid frowned. “That’s going to make getting close to you … uncomfortable.”

  That’s what I was betting on. “You’ll live.”

  Reid’s face was conflicted. “If you don’t trust me, and you don’t want to kiss me – and you’re missing out there, let me tell you – why did you agree to go to dinner with me?”

  “I’m all kinds of odd,” I said.

  “That’s why I like you.”

  I leaned back in the booth. “How did you really find out who I was?”

  “You told me,” Reid said.

  Why did he keep saying that? I’d lied when I first met him, and then I’d lied poorly when I met him the second time. I’d never told him my name, though. “Okay,” I said, my tone even, “why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an investment banker.”

  “That sounds boring,” I said.

  “It’s quite lucrative.”

  “That’s different from being boring,” I pointed out.

  “I happen to like numbers,” Reid said. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an antiquities dealer,” I said.

  “What does that entail?”

  “I go to estate sales and buy antiques,” I said. “Then I take them to my father and he sells them.”

  “That sounds boring,” Reid said.

  “Only if you don’t like garage sales,” I countered.

  Reid furrowed his brow. “Do you like garage sales?”

  “I love them,” I said. I hate garage sales. Used stuff freaks me out. I keep imagining naked people rubbing items up and down their bodies. Yes, I know it’s not reasonable or feasible. I still can’t stop myself. “I love looking at used stuff.”

  “Aren’t antiques valuable used stuff?”

  He had a point. “Yes.”

  “And that’s not boring?” Reid pressed.

  “Not in the least,” I said. “Let’s talk about you. What kind of banking do you invest?”

  Reid looked confused. I’m not going to lie. Numbers confuse me. I have no idea what an investment banker does. My idea of investing is buying new Converse.

  “I take money from my clients and invest in various things,” Reid said.

  “Why?”

  “To make them more money.”

  “If they’re already rich, why do they need more money?” I asked. Yes, I know, that’s rich coming from a woman who grew up in a castle. I’m a hypocrite. Don’t judge me.

  “Well, if you look at it that way, I guess it does seem absurd,” Reid said.

  “How do you look at it?”

  “I’m helping my clients increase their wealth,” Reid replied. “The richer I make them, the richer I make myself.”

  “Oh, fun.”

  “I take it you’re not a capitalist,” Reid said, laughing.

  “I’m an Aquarius.”

  Reid scanned my face. “Are you joking?”

  “Nope. I’m a free spirit and thinker. I’m definitely an Aquarius.”

  “Okay,” Reid said, glancing around the restaurant. “Where is that waitress?”

  I internally smirked. “She’ll be along,” I said. “So, tell me about your clients.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who are they?”

  “I’m fenced in by certain rules,” Reid said. “My clients expect anonymity.”

  “Why?”

  “Because … people might try to rob them.”

  “Is that really the reason?” I asked.

  “I … yes.”

  He was lying. “Do you do anything else on the side?” That was such a stupid question. The incoming PMS was making me irrational – and stupid.

  “Like what?” Reid asked, shifting nervously.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I hedg
ed, wracking my brain. “Do you ever take money from criminals and funnel it into legal avenues to wash it?” I am a moron.

  Reid was taken aback. “Are you asking me if I’m a money launderer?”

  Part of me wanted him to know I was on to him. He thought he was snowing me, and power is important in a relationship. Of course, I’d ceded my power now because Reid knew I was smarter than I looked. That’s always my mistake. “Of course not,” I said. “I just wondered if you had mobsters for clients.”

  “Mobsters?”

  I thought quickly. “Sonny on General Hospital is a mobster who owns a coffee business,” I explained. “He also does work at a bank all the time. He’s hot, too.”

  “You know I don’t really work at a bank, right?”

  No. I didn’t know that. I need to start reading the business pages of the newspaper. “Of course. I’m not stupid.”

  “No,” Reid agreed. “You are hot, though.”

  I didn’t like the predatory look on his face. “You should see me in the morning,” I said. “I look like a wildebeest.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Definitely not. “Where is that waitress?”

  Reid smiled. He was back in control of our date. “Tell me about your family.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “We’re like the Osmonds.”

  Reid’s face was conflicted. “That singing family from the eighties?”

  “Seventies,” I corrected.

  “Is that better?”

  “It depends on how much you value singing,” I replied.

  “Uh-huh.”

  I was back in control. “Is something wrong?”

  “I feel like I’m on a dating show,” Reid admitted. “Have you been checked to see whether you have a chemical imbalance?”

  “I have PMS.” What? Men are scared of women stuff – and their parts.

  “I see.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sinking into my role. “I’m a bloated and hormonal mess. I could snap you like a twig right now.”

  It was a warning, and it wasn’t lost on Reid. “Good to know.”

  “Do you know PMS has been a legitimate defense in murder cases?” I was on a roll now.

  “I hadn’t heard that.” Reid shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m also licensed to carry a concealed weapon.” Technically, pepper spray is a weapon. Unfortunately, Jerry used the last of my stash when he was convinced the neighbor was stalking him because he was “hot for his bod” – and also a homophobe. No, I can’t explain it.