I exhaled. "I guess not."
It wasn't the most enthusiastic response, but he pocketed his sunglasses and steered me down the hall.
--
Gabriel agreed to give me ten minutes alone with Todd. When they brought my father in and he saw me, he grinned, and when he did, I remembered what the little girl said: that he was Cwn Annwn. Of their blood. Like Ricky. When Todd grinned, I saw it. Not a physical resemblance, but something in the way his grin sparked, easy and genuine.
When my smile faded, his grin vanished. He quickened his pace to the window and leaned forward to murmur, "You don't have to do this, Liv."
"I'm fine. How are you doing?"
Todd tried to hide a smile, and I relaxed in a laugh. "Okay. Dumb question. Sorry. I'm not very good at this."
"I'm fine," he said as he sat. "I'd say that I was rereading a Sherlock Holmes collection, but that might sound like I'm trying too hard. So I won't mention it."
"You just did."
"True, but I worded it in a way that I'm hoping will help me avoid looking like I'm trying too hard, while still giving us something to talk about. I read His Last Bow. It's horrible."
I laughed again. "It is not horrible. Maybe not his best--"
"Horrible. He should have quit while he was ahead. Yes, I know, the fans wouldn't let him, and he felt he had to bring Holmes back after Reichenbach Falls, but let's face it, it was about money, and it showed."
"Okay, to some degree yes, but . . ."
We chatted comfortably about the later Holmes works until Todd glanced over my shoulder and then got to his feet.
"Mr. Walsh," he said. "Good to finally meet you."
I made a show of gesturing at my watch, to say it hadn't been ten minutes, but Gabriel wasn't looking at me. He was staring at Todd, his head slightly tilted. Was he recognizing the fae blood? Or was it what I'd felt on my first visit, that Todd simply wasn't what he'd expected?
"I've heard a lot about you," Todd said.
Gabriel recovered then, pulling over a chair from the next window. "I'm sure you have," he said in a tone that made Todd laugh.
"Yes," Todd said. "Not all of it good, but what counts is that you've gotten closer than anyone to getting Pamela out of prison. Thank you for that. And for looking after Olivia."
Gabriel tensed, as if expecting a trap.
"I know about the arrest," Todd said. "Obviously you're out, which is good. While I'm hoping that means charges were dropped . . ."
"They weren't."
"But it was obviously a setup," Todd said. "Someone trying to make it look as if you were pinning James Morgan's murder on the real Valentine Killer. Maybe connected to this man who admitted to killing the Evans and Gunderson kids? The one who took his own life last week."
"Edgar Chandler. We're working various angles, including that one."
"Have you talked to . . . to my mother?" I asked.
"Not since I saw you. We speak a couple of times a month. After twenty years, there's not much to say beyond 'How are you doing?' and, as you might imagine, the answer to that doesn't change."
"One reason I'm asking . . . I should warn you, before you speak to her again, she's convinced Gabriel killed James."
"What?"
"He didn't," I said quickly. "He wouldn't. And he had an alibi. But even before he was arrested, Pam--my mother--"
"You can call her Pamela, Liv."