"Yes, but that also puts us in his debt, which is why I was going to suggest Veronica."
I shook my head. "Patrick owes us, and he's a much better match for my mother."
Gabriel paused and then nodded. I called Patrick and told him that Pamela was out of prison and going after Seanna.
"Ah," he said.
"Going after her to kill her," I said. "Not to invite her to tea. In case that wasn't obvious."
"No, it was. I suspect even a tea between them would end in bloodshed. Seanna's blood, shed."
"This isn't a public service announcement, Patrick. I'm asking you to do something about it. To watch over Seanna."
"Ah."
My hand gripped the phone tighter. "Fine. Obviously, Gabriel was right. I should notify Veronica--the one elder in Cainsville who actually gives a shit."
"We all give a shit, Liv, in our way. If I sound overly calm at the prospect of Seanna's death, well, you can hardly blame me."
"It's not just her death. If she dies--" I stopped myself and glanced at Gabriel as I thought of Seanna's mark. "Speak to Veronica or Grace, okay? There's more to this. But if you'd rather not get involved, I can call Veronica."
"No, Veronica has many talents, but I don't want her going toe-to-toe with your mother. I'm too fond of our Veronica. I'll head over and keep an eye on Seanna."
"And speak to Grace. Please."
SACRILEGE
If I were going to kill Seanna Walsh, how would I do it?
It was not a question Patrick had difficulty answering. He'd considered it many times, in fantasy and even in fiction, having written a few characters in whom one might recognize aspects of his son's mother, all of whom met terrible--and terribly satisfying--fictional demises.
But now, as he stood on the corner of Main Street, the question was not how he'd do it, but how Pamela Larsen would. Which was another matter altogether.
First there was the problem of finding Seanna. He doubted Seanna had provided contact information to Pamela.
Oh, and in case you decide to escape prison so we might take tea, I'm currently residing in Grace's building in Cainsville.
Patrick did have to smile at the image, so helpfully provided by Liv, of Seanna and Pamela at tea.
Oh, my dear, you must try the cookies. The lethal dose of arsenic adds a lovely almond flavor.
No, much too obvious.
I know, Seanna darling, at our age, it can be so difficult to get a good sleep, but I've found an incredible cure, a most remarkable tea, the perfect blend of nightshade and belladonna.
Nice, but poison was easily detected and not really Pamela's style.
Please, Seanna dearest, do try the chicken sandwiches. I deboned them myself. Well, mostly.
Yes, that was more Pamela's style. Still, he might be forgiven if he held quite another image in mind, a much more satisfying teatime pictorial of Pamela Larsen lunging across the scones and cucumber sandwiches, knife in hand, snarling, "Die, bitch!"
Crude but effective.
Yet there would be no tea. Simply murder.
So, how will you find her, Pamela? You won't leave that to chance. You wouldn't set foot outside your prison walls until every detail had been planned.
Patrick might not know Pamela Larsen, but he knew her daughter. Take Liv's more deliciously devious side, multiply it tenfold, and he'd have Pamela.