Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

collection, I might be able to tell you what is missing.”
    â€œI think the whole collection is missing. Except for the walking stick.” I saw no need to tell him that the fae had gotten some of it back.
    He whistled. “So it was a robbery.”
    â€œThat’s what it looks like. If I can prove that, then my friend is no longer a good suspect.”
    The Gray Lords didn’t want any mortals knowing that they had magical artifacts, and I could see their point. The problem was that the Gray Lords could be ruthless in making sure that no word got out. Tim already knew too much.
    â€œDid Fideal know about the collection?” I asked.
    Tim considered it. “No. I don’t think so. O’Donnell didn’t like him, and Fideal never went to O’Donnell’s house. I think the only ones he showed it to were Austin and me.”
    â€œOkay.” I took a deep breath. “Look, it might be dangerous to know about that collection. If he did manage to find something that belonged to the fae, they wouldn’t want that known. And you, of all people, know how ruthless they are. Don’t talk to the police or anyone else about it for now.”
    â€œYou do think it was a fae who killed him,” Tim said, sounding a little taken aback.
    â€œThe collection is gone,” I said. “Maybe one of the fae sent someone after it, or maybe someone else believed O’Donnell’s stories and wanted it. I might be able to figure out more, if I knew what he had. Could you make a list of what you remember?”
    â€œMaybe,” he said. “I only saw it the once. How about I do my best to write it down and we can take a look at them tonight?”
    I remembered that I’d called him to cancel our dinner.
    He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. “If I have all day to think about it, I should be able to put together most of it. I’ll see Austin at school; we usually do lunch together. He saw O’Donnell’s collection, too, and he’s a pretty decent artist.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Yes, I know. Good looks, intelligence, and talented, too. He can do anything. If he wasn’t so nice, I’d hate him, too.”
    â€œDrawings would be terrific,” I said. I could compare them to the drawings in Tad’s friend’s book. “Just remember that this is dangerous stuff.”
    â€œI will. See you tonight.”
    I hung up the phone.
    I ought to call Adam and tell him what I was doing. I dialed the first number and then hung it up. It was easier to get forgiveness than permission—not that I should need permission. Getting a list of what O’Donnell had stolen was a good enough reason that Adam would understand why I went to Tim’s house. He might get mad, but he wouldn’t be hurt.
    And Adam angry was really an awesome sight. Was I a bad person that I enjoyed it?
    Laughing to myself, I went to work.
    Â 
    Tim opened his own door this time, and the house smelled of garlic, oregano, basil, and fresh-baked bread.
    â€œHi,” I said. “Sorry I’m late. It took me a while to get the grease out from under my nails.” I’d taken Gabriel and some chains out to the Rabbit after work and towed it home with my Vanagon. It had taken a little longer than I’d expected. “I forgot to ask what to bring so I stopped and picked up some chocolate for dessert.”
    He took the paper bag and smiled. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but chocolate is—”
    I sighed. “A girl thing, I know.”
    His smile widened. “I was going to say, it is always good. Come in.”
    He led me through the house and into the kitchen, where he had a small bowl of Caesar salad.
    â€œI like your kitchen.” It was the only room that seemed to have a personality. I’d been expecting oak cabinets and granite counter tops and I’d been right about the counters. But the cabinets were cherry, and contrasted nicely with the dark gray counters. Nothing too daring, but at least it wasn’t bland.
    He looked around with a frown. “Do you think it looks all right? My fiancée— ex -fiancée—told me I needed a decorator for the kitchen.”
    â€œIt’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