Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select) (8 page)

“What I have in mind is anything but professional,” he said.

Yancy cleared his throat. “Lipschitz, a message for you.”

Lipschitz grabbed the note. Color drained from his face. I craned my neck for a look-see: “
Life’s short. Don’t be a dick. Lay off the girl. Bintliff.
”

I read it again, after which I wondered—feared—I was the girl it referred to. And if so, it had to be a ploy to make me appear even guiltier of Otto’s murder. “That’s a lot of drama,” I said with feigned airiness. “What does it mean?”

“Acting the innocent?” He raised his head, met my gaze. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that.”

I drew in a determined breath. “I asked you a question.” It was not that I wanted to make him angrier, but I refused to show fear. “Well?”

“Good try.” He’d seen through me. “After your statement, you’ll be free to go.” He tucked a hand at my back, nudged me forward. “This way.”

I refused to move. “Who’s Bintliff?”

He crumpled the note and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket. “Like you don’t know.”

I looked across the desk toward Yancy.

He shrugged. “Sounded like Marlon Brando in
The Godfather
to me.”

“Run that by me again,” I said. “
The Godfather
?”

“Yeah,” he said, and then he treated us to a rather spiffy Marlon Brando rendition. “Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Would you say the voice on the phone was natural, or was it disguised?” I asked.

Yancy looked up, thinking.

“Enough of this.” Lipschitz grabbed my arm. “Nice to see you rub elbows with the common man.”

“Nice tone,” I said. “You feeling hostile?”

“I don’t like being muscled.”

“That makes two of us.” I yanked my arm free. “That note is a mystery to me—” I had a sudden thought. “Bintliff has something on you, doesn’t he?”

His eyes were frigid cold. “I knew it was a mistake to drag your ass down here.”

“Why did you, then? It was easy enough to take my statement at the scene.”

“Looking at you now, I have no freaking idea,” he said.

Just then, a man wearing a scruffy bomber jacket walked in, dragging his feet, mumbling nonsense. He fell silent, seeming uncertain of what to do now. He gave Yancy a long glance, then shifted to me and scowled. Mumbling again, he hauled out a small spray bottle from beneath his copycat Indiana Jones hat and sprayed a mist around his head and neck. The sterilizing smell of bleach reached me.

Lipschitz shot the man a pitying look. “Walter! You know the drill, no complaints here. Go to the front desk. Go,” he insisted when Walter did not move. “Or I’ll lock you up for vagrancy.”

Walter ignored him again and fished out a red toy whip from his over-the-shoulder satchel, and watched it snake to the floor. “Officer Lipschitz, see my new sidekick. Cool, huh?”

“Yeah, cool. Now get going.” Lipschitz stepped away to use his cell phone.

Walter assumed a sulky posture, shoulders low and bent as he crept to the doors. When he inched around for one final look, his eyes were jumpy and roving. Snapping the whip against his thigh, he whirled to leave. He was smiling.

I shot Yancy a wide-eyed look. “You realize there’s something off about that guy?”

Yancy nodded.

I turned at the sound of footsteps.

Detective Talon strode into the lobby, making a beeline for Solo. A faint moan echoed behind me. I shifted. Yancy’s mouth was open, his eyes moony.

“Fine place, Scotland,” he said.

“Not so loud,” I whispered, boosting my words with a nod toward Lipschitz.

Yancy nodded, but never took his eyes off Talon.

Talon and Solo fell into conversation, with Talon’s Scottish brogue resonating throughout the room. Mellow. Smooth.
Dreamy
.

Yancy moaned again.

I leaned over. “Cover your ears,” I told him.

“But that accent,” he said, breathless.

“I know,” I said. “It makes me all tingly.”

“Talon,” Lipschitz called out. “Take a quick statement from Island Boy, then drive to the Rosenberg residence. I’ll meet you there.” His cell phone rang, so he answered it.

When Talon shifted his eyes to mine, and his lips curved into a killer smile, Yancy blubbered out, “Omigod.”

Lipschitz came back and cupped my elbow. “Let’s go.”

“What?” I said, brows quirked. “No Miranda rights, thumb screws?”

“Next time, Rylie. Bank on it.”

I ignored his fingers digging into my skin as I walked down the hall in what I hoped was dignified grace. I was thinking about this Bintliff character. Who was he, and what was I to him? That’s assuming I was the referenced girl. My little voice told me I was, especially since Lipschitz had cleaned up his act a split second after reading the note.

I sat at a spectacular black walnut inlaid table. Good to see our tax dollars at work. Knowing we were being taped and possibly watched through the two-way mirror, I forced myself to relax. Inhale through the nose, exhaled through the mouth. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.

Lipschitz sat across the table from me, folded his hands. Several moments passed before he spoke. “You’ve been up all night?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Is it yes, or no?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said.

“Where were you?”

“Suicide Trestle,” I said.

“Why?”

“I’m hoping to help someone considering suicide.”

“Fascinating,” he said blandly. “When did you last see Otto Weiner alive?”

“Yesterday”

“Care to elaborate?”

“FoY’s dining room. Dinner, around four pm,” I said. “Or supper as people called the evening meal for centuries.”

His brows rose, dropped. “Did you kill Otto Weiner?”

“No.”

“Did you have anything to do with his death?”

“No.”

Deadpan stare. “Do you have information shedding light on his murder?”

Where to start?
“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Otto was cranky.”

“Cranky,” he repeated. “Have you ever had a disagreement with Mr. Weiner?” He leaned in. “Perhaps one involving the little finger?”

“Pinky wrestling over piddle and killing a man are two different things.”

He leaned back in his chair, grinning, but his eyes still challenged. “Let me guess, you got nothing but sunshine hanging over your head.”

I decided to use my gift horse. “Back off, Lipschitz, or I’ll tell Bintliff.”

He clenched his hands on the desk, knuckles whitening. “I’m guessing you also know nothing about the letter found in Otto Weiner’s pocket.”

“That would be a good guess. What’d it say?”

“Apparently the way you drive pissed him off. Seems you cannot keep off the center reflectors. Driving by Braille, it’s called.”

I laughed. “Sounds like Otto. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I take my kicks where I can get ’em. How about s’mores—do they do it for you?”

“So liking s’mores is illegal now?”

“I’m sure we can find some law against eating them while killing an old man.”

The wheels of intrigue spun faster. “S’mores are connected, how?”

“One was plastered to the back of Mr. Weiner’s head.”

All the air left my lungs. The killer had been someone at the fundraiser. “Damn,” I said.

“Easy on the swearwords. I might fall in love.”

“You did that once already,” I said absently.

His features hardened. “Don’t worry. I have better taste now.”

His nasty response defused some of my shame for bringing up our painful past, but only some, yet still I could not bring myself to apologize. “Is that why you’re doing this, out of revenge?”

He ignored me. “Did Leland Rosenberg have reason to kill Otto?”

“Not to my knowledge— No, he didn’t.”

“Then you are unaware of a threatened lawsuit by Mr. Weiner? Something about a fountain, citing negligence against FoY.”

“Pleeeezzze, there are at least a dozen witnesses who saw Otto splash the water from the fountain, set off in a jog, and slide on the puddle. Otto wanted the fountain gone.”

“Why?”

“It was a painful reminder of the Holocaust. He was imprisoned at Auschwitz.”

He grunted. “Leland Rosenberg lost family at Auschwitz?”

“He erected the fountain as a memorial to his great grandmother. She died there.”

Another grunt. “Have you a connection to Doris and Cokey Bill Oley before today?”

“No, never.”

“In your statement to Detective Barclay, you said Doris Oley asked whether you were in cahoots with Leland Rosenberg. In cahoots is an odd term to use in reference to a legitimate acquisition of fish, is it not?”

Hell, yes.
“The Oleys were…eh, colorful.”

“And they said they did as they were told, yes? Maybe by Leland Rosenberg?”

“Listen, the details may be sketchy—”

“No, you listen. There is no proof Cokey Bill Oley said those words, other than your say-so. And—” He hesitated a moment. “There is no proof you were run off the road either. Might be you just fell asleep at the wheel. It’s as easy as ABC to see that staying up all night has made you tired.”

I looked tired.
“Karl, be reasonable. Why would I lie?”

“You tell me,” he said. “Can you think of any reason why Leland Rosenberg would want you silenced, or dead, other than the fact that you’re irritating as hell?”

“Good one,” I admitted. “Is this about Cokey Bill’s extra money comment?”

He didn’t answer, just nodded.

I stared at him, outraged at first, then sick. My statement had only fueled their case against Leland. “He isn’t a murderer. I’d stake my job on it.”

“Hope you have your résumé polished.”

“What’s your problem?”

“What did you expect, roses?” he asked.

“Damn it, Karl. If you have a beef with me, keep it with me. Don’t take it out on Leland. He’s innocent. And I can prove it. He wanted me to dump the trash from the fundraiser last night. He insisted on it.”

“You should give some thought to buying a watch. Last I checked sunrise this morning isn’t the same as last night.”

I raised my hands, let them drop. “How many times do I have to tell you? I had a fender-bender last night.”

“Mind your attitude, Rylie. Your nerves are showing.”

I drew in a breath and decided to take the lead. “Have you a list of others the Oleys did odd jobs for? Would you let me see it?”

He laughed so hard he fell into a fit of coughing. “I wondered when you were going to try and turn the tables. So annoying how you used to yammer on all the time in high school about wanting to be a PI. Well, you know what? I’m kind of digging it, you pretending to be an investigator. It gets me hot.”

Now it was my turn to ignore him. “I’ve a right to know what’s going on. Someone—someone not Leland involved me in this. They almost killed me.”

“What are you saying? You want to work together on this?”

I didn’t laugh, but I was wary. “Maybe.”

“Well, forget it,” he said. “And if I get even a whiff that you’re looking into this case, I’ll arrest you for obstruction.”

No shocker. I had expected it. “Oh, about that old PI daydream nonsense,” I said lightly to divert him. “It was teenage stuff, nothing more. But permit me to point out that you wanted to be a chemist in high school. Something about making targeting pesticides to rid the world of butterflies. Funny, you don’t look like a butterfly hater, Karl.”

“Butterflies,” he said with a barely visible shudder. “Back on point. How about Booth Jackson? Have you ever witnessed tension between him and Otto Weiner?”

“Once. They argued about which was better, collard greens, or gefilte fish.”

“Was the argument heated?”

Everything involving Otto was heated
. “A little.”

“Anything else you wish to disclose?”

I shook my head.

He asked me for a detailed timeline from last night. When I wandered off point on how Elsa Utterback had blamed Otto for tossing her cane into the bonfire, only to have Gilad Kupper remind her that Otto had been too chicken-shit to come to the fundraiser, he yawned.

A loud rap sounded and the door flew open. “Officer Lipschitz!” a man yelled. “I want to make a noise complaint. The voices in my head won’t shut up.”

I turned to see Walter, the Indiana Jones wannabe, staring at me. His restless eyes were jumping even more now. After a frantic search beneath his hat, the spray bottle appeared for a second time. His manner was nervous, his appearance horror-struck. With all the flourish of a Shakespearian actor, he sanitized the air with another round of disinfectant.

I was about to tell him to cut it out when I caught sight of someone running up behind him. As though feather-light, Yancy grabbed Walter from behind and lifted him off his feet. “Now, you’re just being silly,” Yancy said. “Too much disinfectant only makes germs immune.”

Walter squirmed, wagging his head. “I got rights, don’t I? Don’t I? Let me go!”

“Sheesh,” Yancy said, nose scrunched. “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“Take him to the front desk,” Lipschitz said. “Zach is a sucker for whack-jobs.”

Half carrying, half pushing, Yancy hauled Walter away, leaving us alone again.

“Lipschitz—” I broke off as our eyes locked. I saw disgust in those mean blue orbs. Over the years, I had seen many things there: desire, frustration, anger. But never disgust.

“Save it, Rylie.” He pushed back his chair where it hit the wall with a
bang
. “You wanna know what I think? I think Leland Rosenberg killed Otto Weiner and recruited you for help. Only you had an accident before disposing of the body.”

I had to swallow. “Really? Disposing of the body, how?”

His pastel eyes blinked, not twice, but three times. “The laboratory’s incinerator.”

Gulp.

~Don’t worry, ladies. There’s plenty to go around~

I lost no time in getting away from Lipschitz, slowing only as I entered the rear police lobby. There, I spotted Solo sleeping in the same chair as earlier, his head back against the wall, mouth wide open, snoring like a kitten. The lobby hummed with activity, though neither Yancy nor the bleach wheeling Indiana Jones wannabe was anywhere in sight.

As I stood there, my grandfather pushed through the outside doors. Not the best situation, but not a surprise either. I had left a note and he was very familiar with police procedure. At sixty-four, his full head of rich pewter hair meshed great with his rosy skin. His eyes were more teal than Leprechaun green like mine. Clamped in his hands was his most recent masterpiece: a beautiful blown glass Chinook salmon in shades of amber, gray, and gold. It glittered in the sunlight when he placed it on the coffee table to greet an officer walking by. Then he rushed over to me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“And Solo?” he asked with a glance his way.

I nodded again.

When Granddad smiled behind his bifocals, I experienced one of those wonderful moments of childlike joy followed by gloom. I had to tell him I might soon be unemployed.

“You didn’t answer your cell, so I called Alistair,” he said. “He told me the details on the accident, and about those vile people, the Oleys. You sure you’re okay?” After I reassured him that I was fine, he asked, “Have you any idea who killed Otto?”

“Not a one.” Poor Granddad, he still looked worried. “I’m okay.” I pulled him into a hug.

“Thank the Lord.” He clumsily patted my back with one hand. It was a genuine hug on his part, I knew that, and his worried words and anxious tone of voice were heartfelt, but I couldn’t help wanting more. It was as though he needed a protective wall between us, maybe in case I ran away like my mother, leveling the final blow to his already bruised heart. No way would I ever do that. I felt guilty just thinking about it.

Granddad pulled back, his eyes not leaving my face. “It’s awful, just awful someone involving you.”

“My guess is that I was supposed to be found with the body,” —I left off “dead” on purpose; I did not like his pallor— “and unable to defend myself.”

Nevertheless, more fear crept across his face. “That settles it. I can’t leave, can’t go to the craft fair.”

“Granddad.” I grabbed his wringing hands, held them in mine. “The danger is over. Their plan was foiled.”

“But—” He broke off when another officer paused to say hello, then turned back to me. “Rylie, I don’t know—”

“We need the money.” I squeezed his hand, prepared
again
to tell him how another job might slip away from me. “Because of the accident, Leland may have to let me go. The insurance company could insist on it.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. With the area humming with more officers waving or stopping for a moment to greet him, I fell silent. He was going to the craft fair, period. I just had to convince him.

“It’s only for a day,” I said once we were alone again. “Go sell your work. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded. He knew I was right. “How did the interview go?”

“Not bad. He took my statement. No fuss, no muss,” I said, steering clear of Lipschitz’s accomplice theory in order to not worry him even more. I looked over at Solo, whose eyes were blinking open. “Good nap?”

He rose and joined us. “Epic. I feel like a new man.”

“Don’t let yourself get too tired, son,” Granddad said. “You could make a mistake and get hurt on that circus bike of yours. We would hate to lose you. You’re family now.”

Solo smiled. “Thanks, mawn.”

“Did you hit your head in the accident?” Granddad pointed to my temple, his finger close but not touching. “Looks like you have a small bruise.”

“It’s nothing. I’d already forgotten about it,” I said.

“So have you heard from Leland?” he asked.

“Not a word. It’s crazy. He’s just vanished,” I said.

“Maybe Nava and he patched things up,” Granddad said. “Maybe they’ve gone off together to be alone.”

Why would Booth have his cell phone, then?

“Maybe,” I said, as I knew Granddad wanted those two back together. He always said, “A happy man marries the girl he loves. A happier man loves the girl he marries.” This sentiment, of course, explained why my mother refusing to marry—or even reveal—my father’s identity before she took off, further crushed Granddad.

“Rylie—”

I blinked at him. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I was just telling Solo about your interview with Detective Lipschitz,” he said. “He seemed surprised it went so well. Why is that?”

“Nothing, really. We’ve just never liked each other much ever since high school.”

“Good heavens,” Granddad said. “He behaved himself, I hope. Acted gallant.”

I tried not to, but I laughed at the word gallant. “He was fine,” I said.

“And Suicide Trestle,” Granddad said. “How did it go?”

“A total bust,” I said.

Solo nudged me. “No worries. Winter is coming. Jumpers come out in droves then.”

I brightened, even though it made me feel like a ghoul.

“So are you all ready to leave for Portland?” Solo asked Granddad.

His lips tightened and he cast a worried glance at me. “The Jetta is all packed, jammed with over a hundred pieces, but—”

Solo seemed to understand. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “I won’t let Rylie get hurt. She’ll be fine. Reason says the danger has passed with the discovery of Otto’s body. But still, you can count on me to protect her.”

A relieved smile lit up Granddad’s face. “You know if I sell all my glass pieces at the craft fair, we should be able to manage this month’s tax payment.”

“Halleluiah!” Solo said. “And if I sell my back-up circus bike that should give us a good start on next month’s, too.”

I touched his arm. “But you need that bike for when the other one breaks, which if the last year was any guide, that’s
all
the time.”

“But I wanna help,” he insisted.

“You’re sweet, but we can’t let you do that. Can we, Granddad?”

“She’s right, son. Plus, what am I going to use once you teach me how to do some of those fancy moves of yours? I’m anxious to learn. It looks like fun.”

I doubted riding a circus bike counted as fun for seniors. More like exercise for those with nothing to live for.

“Over my dead body,” I said and watched the happiness drain from Granddad’s face. I was not sure I could ever find the words to express how much I feared losing him, so I forced a laugh instead. “Don’t mess with me. I’m a Girl Scout.”

“You quit Girl Scouts,” he said wearily. “Remember?”

I could only nod.

“Yancy told me that Lipschitz got a note that upset him,” Solo said.

I blinked. “Note?”

“Yeah, before he interviewed you. He said it was from some mafia dude and it was about you.” Solo swung an arm around my shoulder. “Girlfriend, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to associate with the mob? Prison time, mawn, that’s all those dudes bring. Not that you wouldn’t look nice in jailhouse orange.” He lifted a chin-length lock of my red hair, and let it fall. “You are an autumn after all.”

“Where this all fits in, I don’t know, but it seems I’m in debt to a man named Bintliff,” I said and relayed the details of the cryptic note.

“Crazy, mawn. A tricked out Godfather in your corner,” Solo said.

“Ever heard the name Bintliff?” I asked Granddad.

“No, not that I can think of. Very strange, that note.”

“Very strange,” Solo repeated.

Granddad checked his watch. His face wrinkled as he stared at it.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

He looked up, and seemed to think a moment longer. “I want to say hello to Alistair before I leave, show him how I’ve been keeping busy since retirement.” Though he loved glass blowing, his tone hinted at sarcasm. In his heart, nothing could take the place of detective work. He picked up the gleaming Chinook salmon from where he had placed it on the table, and cradled it in his hands. “Rylie, why don’t you call a few friends, have them over for pizza. The company would be good for you.”

Safety in numbers was what he really meant. “Sounds fun,” I said in lieu of actually saying, “No can do, I have a murder to solve.”

“Great,” he said, “but make sure everyone stays off the deck. Without railings, it’s too dangerous to stand on. Hopefully, we’ll be able to replace it soon,” he added and strode away.

Once he disappeared down the hall, I turned. “Go ahead, confirm what I’m thinking.”

Solo’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Two things come to mind. Your grandfather is worried, but knows he has to go to Portland. And—”

“He’s going to ask Alistair to keep an eye on me,” I finished.

“Roger that,” he said. “You know whatever Alistair sees or learns he’ll pass on to him. He might even figure out that you’re investigating this murder. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’ll think of something.”

Nearby, the restroom door opened
.
Yancy rushed out, fluttering a hand to his flushed face. Troubled by it, I watched him hurry to the station desk.

I took a step to see if I could help when Solo exclaimed, “Great Scott!”

“A wee
bairn,
I was, when last I heard me
mither
call me that pet name,” a voice from behind said.

I whipped around. Detective Talon approached. As he did, his amazing azure eyes roamed our faces, but lingered on mine. I had the sudden and foolish urge to tidy my hair.

“My apologies,” he said at my side. “’Twas a tasteless thing to utter. As I live and breathe, ye must be Rylie Tabitha Keyes.”

Our eyes met again, locked. He was even hotter close up. “Nice to meet you.”

He caught my hand, held it. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”

His wooing tone surprised me. “That’s generous of you, being that Lipschitz is your partner and I’m practically at the top of his most wanted list.”

“Right list, wrong guy,” he said.

I was startled. “You think I killed Otto, too?”

He glanced at Solo, laughed. “Wordplay is lost on some people.”

Now I got it. He was toying with me, but that was cool. Two could play at that game.

“It’s so funny how your accent is stronger than before,” Solo said.

Talon’s smile was slow and easy.
Devastating
. “Aye, lad, a wee bird told me Rylie finds a Scottish brogue a might tingly. I aim to please ye, lassie.”

Cheeks burning, I leaned back to eyeball Yancy. He ducked under his desk.

“Don’t blame the lad.” Talon’s eyes twinkled. “He was splashing his face in the men’s room. I do believe he is coming down with something. He was quite flushed.”

“Yeah, a blabbermouth virus,” I said with a healthy drip, drip, drip of sarcasm.

“Be aware.” He stared at me. “Only owls hunt in silence.”

My awareness was focused on only one thing: my weakening knees. “Your point?”

“Owls are solitary creatures, Rylie. Something you’re not.”

I had to grin. More wordplay. “Oh, I dunno, some say I do my best work at night,” I said, toying with him right back.

But he didn’t react, only turned to Solo, waved good-bye, then turned back again to me. “A moment of your time, please, in private.”

I bit my lip. “Sure,” I said finally.

He led me to the door. There, he pushed his card into my hand. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. My cell number is on the back.”

I glanced around, expecting to see Lipschitz laughing at their practical joke. Instead, I met only Talon’s serious blue eyes. “All right, if you tell me what this is all about.”

He pushed open the door, but didn’t move to leave. “An old Scottish proverb foretells that a bad penny always returns.” He caught my wrist, holding it long enough to show his sincerity. “Have a care, lass.”

My skin burned beneath his touch. “You’re warning me? About who?”

“I’ve questions for you as well, but now is not the time,” he said. “Dinner tonight?”

My head was spinning. “Not a good idea, I’m a suspect, remember?”

“It wouldn’t have been much of a test if I hadn’t remembered.” And on that unhelpful, enigmatic comment, he strode into the parking lot, climbed into an unmarked squad car, and drove away.

After several long breaths, I returned to Solo, who was back in the chair reading another magazine. “Mind-boggling,” I said, shaking my head.

“All things considered he just might be.”

I shoved my hands onto my hips. “More riddles? Really?”

“Rylie, have you ever wondered why you’ve never told Zach how you feel?”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but he and I have been friends a long time,” I said, knowing that was an exhausted cop-out. “Look, what happens if he doesn’t feel the same way as I do? How would it be possible to go on as before?”

“True,” Solo admitted. “Things would change.”

“I would hate that.”

“In other words, you want things to stay the same.”

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no. Oh, hell, I don’t know what I want.”

“Exactly.” He tossed the magazine on the table and rose. “Detective Talon seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe, but I’m thinking he’s more a player, and I’m not into them. Players are like empty calories. Taste good, but come with a hefty price.”

“Like Twinkies, those little creamy devils,” he said. “But you’ll never know what’s inside until you take a bite. Rylie, what if you’re wrong? You don’t even know him.”

“Maybe,” I said, but the gamble wasn’t for me, nor was the sadness I had seen many friends suffer with
bad boys
. The ups and downs. The cheating, the regrets, the aching heart. “Let’s not get into this now. We have a murder to solve.”

“All right,” he said, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. “What I started to say earlier was there’s a restaurant on Lake Union called Great Scott Café. And guess what? It’s on Bintliff Pier.”

I stared at him for a moment. “Ah-ha.”

“Ah-ha, what?”

“No idea. I just always wanted to say that. But seriously, you might be on to something. Talon just warned me about someone.”