Poison Fruit

My bad feeling intensified.

“Hey!” I called. “What’s up? What’s going on?”

Glancing over at me, the chief held up one hand for silence and the conversation came to a halt. “Daisy.” The expression on his heavy face was grim. “We’re being sued.”

      Twenty-nine

I stared at Chief Bryant. “What do you mean we’re being sued? All of us? The Pemkowet PD?”

He shook his head. “Not the department.”

“It’s the PVB.” Behind the desk, Patty was unable to contain the news. “And the city and East Pemkowet and the township. They’re all named as codefendants.”

I shifted my blank gaze to her. “Who? How? Why?”

“It’s a class-action lawsuit to the tune of forty-five million dollars.” The chief’s mouth twisted in distaste. “The plaintiffs are suing for damages for physical, emotional, and psychological injuries sustained during the events of last October.”

I blinked. “Can they even do that?”

“Apparently so,” he said. “As far as I know, there’s no precedent, but a judge has certified the claim. That means that one way or another, it’s moving forward.” He drummed his thick fingers on the desk, scowling at me. “Guess which particular attorney filed the suit and has been appointed representative counsel for the plaintiffs?”

I drew in a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch!” It hit me then. One of the cars parked on the street where I’d felt the first tingle of wrongness had been a sleek silver Jaguar, a car I’d last seen hell-spawn lawyer Daniel Dufreyne getting into and driving away in, leaving me with unanswered questions.

“Excuse me,” I said, turning on my heel and heading for the door.

Outside, Daniel Dufreyne had emerged from his car in anticipation of my return. It looked like he was posing for a photo shoot for GQ. He wore a long, expensive-looking charcoal wool coat with a burgundy cashmere scarf around his neck, and he was leaning back against the hood of the Jaguar, feet propped on the curb clad in highly polished black oxfords, hands laced before him in black leather gloves that fit like, well, really expensive gloves.

He was smiling, his unnaturally white teeth gleaming. I struggled with the urge to punch him in those white, white teeth.

“Daisy Johanssen.” His voice turned my name into an unwelcome caress. “I was hoping to see you this morning.”

I gritted my teeth. “Why?”

Dufreyne’s smile widened like a shark’s. “Schadenfreude,” he said. “It means—”

“I know what it means!” I shouted. “It means you came here to gloat. What the hell do you have against Pemkowet? What the hell do you have against me?”

His smile vanished. “Why, I’ve got nothing whatsoever in the world against Pemkowet,” he said in a disingenuous tone. “It’s a charming little community. It’s not your fault that the conjoined local governments and the visitors bureau made bad decisions that led to a lot of innocent tourists suffering harm. All I want to do is ensure that redress is made, so it never happens again.”

“Bullshit,” I said bluntly. “You were here trying to buy property on behalf of some developer—Amanda Brooks’s property in particular. You can’t tell me that’s not a conflict of interest.”

“A point of correction.” Dufreyne held up one gloved finger. “I did facilitate the purchase of several parcels of land on behalf of Elysian Fields. Naturally, that party is concerned about property values declining based on governmental malfeasance.” He shrugged. “However, they have no stake in the outcome of this lawsuit beyond the general well-being of the community.”

“And bankrupting Amanda Brooks in the process, forcing her to sell her property, too?” I said.

A gleam of unholy amusement lit his black eyes. “The lawsuit doesn’t target Ms. Brooks as an individual. The fact that she happens to own a parcel of interest is entirely coincidental.”

Something about Dufreyne’s barely suppressed glee made me believe he was telling the truth. I remembered the map that Lee had shown me—God, it felt like months ago—with the red blotch of lots that Elysian Fields had purchased encroaching on Hel’s territory. The old Cavannaugh property that belonged to Amanda Brooks had been a decent-size wedge of unsold green, but it was dwarfed by Hel’s territory.

And that was owned by the City of Pemkowet.

My skin prickled under my old down coat. The reek of the hell-spawn lawyer’s wrongness filled my sinuses. “You don’t give a damn about the Cavannaugh property,” I whispered. “You’re going after Hel’s territory.”

Dufreyne widened his eyes in mock innocence. “Now, why in the world would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” My initial shock was giving way to a rising vortex of anger. “But if this lawsuit bankrupts Pemkowet’s tri-community governments, something’s going to have to be sold, isn’t it? Something big?”

“In the event of a decision in favor of the plaintiffs, the terms of the settlement would be determined by the presiding judge, Ms. Johanssen,” he said primly.

I ignored the comment. “Why? Who’s behind Elysian Fields? Is it Hades?” I asked. Dufreyne’s eyelids flickered. “I saw his mark on your palm.”

“Ah, is that what you think you saw?” His voice turned smooth and velvety. “You were mistaken.”