Blood Always Tells Hilary Davidson (e reader comics .txt) 📖

“You’re going to… what?”

She nodded, suddenly animated. “I have to cremate Gary first, of course. But then I’m sending the ashes to a lab that filters out the carbon until you’re just left with graphite. They heat that up in some kind of volcano pressure cooker, and voilà! A diamond.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Well, it’s a synthetic diamond, of course. But I think it will be rather striking in the right setting.” She held out her right hand and wriggled her index finger. “That’s my father.”

Desmond stared at the square-cut diamond in disbelief. He was speechless.

“It’s rather a lovely princess cut, isn’t it?” Trin said.

“You turned… your own father… into a diamond?”

“Don’t look so horrified. It’s not as if I killed him. When he was alive, my father took great pleasure in controlling my life.” She pulled her hand back and stared at the ring. “Now, I control his remains. Oh, he had a long list of requirements about his funeral and burial. I had to follow those to the letter. But after that was done…” She held the diamond up to the light, wriggling her fingers. “Voilà!”

Desmond stared at her, realizing he was in the presence of madness. There were people on the streets, shoeless in winter, sporting tinfoil hats and screaming at invisible adversaries who were less demented than this expensively groomed heiress.

“You’re resolutely parochial, aren’t you?” Trin observed. “You’re not much fun.” She dragged on her cigarette. “Costa!” she called.

He appeared in moments, panting slightly, as if he’d run at the sound of her voice.

“Fetch the file on my dressing table.”

Costa frowned, but rushed back down the hallway.

Trin rubbed her nose. “Where were we?”

“Did you have your brothers turned into diamonds, too?” Desmond asked.

Trin narrowed her feline eyes. “No, I didn’t. That hadn’t occurred to me then. When Byron died, I was still at finishing school. It was…” Her voice trailed off. She seemed almost lost for a moment. “He’s buried in London, in the family crypt at Highgate. What my father envisioned as the family crypt, I mean. It hasn’t been in the family for long. And it’s in East Highgate, not West Highgate.” Her eyes met Desmond’s. “I can see that distinction means nothing to you. Let’s just say that it wasn’t precisely the real estate my father wanted, but sometimes there are limits on what money can buy.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Poor Byron is all alone there.”

“What about your other brothers?”

“I couldn’t care less about those two.” Her face was hard again, but it softened slightly. “I suppose it wasn’t terribly nice of me to remove their remains, or father’s, but I knew Byron wouldn’t want to spend eternity with that lot any more than I’d want to.”

Costa returned with a leather folder dyed the bright blue of a robin’s egg, and handed it to Trin. “Computers are inelegant,” she said, grasping it and flipping through pages. “I much prefer paper stock.”

Desmond watched her, vaguely fascinated. “What are you looking for?”

“Aha. Found it.” She scanned a couple of pages. “Just refreshing my memory.” The tip of her tongue flicked out like a lizard’s. “You were divorced almost two years ago, just after you retired from the Army. Interesting timing. Easy split, no children. I suppose your wife wasn’t keen to have you at home.”

“How—”

“This is why you’re so parochial. Joining the military, becoming a helicopter pilot, flying combat and reconnaissance missions.” She shook her head, as if saddened by the waste of a life. “Even when you became a civilian again, you kept up all those rescue missions, flying sick children and orphaned puppies around. It’s as if you’re waiting for someone to pin a medal on you. Or maybe you’re fueled by guilt.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Your family history’s a bit of a sob story, isn’t it? Your mother murdering Dominique’s father, then dying in jail. Awful stuff. Maybe that’s where your rescue complex comes from.” She lit a fresh cigarette.

“Why the hell would you have a file on me?”

“My father’s policy was that we should always be prepared. When Gary started sleeping with your sister, we had your whole family checked out.” She blew a long plume of smoke at him. “It was a very short list, which made it easy.”

She wasn’t just crazy, Desmond realized. There was a wide sadistic streak in her.

“When my houseboy said you were coming over this morning, I decided to dust it off,” she added.

He leaned forward. “Funny you talk about family. Your father was married, what, four times? When he divorced a woman, he paid her off so he could keep the kids. Must’ve really screwed up your head when it came to men.”

“It was an excellent cautionary tale, actually.” Her eyes were hard as diamonds. “It kept me from developing any stupid fantasies about human motivation. Everyone is completely selfish and only looks out for themselves.”

“And yet you married Gary.”

“That was my father’s decision.” She stubbed out her cigarette so hard the end table trembled.

“Your father forced you to get married? You were no child bride. You obviously went along with it.”

“It was that or be disinherited.” She reached for another cigarette. “Which wasn’t exactly a choice, you know.”

“I guess after thirty years of playing with daddy’s money, the prospect of getting a job must’ve terrified you.”

“The only thing that frightens me is the idea that I might show up at a party and find another woman wearing the same dress. That’s going to happen one day with that witch Daphne Guinness, I just know it.”

“So you married Gary to keep up your fashion budget? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “It wasn’t only about money. I was the only heir left. My father said it was up to me to carry on the family line.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “He didn’t understand that I never wanted to marry anyone. Not ever. I might have been able to carry it