The man spotted me gawking at him and began walking my way. His precision-cut hair was the color of caramel but heavily streaked with gray. That coincided with the fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and mouth. He stopped in front of me, and I looked into those eyes. They were gray, so light as to be almost colorless, with a charcoal-colored ring around the irises. They were eerie, indeed, but the feature that really threw me was the newcomer’s mouth.
It was very familiar. Lord knew, I’d spent more time than I should have thinking about Steve Dawes’ mouth. About the way the upper lip curved, about how smooth the lower lip was. About how it felt on mine.
The gentleman’s lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth and then quirked up in a wry smile. That was all I needed to know for sure. This man had to be Steve’s father.
What in blazes? Steve drove a nice car, sure, but this guy was rich. He wore a suit the same dark gray as the ring around his irises. I’m no expert on sartorial elegance, but it looked plenty expensive.
“Ms. Lightfoot, it’s about time we met. I’m Heinrich Dawes.”
I put the empty bucket down on the ground. “Um, nice to meet you.” It sounded almost like a question.
He held out his hand. I glanced down and saw that the cuff of his crisp blue shirt was fastened with actual silver cuff links. Who wore cuff links anymore? And not silver. Of course not. They’d be platinum.
Half stunned, I transferred the bundle of plastic-wrapped cleaning rags to my left hand and began to reach out to shake his hand with my right. A soggy hunk of sausage meat dropped onto my foot and bounced wetly to the pavement of the driveway. I jerked my hand back, realizing it was still sticky with a combination of soap and soup, and heard Mungo slurping up the sausage next to my flip-flop. The faint scent of shrimp drifted into my nose.
If I could have crawled inside that bucket, I would have.
“Sorry. Just cleaning up a little accident. Would you like to come inside?” I heard the coolness in my tone regardless of my flushed face, and it made me feel a little better.
He dropped his hand, emanating ease. “That would probably be best.”
Best for what?
He followed me up the walk and into the house. As soon as we entered the enclosed space I could feel his power. It was like a live thing accompanying him. Some of it was the simple secular power that came from the kind of wealth Heinrich Dawes obviously enjoyed, but there was something else. Something more. Something from another plane. I was disconcerted to realize it felt familiar, as if it shared a signature, a scent even.
The scent of leather and cloves that I associated with his son.
Heinrich’s gaze flicked around the living room, up to the loft above, down the hallway to my bedroom, and beyond the French doors to the yard and gardens.
Examining and assessing.
Judging.
“Excuse me while I dispose of this. Please make yourself comfortable.” I nodded toward the purple fainting couch and went toward the kitchen. “May I get you something to drink, Mr. Dawes?”
“Heinrich, please. No, thank you, Katie. If I may call you that?”
“Sure,” I called over the sound of water running as I scrubbed my hands clean. A movement in my peripheral vision reminded me that Mungo had followed us in. Now he sat in the corner, eyes boring into me. I raised my eyebrows in question, and his little doggy forehead wrinkled.
When I returned to the other room he followed me as far as the doorway. He seemed to be as intrigued by our visitor as I was—but also leery.
Heinrich had settled into one of my two leather wingback chairs, so I sat on the couch, with the Civil War–era trunk that served as a coffee table between us. After a few seconds of hesitation, Mungo trotted over and joined me. I smiled at Steve’s dad and waited.
What do you want?
As if he read my mind, he said, “Naturally you’re wondering why I’ve so rudely dropped by unannounced.”
I kept smiling. “It’s nice to finally meet you, whatever the circumstances.” Did that sound rude?
Nah.
Yeah, maybe. But he had indeed shown up without the slightest warning.
He sat back. “My son thinks a great deal of you.”
Surely this wasn’t some kind of matchmaking mission? I cocked my head to one side, choosing my words carefully. “I’m quite fond of Steve as well.”
“He’s told me quite a bit about you.”
Like what? Steve had hardly even mentioned to me that he had a father.
But…mental palm slap to forehead. He’d said he had to talk to someone before telling me more about the tattooed wreath sigil. Was this the someone? Why else would Heinrich Dawes suddenly feel the need to meet me?
My stomach tightened.
Heinrich’s sweeping gesture encompassed the whole dwelling. “I see you are discreet about your practices, even in private.”
The fist in my solar plexus clenched harder. “Practices?”
“Please. The five-pointed rosemary topiary by the front door would be enough of a giveaway, even if I didn’t already know you’re a witch.” He settled his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. “And yes, my son is indeed correct. You have tangible power.”
Takes one to know one, I thought in silence. I wanted to hear what else he would say before I offered him anything.
“For a woman, of course.”
He waved his hand in the air as if my words were nothing more than a tendril of smoke. “The fact that you don’t put yourself on display with odd clothing choices or some silly altar in plain view confirms what Steve told me about your ability to keep things to yourself.”
I carefully did not look up to where my altar was hidden in the closed secretary desk in the loft above. “I see,” I grated out. Steve’s dad or not, in only a few sentences this man had cast aspersions on me personally and my gender as a whole.
He smiled, revealing those straight white Dawes teeth again. But now I saw the naked arrogance come through, which made his smile more feral than friendly.
“Steve tells me you happened upon an unfortunate this morning.”
I inclined my head a fraction. “That’s one way of putting it.” Now we were getting to the meat of why this man was in my living room.
“That must have been quite alarming.”
“It was…unpleasant,” I agreed, downplaying my reaction.
“I understand. But you handled yourself with aplomb, and I expect you to do the same regarding the tattoo on the man’s arm which has so aroused your curiosity.”
Arrogant and a chauvinist. Fine. I could work with that. Allowing my lips to curve up in a demure smile, I looked down at the floor and waited for him to say more.
Instead, he stood up. “So glad we got that straightened out. And of course it’s gratifying to get to know Steve’s new lady.”
I came to my feet, too, dumping Mungo on the couch cushion with a thump. “Hang on.”
His eyebrows raised an infinitesimal amount.
“First off, I’m no one’s ‘lady’ and certainly not your son’s. Secondly, what do you mean we have this straightened out? Because by ‘this’ I assume you mean the tattoo, and the, uh, group it implies membership in. Since you haven’t told me anything about it, I don’t really see a need for any of that discretion and aplomb you seem to assume I possess.”
Heinrich looked down his nose at me. With an effort, I stood my ground and willed cool confidence into my own expression.
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I see I may have been misled.”
Only by your own prejudices.
“All right,” he said. “Steve told me that Carmichael woman filled your head with a bunch of ridiculous nonsense. You need to put her fairy tales out of your mind. The tattoo you saw indicates membership in a very exclusive Savannah men’s club.” He licked his lips. “The Dragoh Society. If you must think of it at all, think of the club as a kind of Sons of the American Revolution.”
I considered him. “Really. So this Dragoh Society does the same kinds of things that the SAR does? You’re all about education and patriotism and the preservation of history, then? Pretty dull men’s club.”
His lips turned up, but you couldn’t really call it a smile. He inclined his head.
“You’re obviously a member,” I said.
A slight hesitation before he said, “I am.”
“So who did I find in Johnson Square this morning?”
“Ms. Lightfoot, I assure you I don’t have the slightest idea. There are many members, and we don’t all know each other.”
So much for Heinrich and me being on a first-name basis. I didn’t believe him, either. He knew who the dead man was.
I said, “Now that you’re aware the dead man had the club tattoo, you’ll naturally pass the information about this Dragoh Society on to the police.”
He frowned. “Why would—”
“To help them identify the body, of course.”
“Of course.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll make that my next stop.”
“Detective Peter Quinn,” I said.
He stopped in midstride and half turned back. “Who?”
“Peter Quinn. One of the detectives on the case. He’s a friend of mine.”
Now facing me, Heinrich slowly raised one finger. “Do not threaten me, Katie.”
“I wasn’t.”
The finger waggled slowly back and forth. “Not ever. You are now aware of the existence of a well-established men’s club that has been around for a very long time. That’s more than most women—people—know. Be happy with that, because you would be well advised to keep out of the society’s business.”
I heard the Command in the last sentence. It rolled off me like rain on polished glass, but I nodded as if it had worked as Heinrich Dawes intended. He’d told me all he was going to, and suddenly it felt imperative to get him out of my home.
“Okay,” I said, injecting a little sweetness into my tone. “Thank you. Say hello to Steve for me. It was lovely to finally meet you.” I smiled big and bright.
He seemed to buy it. “Likewise.”
I closed the door behind him and watched through the slats of the wooden shutter as his driver opened the door of the Town Car and Heinrich Dawes climbed inside. Mungo joined me. I picked him up and together we watched Steve’s dad being driven away.
The dog licked my chin.
“I know. There’s something off about that guy. I don’t know that it’s anything evil. An unfortunate combination of arrogance and power, perhaps.” I put Mungo down and thought about what my aunt did whenever she wanted to rid a space of negative influences. “Whatever it is, let’s dig out the white sage. You know Lucy would tell us to smudge this place from top to bottom.”
Yip!
At least Heinrich had gone back to calling me Katie before he left. I tried to think of that as a good thing.