I hold up a hand to stem his enthusiasm. "Uh-uh," I say firmly. "No. I don't want you to do anything. If your stepmom was involved in your dad's death, she's dangerous. Let me take care of it."

"But how-?" A craftiness creeps into his expression. "I know. Laura and I have to go to the funeral home today. To make arrangements. I'll leave Dad's study door open and you can come inside. Laura's office is off their bedroom upstairs. We'll be gone at least two hours."

"What about the staff?"

"Laura gave them the day off. Some of them have been with Dad and me for a long time. They were all pretty shook up by what happened."

I can't believe I'm actually considering his suggestion, but it does make sense. More sense than my trying to break into their house on my own or calling every private eye in the San Diego area to see if Laura is a customer. Something they may or may not tell me.

Unless the price is right.

"Okay. What time are you leaving?"

"Two."

"Here." I dip a hand back into my purse and pull out a business card. I circle my cell number. "Take this. If your plans change or you come back sooner than four, call me. I'll make sure I'm in and out by then."

Jason takes the card, then gestures for my pen. I hand it over. He scribbles a set of numbers on a napkin. "The security code for the front gate."

I slip the napkin into my pocket.

Jason is looking at my business card. "Bail enforcement. You're a bounty hunter, too?" he says. "Very cool."

Yeah. Bounty hunter turned private detective. Very cool.

CHAPTER 37.

I LEAVE JASON AT THE COFFEEHOUSE. HE'S FINALLY started in on the scone, his demeanor calm, almost detached.

Not normal for a kid who spent the last hour discussing who could have killed his father.

And yet, how should he be acting? He's doing what I'd do in the same situation. Especially if I suspected my stepmother had engineered my dad's death.

I'm hardly normal, though, am I? Probably not a good idea to compare what I'd do in any situation.

Maybe his detachment can be credited to shock. Jason has had a rough couple of days. It could also be something more sinister. I don't want to believe it, but I know it's possible that Jason had a hand in whatever happened to his dad. He stood to lose as much as his stepmother if his father was indeed in trouble with the law. If that's true, going to the house this afternoon could be risky.

Could even be a setup, a trap to make Gloria look guiltier. I can see the headline now: Gloria Estrella's friend caught breaking into O'Sullivan home.

Well, nothing to do but take the chance. I have no other leads. Now the quest becomes to discover what kind of trouble his dad was in.

I know who might be able to help me.

The question is, after last night, am I ready?

Gordon throws me a parting invitation to come again when we can talk and then I'm back in my car, wondering if I have the courage to face my family and knowing I have no choice. Reluctantly, I crank over the engine and head for La Mesa.

SUNDAY MORNING USED TO BE SPECIAL IN THE Strong household. When I was a kid, we'd go to early Ma.s.s at St.

John's in Lemon Grove, pick up donuts at the parish hall after and head for home. Steve and I always managed to wolf down a donut or two on the way, even though we knew we were supposed to wait until after we had a "good" breakfast of pancakes or eggs or French toast. We'd sit in the backseat trying to be sneaky, giggling at how we were fooling our parents even though we knew the three feet separating us in the backseat was hardly distance enough to m.u.f.fle the sound of the paper bag rustling or our greedy chomping on hot, jelly-filled donuts. Mom and Dad always let us get away with it. Never mentioned the jelly stains or powdered-sugar mustaches.

Steve went away to college. Mom, Dad and I still went to church, but it wasn't nearly as much fun sitting in the backseat alone with that greasy bag. I waited until we got home and proper breakfast was consumed before nibbling on a plain cake donut.

Then Steve got killed.

We stopped going to church. We no longer ate donuts over the Sunday paper. It became another morning to get through, prelude to another day without Steve. Another day without warmth, without joy.

Over time, things returned to a kind of normalcy. Dad went back to his job, Mom went back to work, and I went back to school.

There was a gaping hole in our lives, but to their credit, my parents rallied. For my benefit, I know. I'll always be grateful to them for that.

Some things, however, were not as before. After the funeral, we never went back to St. John's. The parish priest tried many times to coax my folks back, but the answer was always the same. Like Steve, G.o.d vanished from our lives. Utterly and completely.

I missed Steve much more than I ever missed G.o.d.

Now, approaching the house, I'm haunted by the past and nervous at what awaits me. My mother was so angry with me. Will she still be? Will Trish? Will they forgive me for ruining their evening?

I never should have left them last night. The meeting with Sandra was a disaster, accomplishing nothing except making me feel like a fool this morning. I don't know what happened. I don't care. I only know the spell is broken, not in the way I'd planned, but broken all the same. I'll never step foot in Avery's house again.

By the time I pull up in my parents' driveway, I've worked myself into such a state of anxiety, I debate the wisdom of coming here at all. In fact, when I go up to the front door and let myself in and find that they're not at home, I wilt in relief. I scribble a note to let them know that I was here, then beat it back out to my car.

I did what I promised last night. I came over. As far as I'm concerned, the ball is now in their court.

I'll call Dad tomorrow at his office and ask him if he'd heard about Rory O'Sullivan being in trouble. He's an investment banker.

He knows the dirt.

Relief that I don't have to face my mother is tempered by unhappiness that I won't see Trish. I scared her last night. Made her afraid the bubble of happiness she'd been so carefully constructing was about to burst.

And for what? s.e.xual delusions about a woman who is obviously psychotic.

Good job, Anna.

I almost make a clean getaway. I've got the Jag turned around in the driveway and am halfway to the road when my folks come back. If they'd been thirty seconds later, I would have made it.

s.h.i.t.

I put a smile on my face and the Jag in reverse, and back up the driveway. Mom and Dad pull up front and park beside me. Trish opens the rear pa.s.senger door and jumps out, a relieved smile brightening her face.

"I'm so glad you're here," she says. She lofts something for me to see. "We bought donuts after Ma.s.s. They're still hot. You're just in time."

She lifts a brown paper bag.

CHAPTER 38.

TRISH LINKS HER ARM WITH MINE AND PULLS ME along and up the front stairs. Mom still hasn't said anything, but at the door, Dad plants a kiss on my cheek and gives my arm a squeeze.

"We're glad to see you, honey."

I know he means it but I'm feeling so disoriented by the realization that they've started going back to church that I find myself blurting, "How long have you and Mom-?" I point to the bag.

He looks puzzled for a moment, then smiles. "How long have we been going to church? I don't know, Anna, a long time."

Mom finds her tongue. "Since about the time you moved out," she says.

It's ridiculous, I know, but I feel betrayed. "You never mentioned it."

"Should we have?" Mom asks.

I find myself sputtering. "Well . . . yes."

She looks at me with a small, puzzled frown. "What difference does it make if we started back to church? You were off to college, living in your grandmother's cottage at the beach. We hardly saw you. In fact, we've seen you more in the last few months than we had in the five years before that."

It's true, I know. Becoming a vampire changes your priorities pretty quickly. Especially priorities involving a family you know you're going to lose.

We've moved inside and into the living room. Mom goes to the kitchen without another word and Trish goes to her bedroom to change. Dad and I are left by ourselves. I'm still smarting from my mother's rebuke but this seems the perfect opportunity to ask him about O'Sullivan.

"Dad, can I speak to you a minute?"

He gives me a sympathetic smile and says, "Don't let your mother get to you, honey. You know how she is. If she had her way, you'd have never left the nest."

I return the smile. "I know, but it's not about that. It's a business thing."

He nods. "Then let's go to my den."

Dad leads the way to the back of the house and one of my favorite rooms. It's small and intimate and such a reflection of his personality that when Steve and I were children, and Dad was off on one of his business trips, we'd sneak in here to play.

Breathing "his" air made him seem closer.

The room hasn't changed much since I was small. The smell of leather and aftershave, the nautical pictures on the wall, the desk piled with books and magazines. The furniture has been updated, and there's a computer now, but it's still my father's room.

He shuts the door and takes a seat behind his desk, motioning me into one of the seats in front of it. "What's going on?"

I fill him in on what I'm doing for Gloria and my interview with Jason this morning. I finish with Jason's charge that his father was in trouble, maybe with the law, and ask if he'd heard any rumors to that effect.

Before he answers, he narrows his eyes. "Kind of out of your range of expertise, isn't it? Are you and David-"

"Not David," I interject quickly. "I'm on my own in this."

He frowns. "I don't understand. Isn't David Gloria's boyfriend?"

I sigh. "It's complicated, Dad. No one is more surprised than I am to have gotten involved in Gloria's drama. The truth is, I don't believe she killed O'Sullivan. After what Jason told me this morning, I think there may be someone else that has far better motive to want him dead." His frown deepens. "That may be true, but why didn't he go to the police? Why did he come to you?"

"He's fourteen, Dad. He's accusing his stepmother. Why do you think he didn't go to the police?"

Dad nods and shrugs. "I can see how he would be reluctant to make an accusation without proof. I take it that's where you come in?"

My turn to nod. "Can you tell me anything about O'Sullivan's business dealings? Anything that's happened lately that seems off?"

Dad takes a moment, his eyes on me. "You're not putting yourself in harm's way over this, are you?"

His solemn expression makes me smile. "No, Dad. This is purely a fact-finding expedition. If I find anything, I'll turn it over to the police. I won't take any unnecessary risks; I promise."

Not a lie. Jason, after all, is leaving the door open for me this afternoon. No risk there.

Dad nods, accepting what I say to be true. "Something strange did happen a few months ago. Involved O'Sullivan and a company called Benton Pharmaceuticals."

"I don't know the name."

"Not many people do. I only know of it because a prospectus came across my desk when O'Sullivan was preparing to take the company public. He was the primary investor in a research lab working on one product. A cure for HIV. They claimed they found one."

A cure for HIV? That gets my attention. I sit up straighter. "Wow. That'd be big news. Why haven't I heard about it?"

Dad rises and comes around the desk. He perches himself on the corner and folds his arms. "The FDA was scheduled to begin running trials, a process that could take years and millions of dollars. The reason for taking the company public was to raise that capital. The prospectus sounded promising. It appeared as if Benton might have discovered a treatment that not only managed HIV, but cured it."

"They must have had investors lining up around the block."

"Indeed. It would have been the medical find of the decade."

"Would have been?"

"The company never went ahead with the clinical trials. The offering was pulled. The company, at least as far as I can determine, went belly-up."

"Why, do you think? Was the preliminary data skewed in some way? Was it a hoax?"

Dad shakes his head. "Can't answer that. I can only tell you when our pharmaceutical-industry a.n.a.lysts looked at it, they were excited by what they saw. We were ready to give the investment a stamp of approval. h.e.l.l, I was ready to buy the stock myself."

That's an impressive endors.e.m.e.nt. In Dad's business, he sees hundreds of potential investments a year. He doesn't consider investing his own money in many. "How much money do you think O'Sullivan had invested before pulling the plug?"

Dad shrugs. "To fund research like that? Would have been millions."

"In the tens of millions?"

"Try hundreds of millions."