So sorry for the lengthy delay in getting this next chapter up. It took a bit longer than anticipated, and then I posted on Ao3 and completely forgot that I hadn't also posted here - so, sorry about that. I have a good jump on the next chapter, though, so that one should be up either tomorrow or Monday. Thanks for reading!
The police and forensic team swarmed the island not long after Malcolm left, and Oliver and I returned to the manor. Quentin stayed behind with the police to answer questions and deal with Reggie's body, but I knew they would have plenty of questions for me before the day was out.
I was quiet when we reached the house, my mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. I sequestered myself in my bedroom under the guise of getting some rest, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Reggie – first as he had been years ago, and then the way he'd ended up, bloodied and alone. So, instead of closing my eyes, I got out my books and my journals and the maps and sketches I'd made of the island, and laid them out on the bed. I made a list of everything that would need to be done, and then made a second list of all the people I could think of who might be able to help. Thea was at the top of the list, but I put a question mark beside her name. Who knew what she would think of me after what happened to Reggie, and even if she didn't hate my guts, I wasn't sure that Malcolm would ever let his daughter near me again.
I drew up a preliminary budget, and a schedule that spanned the next three months.
I got out a calendar I'd gotten from the Natural Resource Defense Council, and circled the summer solstice.
My birthday.
All I had to do was survive to see it.
Finally, at around four that afternoon, I emerged to find Oliver seated on the floor across from my bedroom door, back against the wall with a book open in his lap.
"You know that's kind of creepy, right?" I asked him as I stepped out of my room.
"Reading?" he asked, looking up in surprise.
"Yes, Oliver. You're sitting on a dirty hard wood floor with no cushion and you probably have been for the past three hours, so obviously the thing I was referring to was you cracking a book."
He actually looked embarrassed. "Right. Well… I was hired to protect you."
"I'm pretty sure no one would fire you if you did that from a chair."
He stood, the book still in hand. "The truth is, I was worried about you. It's been a rough twenty-four hours."
"It has," I agreed briskly, then immediately changed the subject. "Do you know if Quentin's daughter has another job on the island? Besides running the boat, I mean?"
He looked confused. "Sara?"
"Yes, sorry – I know he has another daughter, but I never met her. I'm talking about the daughter I've met."
"I think she has a couple of part-time jobs out here, I'm not sure. Why?"
"What about Roy?" I persisted. "Is he fishing, or does he do something else?"
"I think he has a side gig working for the college. And again I ask… Why, Felicity?"
"Because if I'm going to have this giant gala on the Solstice, I'll need help." I held up the notebook that was now splitting at the seams. "I've got some ideas, but there's no way I can make everything happen on my own. I need to assemble a team."
He frowned. "Maybe you should give yourself a little time before you dive into this. Reggie—"
"Is dead," I said firmly. "And I've decided, I'm not thinking about that right now. There are other things to worry about."
"There are, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore everything that's happened. You're not giving yourself any time to process."
"Because time is one luxury I can't afford to give myself, Oliver," I said. My temper flared, even though I knew none of this was his fault. "I don't know how much time I have. For all I know, Damian Dahrk could snap his fingers again and have me on my knees – or six feet under, for that matter. So, I plan to use whatever time I do have to put together the most phenomenal Solstice event Crab's Neck has ever seen." I reconsidered. "Actually, I don't know how impressive their events have been historically, so that may not seem ambitious. But trust me, I'm talking gala with a capital G."
"That's great, but—"
I stopped him with a glare. He grimaced, reconsidered, and took a long breath before he exhaled slowly, which made it seem like putting up with me was this tremendous burden. Of course, considering everything that had happened recently I couldn't really argue with that.
"That's great," he said. "Period."
I grinned. "Thank you. That's what I think, too. Do you have Roy's number? I'll talk to Quentin about Sara, and then I figure the two of them might have some ideas for others on the island who would be willing to help out. I know I have money so I can pay them, but I need to talk to Quentin about how exactly to access that money. I've been meaning to ask anyway, but it always seemed like a bad time. Or like I'm just here for my dead parents' cash. Which I'm not."
"I know that," Oliver said. He was still serious, something sad in his eyes. Which was frustrating, considering I was doing everything in my power to avoid sad right now. Or at least to not think about sad.
"You don't look very excited."
"I think you're excited enough for both of us," he said. "I just think it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to take a breath here. Acknowledge what's happened – you don't have to dwell on it if you don't want to, that's fine. But you're coming off as a little, um…" He lowered his eyes, like he was about to say something indecent. "…manic."
"Well, duh," I said immediately. "I found out yesterday that I'm doomed to die young because of an ancient curse, and my bodyguard and the guy who was the soulmate of my great great great aunt may look like supermodels, but they're actually way, way past retirement age. And then, the only member of my family that I actually had nice visions of was just gunned down in front of me. If all I am is manic, frankly I think I deserve some kind of freaking award."
That, at least, earned a small smile from Oliver. "You may have a point," he conceded.
"Thank you."
He ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, which I was guessing was bad since he was supposed to be invincible. If all this was having this kind of effect on Oliver, I could only imagine what I looked like by now.
"Okay… So, what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.
"Call Roy," I prompted. "I'd like to have a meeting first thing tomorrow and get things moving form there. Do you think Dig might help? I know he has the Legion…"
"I'll check. He stays pretty busy, but I know he was interested in the year-round garden you were talking about. I could maybe persuade him to put in a little time."
"That would be great. The more people from the island I can get on board, the less likely it is that those freak shows from the Legion that night will decide they want me dead."
Oliver frowned, but made no comment. I studied his face, trying to read him. The gravity of the day washed over me all over again.
"Who do you think was out there today?" I asked. "Do you think it was someone from the island?"
He shook his head, his frustration obvious. "I don't know. Dig is going to ask around, see if he can get some ideas."
"That's nice of him," I said, honestly surprised. "I hope that doesn't end up being a problem for him."
"Dig can handle himself," Oliver assured me. "It seems he's taken a liking to you, though. Once that happens, he won't let you down."
"Dig likes me?"
Oliver shrugged. "I told him you have a way of growing on a guy. Turns out he agrees."
Our eyes held, my cheeks warm at the compliment, but Oliver was the one to look away first. He cleared his throat, suddenly all business.
"Anyway, I'll make those calls, and you can talk to Quentin if you like."
"Good," I agreed, just as brisk. "Thanks. When does Ray get in? I want to make sure I leave time to meet with him tonight, so we can get started on the whole dredging-my-brain-for-stolen-gems thing."
"I told him what happened, and he agreed it would be better to start tomorrow—"
"What?" I demanded. "No – no way. I don't need to wait. I want to get started as soon as possible, before the curse kicks back in. Call him back—"
"Felicity—" he began.
"I want this over with."
"I know that, but right now I apparently need to protect you from yourself just as much as anything else. Last night—"
"Last night, I was dying of the curse; today, at least temporarily, that's been—"
Oliver's eyes widened suddenly, and he looked over my head at something down the hall. I stopped at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me, and whirled to find Quentin there with a man and woman in police uniforms.
"Felicity," Quentin said stiffly. "The police are ready to take your statement."
"Of course," I said. "I was just talking to Oliver about the curse – you know, the curse all us women are burdened with. The—"
"I think they get it, Felicity," Oliver said calmly.
"Right. Of course they do. I mean – he might," I said, nodding to the male police officer before turning to the woman, even as every part of me that wasn't actively talking screamed for me to just stop, "but you probably do. Is that sexist? Sorry—that's definitely not what I was going for."
The woman smiled at me, with what seemed like genuine warmth. She had long dark blond hair and gorgeous…well, everything. "It's all right," she assured me. "I know what you meant. I'm Detective Dinah Drake, and this is my partner, Detective Billy Malone."
Detective Malone was every bit as gorgeous as Detective Drake. He had pale eyes and dark hair and a goatee and…wow. "What happened to the round, condescending guy who came here the last time there was a shooting?" I asked.
"Detective Harriday had another case," Malone said. He smiled at me, and – did I mention wow? If one of these two was supposed to be the bad cop, I wasn't sure which one it was supposed to be. "And I think the fact that we have one victim dead and another in the hospital is more than enough reason to take this seriously. I'm sure it's been a long day, but if you wouldn't mind…"
"Of course," I agreed.
"I was thinking we could do this in the study," Quentin said.
Detective Drake looked at him. "We?"
"I'm Ms. Smoak's attorney—"
"I'll be fine, Quentin," I assured him.
He frowned, but he didn't argue. I led the way back down the hall and down the stairs, to the study on the first floor. The window that had been shot out on my first day on the island had since been repaired and the room cleaned. I breathed in the smell of leather and furniture polish as I stepped over the threshold.
"We'll be right out," Detective Malone said at the door, turning to stop Oliver with a hand on his chest. Ooh. Probably not a great move. Oliver looked down at the hand, that tic thing happening in his jaw again. Malone moved his hand after a second, seeming to sense that he'd made a mistake.
"I'm here to protect Felicity," Oliver said.
"I think we've got it covered," Drake said, stepping between the two men. "We'll have questions for you after we speak with her. You can wait outside." She pushed him out the door without giving him a chance to argue.
Once the door was closed, she turned to me. "That's quite a pit bull you've got there," she noted.
"He takes his job very seriously."
"Clearly," she said. "Why don't you take a seat?"
I sat in a leather chair in front of the desk. "I'm not sure I can tell you anything everyone else hasn't already said, but I'll help any way I can."
Detective Malone took a chair and set it directly in front of me, then sat as well. Drake, however, remained standing. If there were going to be a bad cop in this scenario, I was guessing that meant she was it.
"It seems like you've had quite the ride since you arrived on Crab's Neck," he said, with sympathy in his pretty brown eyes.
"You could say that," I agreed.
"Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you, or the others in your family?"
"I have no idea. I mean, I know that some of the people on the island aren't crazy about me being here, but I couldn't give you any specific names."
"What about Ray Palmer?" Detective Drake asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"Ray Palmer," she repeated the name more slowly, like that was the reason I was having trouble following her. "You have heard of him, haven't you? You know he lives on this island?"
"Well, yes – I mean, I know him. Or we've met, anyway. But what does he have—"
"Did you know that Ray Palmer has a history with your family?" Drake continued. "That the Palmers and the Merlyns have a longstanding feud, in fact?"
"I—"
"Take it down a notch, Dinah," Detective Malone said. "Ms. Smoak isn't a suspect."
She shot him a glare that I couldn't imagine was acting. If it was, she should give up law enforcement and head straight for Hollywood. Ideally, on the next boat.
"Do you know about the history between your family and the Palmers?" Malone asked gently.
Since it seemed unlikely that he was talking about the history where Ray Palmer and my great great great aunt Rose went to Europe to become notorious jewel thieves before being cursed by a psychotic Scottish mobster over one hundred years ago, I shook my head. Malone and Drake exchanged a glance that seemed significant, though I couldn't exactly tell how.
"Mr. Palmer's father was linked to the death of a girl who would have been you aunt," Malone explained, still gentle. "Her name was Mara Merlyn. You've heard of her?"
"Of course," I nodded, my stomach tightening for reasons I wasn't entirely sure of yet. "I thought she died in a horseback riding accident, though."
Instantly, I thought of one of the visions I'd had of Mara recently: her body broken, cradled by Ray Palmer in the moments before she died.
"She did," Drake agreed. "But it turns out she was having a fling with the senior – very senior – Mr. Palmer. He was twenty-eight at the time, about the same age that his son is now, as a matter of fact."
My brain did some quick calculating, and it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that the person they thought was Ray's father actually would have been Ray himself, since he didn't age and couldn't die and had apparently just been hanging around the Merlyn family in some way or other since Rose's death. Not this way, though - he wouldn't have had a thing with a sixteen-year-old girl, even if she looked like Rose. Right? I definitely would have seen that in one of my visions.
"And you know this how, exactly?" I asked, a bit of mettle returning to my voice.
"Malcolm Merlyn. He was a teenager at the time, but he had some concerns. He came to the police after his cousin's death."
"And did Malcolm have any proof of his allegations?" I asked, more confident now. If Malcolm Merlyn made the claim, no way was it true.
Drake frowned, and turned away. Malone shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But Mr. Palmer left the island the day after the incident and never returned. It wasn't until his son made a name for himself and moved out here that anyone even know what had become of the family."
"I see," I said. "But I don't get what any of that has to do with the Ray Palmer we know now. As I understand it, Mr. Palmer wasn't even on the island today when the shooting occurred.
"And how do you know that?" Drake asked, like I'd just revealed some big secret. I was really starting to dislike her.
"Rumor," I said coolly.
"Is there anyone else you can think of—" Malone began, but Drake cut him off. She wheeled on me, her eyes curiously intense.
"Do you know anything about Ray Palmer?" she demanded. "About how he made his money? How he spends his time?"
"He makes video games—"
"He and his family have also been implicated in some of the biggest thefts of occult antiquities in the world," she said. "From the Ming Dynasty to Nazi Germany, if something linked to the occult goes missing, Mr. Palmer is the first person the authorities look at."
The revelation had me dumbstruck. I tried to find words, some way to respond to her claim, but I had no idea where to begin.
"It's true, Felicity," Detective Malone said quietly. "More than a dozen people have been killed in these thefts. No one has been able to get close to this man for years, but for some reason his family seems to have a soft spot for the Merlyn women."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Your bodyguard is one of the few Mr. Palmer seems to count as a friend," Malone said, still with that same calm, quiet voice. It would have been reassuring, if not for the words he was saying. "But there has never been any love lost between Mr. Palmer and Reggie Merlyn. If he had something to do with your uncle's death, this may finally be our chance to take him down. He trusts you and Oliver…"
"And you want me to…what? Get him to confess? I told you before, I don't know the man—"
"You know him well enough to rendezvous in the woods with him," Malone said. "To spend time at his house with him. He doesn't invite just anyone up there."
I stared at the detective. Any sense of ease I might have felt with him vanished in a second, and I stiffened in my chair. "How do you know that?"
"He's under surveillance," Drake said, without a trace of remorse. "If you spend time with him, we'll know about it. Which means if he ever tried to hurt you, we could protect you."
"He wouldn't do that," I said, my voice wooden. I thought of the visions I'd had of Ray over the years: the man who had given me comfort when I was at my loneliest, the man whose smile brought me peace. The man whose laughter was one of the earliest sounds I could remember. "You don't know him – you don't know what you're talking about. I appreciate you trying to find the person who murdered my uncle, and I'll help in whatever way I can. But you're looking at the wrong man. If you really want to know who I think could be behind these shootings, I have one name for you: Malcolm Merlyn."
"Your cousin," Malone said, skepticism plain in his voice.
"He lost a lot when I came on the scene. If Reggie and I are both out of the way, he gets controlling interest of Merlyn Enterprises back, not to mention this estate."
"His daughter was caught in the crossfire – she could have been killed," Drake argued.
"But she wasn't," I said. "What better way to throw suspicion off himself than to have someone he loves injured?"
"Does this mean you're not helping us with Palmer?" Drake asked abruptly, clearly not interested in my theory.
"That's exactly what it means."
"Felicity—" Malone began. I was surprised at how troubled he looked, his brow furrowed and his eyes locked on mine. What they were saying made no sense, though; they had to be wrong. I shook my head, and stood.
"If you have more questions for me, maybe we should continue this with my lawyer after all. If not, I would like to be excused. I have things to do."
"Of course," Drake said, her voice as cold as January. "You're free to go."
Malone stood, and withdrew a business card from his wallet. He scrawled something on the back and pushed it into my hand. "That's my personal cell number. If you see something suspicious, or you have questions, or you need…anything, please call me."
"Thank you," I said. I stared at the card, fear running through me now. Uncertainty. What did I know about any of the people on this island, other than that nothing was as it seemed and there were an awful lot of people who stood to gain with me gone? I swallowed past the emotion, and met Malone's eye again. "I'll call if I learn anything."
Detective Drake ushered her partner out of the room without another word, seeming to take no solace from the fact that I had at least agreed to contact him if there problems. Something was going on with her, clearly, but I had no idea what. I had a hunch that whatever it was, this thing between her and Ray Palmer was personal.
And I wanted nothing to do with it.