CHAPTER 2

Alice was no stranger to stuck-up rich people.

Really, everyone was rich compared to what she grew up in. Five children and only one parent that was nearly always working to pay for them wasn't that great of a childhood.

Her brothers, sister, father and her all grew up in one little apartment. The twins, Wilma and Patrick (AN: The Ireland twins) shared a room, Dylan (AN: Wales) and Alistair (AN: Scotland) shared theirs. Alice herself got lucky and landed with their father (AN: Papa Celt), though it was mainly because she had been such a sickly child and had nightmares more than the others.

And here Mrs. May Clyde was glaring across from her, trying to make her feel like she was unworthy of even breathing.

Papa had said that she'd meet people like that, no matter where she went. Alice steeled herself, remembering what her father used to say to her as a child. "Good evening, Mrs. Clyde." Alice kept her chin high and her back straight and her face neutral. Nothing was more infuriating than trying to talk to a blank wall.

Mrs. Clyde hummed, her gnarly hands brushing the back of her purebred poodle (Though, really, no dog could ever be pure if they all came from wolves so Alice didn't really see the point in making sure it was "pure").

"Ma'am, do you know why I am here?" Alice asked, ignoring the hungry slobber that dripped from the poodle's jaw as it stared at her.

Mrs. Clyde sniffed, "That... stupid boy." She paused, "Got himself into trouble, didn't he? Always knew he was a bad apple. I tried to tell John. I tried."

John Clyde, May Clyde's son and Michael's father. "I see, and," Alice paused, wondering how she should phrase her next question. "I understand you were the last one to see him? Michael, I mean."

Mrs. Clyde sniffed again. "Yes," She drawled. "Tell me, what has that idiot done to himself, now?"

"Well, we'd just like to ask him some questions about Isabelle Blackwater." Alice watched the old woman in front of her.

"Ah, yes." Recognition flashed in her pale grey eyes. "Lovely girl, she was. I set up the marriage myself. But that moronic brat ruined everything."

Alice's ears perked up. There we go, now the little box of secrets is opening. "What do you mean? Did they break off the engagement?" Mrs. Clyde caught herself from saying anything. Oh, we have a dirty secret coming, don't we?

"Mrs. Clyde, what did you mean?" Alice asked, watching how May's hands trembled.

"Nothing. Nothing." She tried to wave Alice off. "They were so young; I imagine that it was too early to set up an engagement."

"No, Mrs. Clyde, you said something." Alice pressed. "What did Michael do? How did he ruin the engagement?"

"Nothing." Mrs. Clyde hissed.

"Mrs. Clyde," Alice's voice hardened. "You need to tell me. It's very important."

Her eyes widened. "I've seen you before."

"Don't change the subject, ma'am." Alice ignored her comment. "Where is Michael? What did he do?"

"No, I've seen those eyes before." Mrs. Clyde's eyes narrowed. "What's your name?"

Alice gave in. "Detective Kirkland, now can you please-"

"Kirkland." May interrupted her. "Your father. His name was Fergus Kirkland, wasn't it?"

Her pale grey eyes softened.

"He and John used to play together. Your father would sneak in through the windows and trail mud wherever he went. And he had the most butchered accent that I ever heard. But he played the violin more beautifully than any other in Britain."

Alice allowed a small, half-hearted smirk. "He had a thing for poetry, too."

"But violent, as well." Mrs. Clyde chuckled, her face turning years younger. "What happened?" Her smile dropped, "What happened to my baby grandson?"

Bipolar, much? "Last night," Alice started. "Isabelle Blackwater was found in her bedroom...dead, ma'am."

"Oh, Lord." Her pale face turned paper white. "Oh, Lord, have mercy." Her face shot up to meet Alice's gaze. "He didn't do it! He wouldn't, he loved her! He just made a mistake, oh, Lord!"

"Ma'am, we're not sure that's he's the killer. He's just a suspect." Alice told her, "Please, where is he?"

"...V-V-Venice." May stuttered. "He's in Venice with that Brentwood girl. He eloped with her two weeks ago, but he-he didn't say why, b-but-"

Alice didn't hear the rest.

In Venice with Lilly Brentwood? That explained where they went, but left more questions than answers. Alice managed to get an address out of a sobbing Mrs. Clyde, but she was in no state to tell Alice anything else. Now all she had to do was wait for Valerie Blackwater to show up at the cafe.

XXX

"Ya Alice Kirkland?"

She turned. A girl covered in grease and oils stared down at her. Her blonde hair looked like had been cut by a blind woodcutter and her green eyes were hidden behind the lenses of her goggles. Almost. "Valerie Blackwater?" God, she looked just like her sister.

Valerie nodded and fell into her chain, a scowl permanently written on her face. "Wha am I here fo'?" She asked, "Y'know, I 'ave a ship ta run,"

Alice frowned. "Did Alfred not tell you?" She watched Valerie's expression. Fuck. "Ma'am, I think we should talk about this outside."

"Wha?" Valerie frowned. "Why?"

"Valerie," Alice leaned in, her voice low. They didn't need to start a ruckus. "Just trust me, the things I'm about to say aren't the things that should be said here." Valerie stared at her a bit before nodding. She and Alice left the cafe and headed to the small park just some ways from the cafe. Silence. Complete undisturbed silence.

What was Alice supposed to say?

'Oh, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this' blah, blah, blah. That line was so overdone and overused that it ought to have been overthrown from all speech and writing.

"She's dead, ain' she?" Valerie stopped and turned to look at Alice. "Izzy...She dead, ain she?"

...Alice nodded.

No bawling, no wailing, no cursing at the world, no questions. Just a sharp intake of breath. "I hated her." The venom in her voice sizzled through Alice. "I hated how papa loved her more. I hated how perfect and sweet and kind and beautiful she was! I hated her! I HATE HER!" Valerie's tears came out in large blobs that streaked the oil on her face. She let out a painful wail, clutching herself tightly.

Alice's chest hurt.

"Get that bastard!" Valerie hissed at her, her eyes filled with a murderous inferno. "Make that fucking bastard pay!"

XXX

"Oui?"

"Francis," Alice said into the phone. She was back at the office, her heart still aching. "How are you holding up?"

Francis felt his body explode with spasms of happiness. "O-oh, just fine now, merci."

"Good, good." Alice tried to keep her voice level. Damn it. "Are you up for a trip to Venice?"

"Q-Q-Quoi?"

"I got Michael's grandma to talk. She said he's in Venice with Lilly." Alice explained. "And I got us a free ride,"

"Oh..." Francis felt his body deflate into disappointment.

"If you don't want to go, it's fine." Alice rushed, "I'll just ask Alfred to-"

"N-non, non!" Francis flushed. Smooth. Real smooth. "I'll come, I just need to call Matthew's babysitter. How long would we be gone?"

"Not long. A week at most," Alice said. "And we're leaving tomorrow, 5:30am. So meet me at the office at 5, all right?"

"Oui, I can do that." Francis internally groaned. He'd even sacrifice his precious beauty sleep for love. Ah, Alice was such a lucky woman to have him under her thumb. Even if she didn't know it.

"Good night, Frog." After she hung up, Alice waited in her office. She had made sure that everyone had left for work already. All she needed to do was make a phone call. Her fingers trembled over the keys.

Should she call Him?

There was no doubt that He was involved in this somehow, but she hadn't seen Him in several years. Would He still consider her a friend or had she just faded of into his memories? Would He even help her was the real question.

She dialed the number.

…

…

…

…

He answered.

Translations:

Oui = Yes

Merci = Thanks

Quoi = What

Non = No