The Granite Moth by Erica Wright Page B

Lars wouldn’t trust his brother’s abilities, but maybe he didn’t know how capable Ellis really was.
    â€œYour brother’sbeen assigned the case. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
    â€œDinner, please. I’m not asking for a commitment.”
    â€œI’m working another case right now.” Which was true up to a point. I had no intention of giving up on Magrelli, but I didn’t want anyone else involved in my vendetta.
    â€œDon’t say no until we talk.”
    I stared at the stone facade of the church, moss clinging to the crevices. Not all of the people inside could have faith, an unwavering belief in righteousness. But it meant something that the hate mongers weren’t sitting in the pews, that sanctuary was given to those most in need of comfort. I thought of Big Mamma waiting to sell her version of peace to a dedicated flock.
    I knew that if I said yes to dinner that I would be using Lars in some way and, by extension, his brother. I wanted to know what he knew about the Magrellis, and I wasn’t as interested in clearing his name. Ellis would never consider us suspects, not really. There was still time to turn back, say no to this dinner, focus on who caused the Halloween explosion and leave Magrelli for another time. But how many people would he hurt while I was waiting for the perfect timing? Big Mamma was right when she said I was a kid when I went undercover. But I wasn’t a kid anymore.

CHAPTER TEN
    T here was a time when I thought V.P. looked harmless. His grin was too big for his face, his hair too shaggy to mean serious business. Seeing him leaned up against my apartment door made me question my earlier naivety. It wasn’t the worn leather jacket—we all had one of those—but the look of pure hatred that he reserved solely for me these days. I hadn’t given him my address, of course, but he had used the GPS tracker in one of the cars he lent me. As far as I knew, he’d only given the location out to one other person, my former lover Marco Medina, but I couldn’t be sure. It was enough to make me consider giving up my apartment, but it was rent stabilized. It takes more than a few close calls with the Grim Reaper to make a New Yorker give up her reasonable monthly payments.
    â€œTo what do I owe the pleasure,” I began, slipping my keys between my fingers. As a do-good, law-abiding, “No trouble here, Officer” citizen, I no longer carried a gun, but I could take out an eye if I caught him off-guard. Not the kind of thought you want to have about a friend’s boyfriend, but there it was. What could I say? Meeza deserved better.
    â€œAh Kat, Kaaat, Kaaatttt. Do I really need a reason?”
    I ignored his grating tone and unlocked my front door. No sense upsetting the neighbors, most of whom wouldn’t call the police for anything less than a three-alarm fire.
    â€œThanks for the Kia last week. I appreciated the ride on short notice.”
    V.P.’s illegal car rental catered to anyone who didn’t want traceable tags—mostly criminals, but I knew there was at least one other private investigator on his roster because Meeza had told me. I hoped that other P.I. wasn’t getting personal house calls, too. They usually meant an outstanding debt and busted knees, but I was up to date. I knew I wasn’t dealing with Zipcar.
    â€œFor you? Any time. Did you catch a killer?”
    â€œI nabbed a husband with pants around his ankles. You know, the usual.”
    V.P. helped himself to a beer from my refrigerator, shaking his head at the scant supplies. I basically kept drinks and condiments. Anything else tended to go bad before I had a chance to consume it.
    â€œQuite the glamorous life you lead, darling.” He put on a drawl for “darling,” but Vincent Patel was from the Bronx. I had checked.
    â€œIt has its upsides.”
    I dropped my bag onto the bed that took up most of