Page 58 of Mongrels United
“Or everyone is lying,” Grady pointed out. “You’re his son. Maybe they’re saying they didn’t know him so they don’t have to tell you to your face they didn’t like him.”
Nash glanced at her, his expression startled.
“You must have considered the possibility before,” Grady said gently. “The Bellish made him cranky, at best. He was riddled with guilt about being the last Skinwalker, which he didn’t think he deserved, and he was lying to everyone, all the time, too. If he was ever short on a dose, he would have been in pain. I’ve seen Kailash in pain with a game injury—he’s not fun to be around at all. And Bellish withdrawal is ten times worse. It’s natural that no one liked your father much.”
Nash shook his head. “You make it sound almost…inevitable.”
“It was, Nash.”
“The pity of it is that if he’d avoided the Bellish, my father would have been a normal man, with friends and a life beyond being a Skinwalker. Maybe I would have grown up different, too.”
“And you wouldn’t be right here, right now, in that case,” Grady pointed out. “It is what it is, Nash. There’s no point in regretting what might have been. You can’t change anything about what has already happened.” She tilted her head. “You can only change your direction in the future.” And she paused, waiting to see if he would speak of the promise he had given her.
But instead, Nash said flatly; “Mihael Rogerson.”
Grady blinked. “Huh?”
Nash reached for the paper notepad he’d begun to use instead of his normal pad, or Clip. He flipped through pages, shaking his head. “No, he’s not on any lists at all.”
“I don’t know the name, either,” Grady admitted. “Why do you mention it?”
Nash grimaced. “We were talking about people hating my father. And that he might have had a normal life without the Bellish. And that’s what made me remember. Hyram had friends. I barely remember them—I was pretty young. But they would come around sometimes. Not often, and less as I grew older. I think Nason scared them away.” He looked at her. “But one of them had an argument with Nason. A screaming match, right there in the main room, in front of me. I was only ten or so. It scared the hell out of me. That’s why I remember it still. But I’d almost forgotten about it, because Mihael Rogerson never came to the apartment after that.”
Grady tapped her own notepad with her pen. “We’ve been looking for people who might have been friends with your father. I never thought of people who were friends with Hyram—they would have known your father, at least in passing. And clearly, this Rogerson did. Can you remember what the argument was about?”
“Not in the slightest. But they were in each other’s faces. Toe-to-toe. And red in the face, both of them. It was something important, I’m guessing.” Nash looked around for Clip. “Clip! Look up Mihael Rogerson for me. Is he still alive?”
Clip appeared from the bedroom, rolling swiftly. “Mihael Rogerson lives in the Palatine, on the Table.”
Nash nodded. “There’s a bunch of cottages on the table, so that makes sense.”
“It does?” Grady asked. “Why?”
“Clip, how old is Mihael?”
“Eighty-two,” Clip said instantly.
Nash grinned, looking at her. “Older people like the heat and it’shoton the table, no matter what the season.”
“I thought the bio-farmers grew lichen and moss on the table,” Grady murmured.
“They do, in amongst the houses,” Nash said. “You really don’t know the Palatine at all, do you?”
“Nope,” Grady admitted cheerfully. She sobered. “Nash…it’s been bothering me, you doing these interviews by yourself. What if you come across one of the key people distributing Bellish? They could deal with you to shut you up.”
Nash scratched under his chin. He was amused, for the corner of his mouth curled up. She always wanted to kiss that upturned corner when it appeared, but she made herself stay still. This was too important.
“You think I’m in danger from an eighty-two-year-old man?” Nash asked.
“Well, perhaps not directly,” Grady admitted. “Only, you’ve been telling people you want to know more about your father now he’s dead, so it’s not official, not anything to scare them. But what if whoever it is gets scared, anyway? They think it’s just you. And even if he’s eighty-two, if Rogersonispart of the Bellish thing, then he’ll have younger, more dangerous people to hand thatcoulddeal with you.”
Nash didn’t shush her, or make light of her concern, as anyone else might have. He weighed her words closely. “Then you’d better come with me,” he said simply.
She jumped a little. “No! That will turn your conversation into something official—”
“Which it really is,” Nash interjected smoothly.
“Yes, but that will scare whoever it is into reacting. Badly. We don’t want them alarmed. We don’t want them diving into a hole and hiding where we can’t find them.”
