“I can wash dishes,” Grace said.
Wayne and Petra looked at her as if she had started speaking in tongues.
“I used to wash dishes for a living,” she explained. “Then I became a butler. You could say I’m a professional.”
TWENTY-NINE
Luther used a little subtle aura manipulation to coax out the last few stragglers shortly after midnight. He walked into the kitchen and found Grace elbow deep in soapy water. She wore an oversized apron that hung almost to her feet. Her hair was shoved up under a net. Her face glistened from a combination of steam and perspiration. She looked adorable. He wanted to take her into the back room and make love to her on a couple of sacks of potatoes.
“We’re closed,” he said. “Time to eat.”
“Almost finished,” she said. “I’m on the last pan.”
Petra yanked the badly yellowed chef ’s toque off her head, tossed it aside and dried the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.
“Busy night,” she declared. “How’d we do?”
“Wayne is closing out as we speak,” Luther said. He looked at Grace. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m okay.” She finished rinsing a large pot and used both hands to transfer it from the sink to the drain counter. “Just a little out of condition, that’s all. What’s this about eating?”
“We’re all hungry and usually a little wired after a busy night,” he explained. “We generally go over to Milly Okada’s place for some udon soup.”
“Sounds good to me,” Grace said. She dried her hands on a towel.
Luther looked at Petra. “We were swamped out there. How’d you two do in here?”
“Got ourselves a rhythm going,” Petra said, looking satisfied. “Worked swell. Grace is definitely an industrial-grade dishwasher. Looks like we’ve got our new Bud.”
“We all have our talents,” Grace said modestly.
They locked up, crossed the courtyard and walked the half block to Kuhio. Without any discussion, Luther, Petra and Wayne formed a protective phalanx around Grace. The four flowed as a cohesive unit along the crowded street.
The Udon Palace was almost empty. It would fill up rapidly later as other restaurants closed for the night and the staffs made their way there for a late-night meal. Milly Okada emerged from the kitchen. She smiled when she saw Luther.
“You’re back and you are no longer depressed,” she announced. She turned to Grace. “And this young lady, I think, is the reason why, hmm?”
Grace looked disconcerted. Luther hurried into introductions.
“Milly, this is Grace Renquist,” he said. “She’s visiting from the mainland.”
“Welcome to the islands, Grace,” Milly said, giving her an appraising look.
“Thank you,” Grace said politely.
“She needs a drink,” Petra said to Milly. “The latest Bud quit on us a few days ago. Grace, here, has been washing dishes all night.”
“So you’re the new Bud, Grace?” Milly chuckled. “You don’t look like a dishwasher.”
“I’ve had a lot of experience,” Grace said.
“Well, well, well,” Milly said softly. “Isn’t that interesting?” Before anyone could respond she waved them all to a nearby table. “Sit down, sit down. I’ll get the beers.” She looked at Grace, one brow raised. “Wine for you?”
“Yes, please,” Grace said. “Thanks.”
Luther pulled out a chair for her. Then he and Petra and Wayne arranged themselves around the table.
“Any luck tracking Sirens in the genealogy records this afternoon?” Luther asked.
“I made some progress during the after-lunch lull,” she said.
Petra leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “What makes you think she’s a member of the Society?”
“She’s a very powerful and extremely rare talent. That means there’s a high probability that she comes from a long line of sensitives. There’s a strong genetic component involved in powerful talents like hers.”
“In other words,” Luther said, “even if she isn’t registered, one or more of her ancestors with the killer talent may have been a member?”
Grace nodded. “Right. If I can get a fix on one of them, I might be able to jump from the Society’s genealogical records to other databases maintained by organizations outside the Society.”
Petra frowned. “The other genealogical databases wouldn’t tell you whether or not a person has a strong psychic talent.”
“No,” Grace said, “but it might help me identify a Siren’s descendants. From there I can determine if any had an unusual talent for singing.”
Wayne’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Sounds like a long shot.”
“It is,” Grace agreed. “But it’s something to do while we wait for word from Fallon Jones.”
Milly emerged with three beers and a glass of white wine. She came back a moment later with bowls of steaming udon soup and handed them around.
“Anything else?” Luther asked after Milly returned to the kitchen.
“Not much,” Grace admitted. “There are a number of references to members who possessed what was often described as a mesmerizing voice. But even today critics throw that term around routinely so I’m not sure it means much. I did find some entries concerning singers whose music can put people in a trance that resembles sleep.”
“I hear that happens a lot at the opera,” Petra said. “Maybe the talent isn’t so rare.”
Grace smiled. “The point is, I didn’t find any references to singers who can literally kill with their music. I sent an e-mail request to Fallon Jones asking him to grant me access to the classified section of the genealogy files.”
Luther picked up his beer. “There’s a classified section?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “A lot of the records pertaining to particularly dangerous or bizarre talents are highly classified. I’ve been allowed to work with them on occasion when Mr. Jones was trying to identify a suspect. I’m sure he’ll let me back into them for this search.” She inhaled the steam off her soup. “This smells very, very good.”
“Best udon on the island,” Wayne assured her.
Luther watched her use her chopsticks to pluck noodles out of the soup. He didn’t have to look at her aura to know that she was exhausted.