Meow meowed her approval.
“She loves roast lamb,” I translated. “But what about Agatha? Is she here too?” Agatha was Mae’s German shorthaired pointer. Named in honor of Agatha Christie, though this Agatha preferred chewing books to writing them.
“A friend of mine’s looking after her back home. She’s used to running around off leash and swimming in the pond, so it’s hard to give her enough exercise in the city.”
Probably just as well. Meow took a long time to warm up to Dudley. We left her eating her gourmet breakfast and joined Connor in the dining room with coffee, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, spinach, and tomato.
“How did you sleep?” he asked me. His jaw was freshly shaven and his hair damp from the shower. My appetite shifted from a desire for food to a different sort of hankering.
“Before or after the fire?” I joked.
He didn’t look amused. “About that. Want to tell me why someone would toss a Molotov cocktail through your window?”
The moment of truth. Except with his mom here I couldn’t even use the lines I’d prepared when I’d last met him for breakfast. “Um. Can I see that video footage first?”
After a long look at me, he tapped his tablet a couple of times and we all huddled around to watch. The recording from the security camera on my front door was grainy but showed enough detail. Two men in masks that looked like they’d been left over from Halloween entered the screen. One was tall and muscular, the other short and stocky with a familiar tuft of hair on top of his head.
“Guess I should have sprayed Handsome before he could get a proper look at me,” I mused, wondering how they’d found my apartment.
Connor shifted one eyebrow. “Handsome?”
“I nicknamed him before the whole firebombing thing.”
“Oh. That’s okay then.”
I nodded absentmindedly, still trying to figure out why they’d found my apartment and not Etta’s.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Connor growled.
“Uh, right.”
I looked from one face to the other. Mae’s was pleasant and interested, Connor’s a stony mask. I took a swig of my espresso to fortify myself and bravely launched into the whole sorry tale.
Connor exploded when I detailed our rescue of the widow. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Of stopping Nicole from being tortured?”
“You should’ve left it to the police. What if they’d decided to shoot back?”
“Etta’s probably a better shot, and I ran away very fast, like you taught me.” He scowled at the reminder that he’d been the one to equip me with the pepper spray in the first place. “Besides, who knows what they would’ve done to Nicole in the time it had taken the police to arrive, assess the situation, and act.”
“I’m sure she appreciated your quick thinking and courage,” Mae said, earning another scowl from Connor. “Is there anything I can do to help with the case?”
“Mom, don’t get involved, and for heaven’s sake don’t encourage her.”
“Nonsense, hon, you’re too protective for your own good. I know it’s hard to deal with after what happened with your dad, but stopping your loved ones from living out of your fear of losing them isn’t love. You have to find a way of giving them their freedom and being okay with that somehow. Besides, I need something to keep my mind occupied since you’ve got me stuck here away from my projects.”
Connor hung his head in his hands. The largest gesture of defeat I’d ever seen from him. But when he lifted it again, his expression was resolute. He looked my way. “We’ll talk about you getting involved in a case I told you absolutely not to later. Right now we need to track down the bastards that did this and make sure they don’t get the chance to try again.”
It sounded like a good plan to me. With any luck, we’d be tracking down Michael Watts’s murderer at the same time. Those thugs had certainly proven they had no aversion to violence.
15
Connor pushed back from the table and strode out of the dining room, mumbling something about clearing his schedule for the day. Mae and I lingered over our breakfasts.
“Best to give him space to compose himself,” she said.
We chatted about where I might find affordable furniture to replace what had been lost, and Mae offered to help with all the washing and cleaning. An offer that brought tears to my eyes. It was the kind of thing my mum would have volunteered to do, had she been here, and I felt a pang of homesickness as well as a wave of gratitude at Mae’s kindness.
Meow was less grateful since she was first on the cleaning agenda.
When Connor didn’t return, I left to prepare myself for the day. He came into the en-suite when I was brushing my teeth.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he told me. “About sharing stuff with you, I mean.”
Nice of him to start this conversation when I couldn’t talk back. I braced myself for the “and I’ve decided you’re an idiot” conclusion. I wouldn’t give up on him. Not yet. But I didn’t know how to get through to him either.
“It’s hard to wrap my mind around your point of view when I’ve been living the way I have for so long,” he said instead.
That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. That sounded like he might be willing to budge.
His hand rested on the door like he wanted to keep his exit clear, and his eyes studied the tiles. I suspected he’d prefer to be facing the barrel of a gun than having this conversation. “When your work is classified,” he went on, “the less information you give, the fewer lies you need to remember. So it’s easier to stop talking… And once you stop talking, it’s easier to stop caring.”
He met my gaze in the mirror.
“That’s why you were such a pain in the ass. Not only did you force me to talk all the time, but you challenged me to care. To reassess my view of people. To reassess who I’d become.” He swallowed as if the words were trying to crawl back down his throat before he could get them out.
“You have this frank, optimistic way of looking at the world. Even after what your ex did to you. You saw the Disney Princess watch on the guy coming to beat you up and asked about his family. You kept the damn turkey feather Dana’s mom gave you even though you hate turkeys. You cared so much about your last client that you risked jail to track down his murderer. Somehow you manage to find the humor and humanity in any situation life throws at you. The world’s a better place when I catch a glimpse of it through your eyes.”
I spat into the sink. Unable to concentrate on brushing my teeth anymore.
He let go of the door to stand up straight and stiff. Like a soldier facing death. “I’m starting to see that if I want to be part of that world, I’m going to have to change some things. You deserve someone who makes you happy, and if that means talking and shit, then I’ll try. But you’re going to have to be patient with me.”
I finished rinsing my mouth and went to him, no longer caring if his mom was in the same house. Funnily enough, I had no words to say. We were on the bed moments later. His need colliding with mine.
Meow had returned to her new favorite spot on Connor’s pillow. For a second I felt weird about it. Then I forgot all about Meow.
Connor drove me to the police station to file the report. I must have met my quota of misfortune for a while because I didn’t run into Commander Hunt. Then we drove to my apartment to do a stocktake, pick up some clothes, and tell Etta the plan—or what we had of it anyway.
I surveyed the damage with fresh eyes: the cold, charred remains of what had once been our dining and living area. The stench of acrid smoke hit me anew, and I concluded reluctantly every single thing in the apartment would need to be washed to get the smell out.
The timber dining table had gone first, with one side completely burned to ash. It had toppled over when the two legs on the burned side no longer had a tabletop to attach to. The fabric couch that we’d managed to squeeze three people plus Dudley and Meow o
n was reduced to an ugly metal frame and one blackened armrest. One of the armchairs had fared better but would still have to be replaced thanks to the holes created by sparks. Piles of chemical powder coated every surface.
The single piece of good news was that the 1960s pineapple, banana, and flower wallpaper would finally have to go. I wondered whether Oliver would be disappointed after all his hard work at drawing eyes on the pineapples…
In that split second, I’d chosen to stay and fight because I didn’t have insurance. But in the end, the only thing I’d managed to save was the stuff in our bedrooms and kitchen—after it’d been thoroughly cleaned. Then again, my neighbors probably appreciated not having their homes burned down.
Yes. I’d made the right decision. And I was lucky that with my new job as a Shade, having to fork out for a whole lot of budget or secondhand furniture and appliances wouldn’t stop me from meeting my minimum repayments to the loan shark. Four months ago, this would have spelled the end.
But even apart from the money, I was dreading doing the mammoth amounts of cleaning and shopping required to put it back together again.
To my relief, Connor had told me the landlord would be responsible for replacing the carpet and fixing the smoke damage to the walls and ceiling. It was how it would’ve worked in Australia, but that’s the thing about moving to a new country; all the laws and regulations that you learn growing up might be completely different. So I hadn’t been sure until he’d said so.
I hoped the landlord would choose a carpet color other than sickly green. But maybe she liked it. Or maybe she’d get the exact same hue to spite us.
Unable to figure out where to begin, I wandered aimlessly to my bedroom and opened the door. The first thing I saw was my horrible rainbow-vomit duvet cover. Unlike the carpet, the stupid thing was untouched. Well, nothing that putting it through the wash wouldn’t fix. I gently banged my head on the doorframe. “Looks like you and I are going to be together for a while longer yet.”
“Were you talking to yourself?”
Connor’s voice startled me. I’d left him in the car to make a phone call and hadn’t heard him come in.
“Studies have shown that talking to yourself is actually beneficial,” I informed him. “Albert Einstein talked to himself.”
“You can be a genius if you want, honey. Your hair’s crazy enough for it although it’s the wrong color.” He tugged a wayward red-brown lock to illustrate his point. “But I’d prefer it if you didn’t adopt Einstein’s mustache.”
“Your preferences are noted. But I’m not making any promises.”
He pulled me toward him and kissed me thoroughly. “I’ll make it worth your while to stay mustache-free.”
I laughed and pushed him away. But the silly conversation had lightened my mood and given me the wherewithal to collect the things I’d come for.
I selected a bunch of outfits appropriate for both WECS Club and sleuthing and put them in a suitcase along with my makeup and toiletries, phone charger, Taser, and my backup canister of pepper spray. I also made sure to pack Meow’s food and litter box, though I suspected that with Mae around she’d be getting plenty of supplemental roast.
Etta let herself in. Apparently, with a gaping hole in the window and burned furniture, no one felt the need to knock anymore. She eyed my suitcase and Connor standing by.
“Jeepers. If I realized all it would take for you two to move in together was a little house fire, I would’ve set it up ages ago.”
While Connor and I had only been dating a week, we’d told everyone we were in a relationship when we met in September. Connor had been my Taste Society client, and that had been the cover story we’d used to explain my spending every waking hour with him, sharing his food. Etta had been trying to get us back together ever since we’d “broken up.” Probably because she liked having him around as eye candy.
“We both know you’d miss me too much if I moved out,” I told her. She pursed her lips, so I figured I must be right. “The good news is, we’ve learned who did set the fire, and we need your help to stop them doing it again.”
Etta grinned.
16
I blew fifty bucks on a bunch of flowers for Nicole and hated that I did it grudgingly. It was hard not to think about how much of a new dining table that could buy. But the poor woman had been tortured and lost her husband in the same week for goodness’ sake. She deserved a spot of beauty in her life, and she wasn’t the kind of person who’d appreciate the budget variety.
Connor thought she’d open up more without him being present so had taught us the kinds of questions that might elicit useful information. He would be waiting in his SUV nearby in case Handsome and Onion Head decided to drop by too.
The Watts’ street in Pacific Palisades was just the way we’d left it after the emergency vehicles had disappeared. Quiet, charming, serene. No hint at the recent violence and suffering going on behind the pretty, paneled windows of 1135. The gardener must have come this morning because not a single leaf broke the surface of the emerald-green lawn. Etta rang the doorbell.
We heard the clink of a keyhole cover shifting and slipping back into place before the door opened. Nicole looked ragged.
“We didn’t exactly get to introduce ourselves yesterday,” Etta said, “but we wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Thank you. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”
Her gratitude seemed genuine, but she didn’t make any move to invite us in. Was she suspicious about how we’d happened to come to her rescue at the right moment? Please don’t ask.
“How did you know something was wrong?” she asked.
Etta and I looked at each other.
“Oh,” Etta said. “We overheard those men saying something about—well, it had a lot of swear words—as they left their car, and I’m a member of one of those neighborhood watch programs, so I thought we should check if everything was okay.”
I was wondering how Etta was going to explain why our checking everything was okay involved creeping around the side of the house and peering in windows, but she didn’t elaborate and Nicole seemed to accept the explanation.
“I’m glad you did.”
She didn’t shift from her position though. The door was a third of the way open, and she was squeezed into the gap. Almost like she was body-blocking us.
“We brought you these,” I said, handing her the flowers. Maybe they’d get us inside.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” She held them awkwardly, apparently hoping we’d leave.
We didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I’d invite you inside, but the house is in no state for visitors.”
“I’ll bet it can’t be worse than Izzy’s place.” Etta sounded amused. “That’s Isobel by the way, and I’m Etta. And I’m afraid this isn’t just a social call. You see, those men, whoever they were, retaliated last night. They set fire to her apartment.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. But anything you can tell us about them will help make sure they don’t keep coming after us. Any of us.”
Nicole’s already slender figure seemed to shrink, and she finally stepped back. “You’d better come in.”
The house was a complete disaster. No wonder she’d been blocking our view. Drawers had been emptied, furniture and couches overturned, and belongings piled in the middle of the floor. The thugs must have returned while she was in the hospital and torn the place up. Right before burning down my apartment.
They had been busy.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said, limping ahead of us. She was wearing sandals that didn’t touch her toes, and the digits that were missing nails were bandaged. “I’ve been trying to find what those men were looking for.”
She’d done this herself?
“They sent me a message when I was at the hospital, saying if I don’t find the stash or if I get the police involved again, they’d…” She to
ok a moment to compose herself enough to continue. “They’d kill my son.”
Uh-oh.
“Those dirty rotten scoundrels,” Etta exclaimed. “Who the hell are they anyway?”
Nicole put the flowers on the counter and retrieved an expensive-looking vase from an overhead cupboard. “I don’t know exactly. I’d never met them before yesterday, but they claimed to know Michael. That’s my husband… I mean late husband. He was murdered a week ago.” Her lip quivered as she filled the vase with water. “They were asking where his stash was, but I didn’t know what they were talking about. They wouldn’t believe me and kept saying how the boss didn’t like loose ends.”
“What kind of stash? Did they say?”
“Um.” Tears shone in her eyes. “Sorry, it’s hard for me to think about. The ugly one mentioned drugs at some point? But while my husband was many things, and not always the same person he liked to believe he was, to my knowledge he never touched drugs. He would even avoid taking medication prescribed by a doctor.”
Etta bustled into the kitchen. “You poor dear. Go and sit down. I’ll make us all a cup of tea.”
Like a child, Nicole absently did as she was told.
“Did you find anything in your search?” I asked.
She screwed up her mouth. “Just a lot of dust. And I’m running out of places to look.”
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out,” Etta said.
I wished she’d stop promising people that.
I wanted to help, but I was less optimistic about our ability to do it. Since I couldn’t take her words back, I ran through the types of questions Connor had suggested might be enlightening.
Looking at the puzzle pieces, we were guessing that whatever those thugs were after, it was most likely related to Michael’s covert activities. But Connor had explained that when someone is confronted with the possibility that their loved one is involved in some kind of scandal, their gut reaction is to deny it, and their mind scrambles to back that notion up. Which means if you ask them anything point- blank, you’re not likely to get helpful answers.
Poison is the New Black: (Bonus story: Taste of Christmas) (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 3) Page 13
