The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2)

by Chelsea Field

  My hand involuntarily went to the swelling on my skull. “Yes, Commander.”

  He turned his back on me and strolled lazily into the apartment. Connor came out a minute later. As if they were playing a good-and-evil tag team. “You’re not in handcuffs, so I assume that went as well as it could have,” he observed. “Are you doing okay?”

  “You mean aside from being brained over some muffins?”

  “Yes.”

  I rubbed a weary hand over my face. I’d spent hours today helping Mrs. Dunst plan Earnest’s funeral and witnessed how his death had blown her entire world to pieces. Yet his death just meant money in the funeral director’s pocket, money out of the landlord’s, and most people would go on with their lives as if he never existed. I didn’t want to be one of them. His life meant something, and he deserved more from me. Mrs. Dunst did too. I wanted to help find his killer.

  Before I could try to express any of that, my phone vibrated. The text was from an unknown number.

  Find and destroy Earnest’s backup flash drive, or the next time we meet will go a lot worse for you.

  I handed my phone to Connor. “I guess we know what the intruder was looking for now.”

  Connor passed the phone back to me. “That’s two reasons for you to sleep at my house tonight. Do you know anything about a flash drive?”

  I racked my brain. This was the kind of scenario where my personal knowledge of Earnest might help crack the case. But it turned out that I couldn’t divine where Earnest would store a backup flash drive even if my life depended on it. Which it might do if that text message was anything to go by. So much for inside information.

  Connor hid his disappointment well. But then he hid all his feelings well.

  He jogged away to let Hunt know about the text message and my ignorance. I stared after his athletic figure and wondered why events so often conspired to leave me feeling incompetent around him. When he returned, he patted me on the shoulder. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk to Jay Massey. Maybe he’ll know about the flash drive.”

  “You mean you’ll talk to him.” My tone was bitter. “Remember the whole tossing-my-ass-in-jail thing? Commander Hunt wants me as far away from this case as I can get. At least as far as I can get without leaving LA, given he considers me a suspect.”

  Connor weighed me up before speaking. “Well, it’s your decision. But there are ways we could work around that.”

  “What? How?”

  “I can’t guarantee you won’t get caught,” he warned, “but I could wear a wire to allow you to listen in on any interviews. The same way we did with Massey but in reverse. You can lend your insight to the case while staying out of sight. It would have been hard to come up with a reason for Earnest’s girlfriend tagging along with a police consultant anyway, so that will protect your cover as well.”

  It sounded good. Except for the part where I might get caught. The fact Connor was warning me suggested I’d be on my own if I did. Out of the Taste Society’s sphere of protective influence. In jail, with only Commander Hunt’s mercy to rest my hope in.

  That bit wasn’t good. That bit was very bad.

  But today had demonstrated to me that regardless of Hunt’s threats, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the case until Earnest’s killer was caught. Of course, thinking about it and acting on it were distinctly different things from the commander’s point of view. “Won’t you get in trouble, too, if Hunt finds out you’re working with me?”

  Connor’s lips flatlined. “I can handle Hunt.”

  So, that was a yes then. “Why would you go to the trouble of including me?”

  He lightly traced the edge of my jaw then snapped his hand down as if remembering we weren’t fake girlfriend and boyfriend anymore. “You mean, aside from needing to supervise you for the next twenty-four hours anyway?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because. You were… kind of… helpful on the Josh Summers case.”

  “Kind of helpful? I believe I recall being the one who identified the poisoner.”

  “And I recall being the one who stopped said poisoner from shooting you.”

  “Okay. I see your point, but—”

  He shrugged. “Hunt doesn’t scare me, and we need all the help we can get. The LAPD got a warrant for Dr. Kelly’s files, and we went over them all this morning trying to find promising leads. Unfortunately, Dr. Kelly was far more interested in Earnest’s past than the present and didn’t talk much about his BusiLeaks projects at all.”

  “But what about—”

  “I’ll sweeten the deal with an espresso every morning.”

  “That’s so conniving of you.”

  Or nice.

  “Are you in or out?” he asked.

  Unlike Connor, I was terrified of Commander Hunt. But my alternative was to pretend I didn’t care and hang out with Aunt Alice while Oliver and Henrietta slobbered on each other. “I’m in.”

  “Good. Let’s—”

  “Oh no.” I stared at my cracked phone, willing the numbers to change.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m late for my date with Aunt Alice.”

  Connor stopped me from jumping in the Corvette and flooring it to Downtown. “No driving, remember?”

  “But I need to go right now!”

  “Then I’ll drive. Get in the SUV.”

  I got in.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “The shooting range you took me to on Twelfth Street.”

  He hit the accelerator. “Are you sure that’s the best choice for someone with a head injury?”

  “The head injury wasn’t something I factored in when I came up with the plan this morning.”

  I’d thought long and hard about what to do with Aunt Alice and chosen the shooting range because the earplugs and noise would ensure a bare minimum of actual conversation. Plus it had given me an excuse to invite Etta.

  Connor’s features made the subtle shift into his version of a frown. “I’ll have to come and supervise then. Head injuries and firearms don’t play well together.”

  “No need for you to waste your time. Etta will be there to show Aunt Alice the ropes, and I’ll probably sit it out.”

  “Etta’s your idea of a responsible weapons instructor? I’ll definitely have to come in.”

  I crossed my arms but didn’t argue his point.

  Twenty minutes later, despite the lack of conversation, I was regretting my choice of activity. I hadn’t reckoned on how terrifying an armed Aunt Alice would be.

  She was holding a Glock, like Etta’s. Etta didn’t believe in starting with a sensible training gun. Etta believed in starting with a cool gun.

  The pair of them were wearing matching grins too, and that was even scarier than the matching guns. I’d been expecting disapproval from Aunt Alice, not fiendish glee.

  “You look good with a Glock,” Etta told her. “I’ll bet you’re a natural.”

  “Well don’t just stand there gawking, Isobel,” Aunt Alice said when she noticed me staring at them, transfixed with fear. “Take a photo so I can put it on Facebook.”

  I did as I was told and tried to ignore Connor’s inevitable amusement while Etta and Aunt Alice posed with their guns. I prayed the weapons weren’t loaded yet and took a bunch of photos. It was likely to be the safest part of the evening, after all.

  “Let us see,” Aunt Alice demanded. I handed her the phone, and they tittered over themselves like budgies in front of a mirror. Except less cute and more frightening. Maybe mutant monster budgies in front of a mirror.

  I gave up on the budgie analogy when I noticed the dangerous duo had their heads together and were whispering about something. My neck prickled in warning. Thankfully, their furtive looks weren’t directed my way.

  “Connor,” Etta said, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness, “perhaps you could help Mrs. Sloan here into the proper shooting stance. It’s been an awful long time since I wa
s taught, and I don’t want to steer her wrong.”

  I didn’t buy it for a second. And as Connor stepped forward to guide my aunt into position, I realized what was going on. Aunt Alice wanted Connor’s hands on her, and this was their devious way of achieving it.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I announced. I was nauseous and suspected it had nothing to do with the lemon-sized lump on the back of my skull. Connor was the only one who seemed to hear. He made questioning eyes at me, but I shook my head and followed the signs to the restroom.

  Let them have their fun so long as I didn’t have to watch.

  I dawdled as much as I could without drawing undue attention to the health of my intestines, and when I returned, Connor was once again at a safe distance from Aunt Alice. Though, judging by the wild variation in her shots, there may be no such thing as a safe distance.

  After she’d made it through a few rounds, she’d hit her paper target a sad total of three times. She’d hit Etta’s target and the one to the other side of hers about twice that. All Etta’s shots were in the bullseye so it wasn’t hard to differentiate.

  Aunt Alice’s cheeks were flushed, but whether from excitement or embarrassment I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. The last shot of the clip embedded itself in the safety polyurethane flooring, and she turned the gun around and peered down the barrel. Connor strode forward and took it from her. “Never point the gun at yourself or anyone else even if you’re sure it’s not loaded.”

  “I was trying to see if it’s working properly.”

  He reloaded it and casually proceeded to shoot five shots into the middle ring, one-handed. He passed it back to her. “It’s working properly—you just need practice. But please don’t point the gun at anything aside from the floor or the target again.”

  “I won’t, thank you.”

  Apparently, Aunt Alice didn’t mind being scolded, as long as it was a lust-worthy male doing the scolding. Not a revelation I wanted to linger on.

  Her relationship status was the one facet of her life she didn’t have impeccably in place. She’d married young, kept her house in perfect order, borne her husband two perfect children, and served a home-cooked meal for him every evening at precisely six o’clock, until eleven years in, he’d left in the middle of the night never to be seen again.

  The only explanation she ever got were the words “I can’t do this anymore” scrawled on the magnetic notepad she kept on the fridge for grocery and to-do lists. Rumor had it that she’d been more upset that he tore off several pages of her scrupulous notes to find a blank page, than that he’d abandoned her with two young children and half a mortgage.

  She’d secured a secretarial job the very next day and continued her stringent standards of perfection in every area of her life for the next twenty-five years up until the present day. But she’d never married again. Never even dated again, as far as I’d been led to believe. Now I wondered whether she was as adept at subterfuge as she was at everything else; there was obviously nothing wrong with her appetite for male company.

  The woman in question had fired another ten shots, with three of them hitting her own target. I guess that counted as improvement. Maybe relationships were one of two things she didn’t have down to a fine art.

  I soon learned it didn’t stop her giving advice on them. Connor was returning the weapons when she tackled me. “Etta tells me you were lucky enough to be dating Connor and you broke it off with him.”

  I sent Etta a nasty glare. “Why does everyone assume I was the one to break things off?”

  “Because anyone can see he doesn’t make decisions lightly,” Aunt Alice informed me. “His type might take a long time to win over, but once they’re on your side, they’ll have your back for life. Not like your damn fool ex-husband, who said all the right things but let himself be swept away at the first sign of a storm. Connor might not fill your head with pretty words, but I’m telling you, he’ll stand by you when the storm comes.”

  Actually, I thought it was more likely that he’d go outside and kick the storm’s ass, or if it was too big for that, shove me down in the dirt and throw himself over me for protection.

  “Take it from me, Isobel, that’s not a trait to throw away.”

  It was like she’d flicked on a light. A very bright light that made my head hurt while illuminating the room. I knew down to the marrow of my bones that she was right. And now I understood why I’d said no to Levi.

  He was charming, like my ex, and I couldn’t trust him. Not that he’d ever shown even a hint of Steve’s character weaknesses, but I’d been blind to them as well until he’d broken my heart, destroyed my new business, and set a loan shark on my tail to boot.

  Maybe it was more accurate to say I couldn’t trust myself. Levi could be the nicest guy in the world, and I’d never know, because I was too scared to give him a chance. While dispassionate, aloof Connor, who was about as hospitable as a glacier unless he warmed to you, had snuck past my defenses to become someone I might be able to trust with my heart. If he wanted it.

  The problem was, our relationship had been a farce, and I’d never won him over to begin with.

  11

  The four of us walked out to the dark parking lot. Etta stopped in front of her 1970s, buttercup-yellow Dodge Charger and scanned the other cars. “Where’s your Corvette, Izzy?” she asked.

  “I came with Connor.”

  “In that case, would you like a ride home?”

  Being trapped in the Charger’s tiny cabin with Aunt Alice was not desirous under any circumstances. Lucky I had reason to decline. “I’m afraid Connor and I still have work to do tonight. Would you mind telling Oliver to feed Meow?”

  Etta wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Working real late, huh? Sure, I’ll tell him.”

  “Thanks for suggesting this outing, Isobel,” Aunt Alice said. “I don’t know why you chose the shooting range when you didn’t even pick up a weapon, but it was fun.”

  “You’re very welcome.” I tried to channel Dr. Kelly’s serene smile and decided Oliver owed me big time. He’d sent me a total of five text messages containing the thumbs up emoji, so at least his evening had gone well.

  “And don’t forget what I told you,” Aunt Alice added with a pointed glance toward Connor.

  I wished I could forget. It would make tonight less awkward.

  As I followed Connor to his SUV, I was glad I didn’t have to drive. My skull throbbed, and the pain brought the threatening message back to the forefront of my mind. “What do we do if we can’t find Earnest’s backup flash drive?”

  “Pretend to find and destroy it. Whoever’s behind the threat is hardly a mastermind. Even if you found it and sent a video of its destruction, they couldn’t be sure you hadn’t copied it first. That’s the problem with information. It’s very hard to contain once it’s been released. They must be hoping you’re scared enough to do what they say.”

  “I guess I might be if I was a normal girl whose boyfriend had been murdered.” Or if I wasn’t so certain Connor would protect me.

  “True.” Connor eyed me. “Just as well you’re anything but normal.”

  “Um. Thanks?”

  He didn’t respond.

  I swallowed a couple of the painkillers Levi had given me and the antibiotics he’d supplied two days before. “Will Maria be at your house? Or is there any leftover food in the fridge? I haven’t had dinner yet, and I’m starving.”

  “It must be difficult living in a state of perpetual hunger,” Connor commented without answering my question.

  “Only if I don’t get fed.”

  He didn’t take the hint.

  “You know you didn’t tell me whether there’d be food, right?”

  He exhaled slowly through his nose. Not quite a sigh, but a show of exasperation all the same. “Maria left hours ago, but I’m sure we’ll find you something.”

  My anxiety lessened. I don’t do well on an empty stomach, and it had been a long day.

  We p
ulled up to Connor’s home in Beverly Hills. It was as I remembered it, an old Tudor-style mansion surrounded by a half acre of lawn and huge ancient trees. The maples and oaks had lost most of their leaves since I’d last been here, giving the whole place an austere appearance in the moonlight. Not that you could see much of the moon through the haze of smog that sat permanently above Los Angeles. It was something I could never quite get used to after growing up with the clean air and clear skies of Adelaide.

  We entered through the solid timber front door, leaving the bronze lion-head knocker untouched. It opened into a wide, airy hallway, and I winced when we passed the vase I’d once vomited in after a poisoned meal, still decorating its own shelf. “You kept it?” I squeaked, pointing.

  “I did tell you that vase belonged to my great-great-grandmother, right? If it makes you feel better, I had it professionally cleaned before putting it back.”

  For the next recruit he tested to vomit in. “Do you, uh, have a Shade-in-training at the moment?”

  “No. And I wake up every day grateful for that.”

  I didn’t know whether or not it was a dig at me, so I didn’t reply. He flicked the lights on in the kitchen and went straight to the stainless steel fridge, leaving me to stare at his coffee machine. His real coffee machine. It was a well-used but undoubtedly well-maintained La Marzocco. How had he managed to deceive me so thoroughly?

  Maybe he had spy training.

  Okay, I was being dramatic, but it made me realize again how little I knew about him. So why did I trust him?

  Probably because he always protects you.

  Ugh. I couldn’t believe Aunt Alice was right.

  It was a shame it was too late for an espresso, but at least I’d been promised one tomorrow morning. And all the mornings after that, as long as I stayed on the case. “Do you have any decaf beans?” I asked. Decaf was never quite as good, but if the beans had been decaffeinated by the Swiss Water Process, it was a good way to drink coffee at night.

  “No, sorry.”

  It figured. Connor was too tough to need decaf. Decaf is for humans who need to sleep. Not cyborgs.