“But I do have leftover green curry chicken.”
“Sounds great.”
He put it in the microwave, and a few minutes later we sat down at the dining table with steaming, fragrant bowls. The table was covered with a natural linen cloth and featured a centerpiece of three glass vases that had been filled with copper- and ivory-colored Christmas baubles.
“Maria’s doing?” I asked.
Connor grunted and picked up his fork.
Sitting here brought back more memories. “You didn’t poison the curry did you?”
It had been part of the process of assessing new Shades, and I wouldn’t put it past him to treat me to a surprise for old times’ sake. Especially if he’d found out I hadn’t had a poisoned meal in three months.
His face didn’t offer any clues. “I might need to check whether the head injury affected your abilities.”
I swapped our bowls. Connor watched on, unconcerned. Not poisoned then? Or had he anticipated the switch? With an inward groan, I sniffed and tasted the first mouthful before swallowing. My stomach grumbled at the delay, but it would grumble even more if he’d poisoned it. I tasted another mouthful from a different section of the meal.
He hadn’t poisoned it.
“You’re such a jerk.”
His expression turned smug. “This shouldn’t be news to you by now.”
I wolfed the bowl down. “Is there any more?” He began to get up, but I stopped him. “Don’t worry. I can stick it in the microwave myself.”
That way I wouldn’t have to test for more poison.
When I returned to the table, Connor had finished his first bowl but made no move to fetch seconds.
“So,” I said, tucking into my own seconds, “tell me something about yourself.”
Perhaps if I learned more about the man, he’d lose some of his enigmatic appeal. With luck, it would help me think of him as an ordinary, tarnished human rather than a shiny, majestic cyborg.
Okay, I couldn’t see myself ever thinking of him as ordinary. But at the very least, it might put us on more even footing.
“I’m a private investigator for the Taste Society,” he said.
I paused in my shoveling. “Ha ha. Something I don’t know.”
He leaned toward me, his biting citrus and sun-warmed leather scent mingling pleasantly with the curry. “You really want to know something?”
I nodded, forgetting to breathe.
“Levi is wrong. I have an excellent bedside manner.”
I spluttered. Connor smirked.
I didn’t ask him any more questions after that. He seemed content to watch me while I finished eating. I wished he wouldn’t. My abdomen was hot and tingly, and I was trying to convince myself it was from the spices.
Time to cut myself off for the evening. “Where am I sleeping? And can I have a shower?”
I’d showered this morning, but after spending hours in a funeral home, getting clubbed over the head, and watching Aunt Alice and Etta ogle Connor, I felt like I needed another one.
“I’ll set up a bed for you in my room.”
“What?” I assumed by the fact he was setting up a bed for me that it wasn’t an invitation. Which was good because I didn’t want it to be. “Don’t you have about half a dozen guest rooms in this place?”
“Something like that. But I’m meant to be monitoring you, and I’d prefer not to have to get up every few hours to do it.”
“But—”
“If you object to sleeping on the floor, there’s room in my bed.”
I gave up. So much for cutting myself off. “The floor is fine.”
“Good. I’ll grab you a towel.”
“You’re so domestic.”
He rose to his feet without deigning to respond, and I followed him out of habit. While the exterior of his home was traditional Tudor, the inside was a pleasing mix of modern white walls and bright, uncluttered spaces, paired with the original exposed dark timbers and floorboards. Paintings were his decoration of choice, with the occasional sculpture on a floating shelf. Anything less beautiful was minimized or tucked away. He took a towel from a concealed closet that I’d assumed was a normal part of the wall until two seconds ago. “You remember where the bathroom is.”
He meant his personal bathroom as that was the one I’d used when pretending to be his girlfriend. But hell, if I had to sleep in his room, I guess I might as well use his en-suite. It was modern and spacious and had a fancy shower where the water poured from the ceiling. I was half-naked before I realized I didn’t have any clean clothes to change into.
It was a situation I’d found myself in distressingly often when I had been Connor’s Shade. Which reminded me that I’d finally prepared for it by stashing a spare pair of underwear in my bag. Because I hadn’t cleaned out my bag since, they should still be there.
I rummaged, located them, shook off a bit of lint and one of Meow’s feather toys, and held them up triumphantly. Point one to the disorganized, non-minimalists of the world.
Organized minimalists had no doubt scored plenty more than one point on me. Fortunately, they’d never clutter up their minds or homes with the means to keep track.
My scalp stung under the water, and I realized towel-drying my hair would be painful with all the bruising and swelling. I washed it gingerly and left it a touch shy of dripping. It’d do. Feeling clean and refreshed despite my head, I finger-brushed my teeth and called it good enough. I pulled on my “fresh” pair of undies. My full-length skirt and long-sleeved knit top weren’t going to cut it as sleepwear, though, so I wrapped my towel around me and exited the bathroom.
Connor was expertly folding the sheets into hospital corners on the mattress that was now in the middle of his bedroom floor.
Wow. He really is domestic. “Can I borrow a T-shirt?”
His eyes fastened on the towel. I pressed my elbow harder into the side I’d tucked the end in, just in case it tried to jump free under the influence of his smoldering gaze. Maybe he did still find me attractive.
The whole moment lasted less than a second before he noticed the claw marks.
“What happened to your arms?”
“Meow doesn’t like Dudley.”
“Are you taking antibiotics? Cat scratches can be nasty.”
Sheesh, why did everyone know this but me?
“Yessir. Now can I have that T-shirt?”
“Sure.” His eyes skimmed over me one more time before he went to fetch it from the wardrobe. I swear the damn thing was ironed. I returned to the bathroom and re-emerged a minute later, tugging the T-shirt down to cover the undies I was so proud of having. He was already in bed, presumably having brushed his teeth in another of his bathrooms. He was too well groomed to skip it.
Riled up as I was from our encounter, I was disappointed to miss learning what he wore to sleep. I could imagine anything from stately pajamas to full nudity. Maybe I shouldn’t imagine the nudity.
His eyes tracked me as I walked to the mattress on the floor and slipped under the neatly made covers. “Thanks for saving me from sleeping at the medical facility,” I said, trying to find a comfortable position for my sore head and my wanton body.
He flicked off the light switch. “I just hope you don’t snore.”
12
Everyone should wake up to the smell of freshly extracted espresso. Connor was already gone. He’d roused me twice overnight to check if I was alive and shine a flashlight in my eyes. Fortunately or unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to see much of him in whatever he wore to bed with the aforementioned flashlight in my eyes. I also wasn’t sure if he’d snored, given I’d slept like a hibernating bear despite all the reasons not to.
I really hoped I hadn’t snored.
Dressed in the same outfit as yesterday, only with less makeup due to being limited to the mascara and lip gloss in my bag, I emerged from the bedroom.
Maria was the one responsible for the heavenly coffee scent. She hadn’t gotten any taller since
I’d seen her last, but neither had she lost any of her cheerful authority. I wondered, not for the first time, how many of Connor’s secrets she knew. If I had to bet, I’d say a lot more than me.
“Espresso?” she asked me with knowing smile. She had a handsome, oval face, dominated by a strong nose and shrewd eyes the color of the darkest French roasted coffee beans. When she smiled, you forgot about the nose.
“Please,” I said, wondering whether Connor had passed on my “tell Maria I love her” message.
She went to the machine, her bright floral blouse offering a counterpoint to the practical black apron and the slicked-back inky hair.
“How’s Armando?” I asked her.
She and her husband had been married for thirty-eight years, and her entire being lit up like a Disney Princess meeting her prince whenever she talked about him. “He is good. We love cold weather.” She beamed as she expertly ground and tamped the coffee, then attached the portafilter to the machine. “What does wolf say? All better for snuggling.” She gave me a wink.
Laughing, I carried my cream-laden short black to the dining room where Connor was already seated. “Do you think you’ll ever find what Maria and Armando have?” I asked him.
He was reading something on his digital tablet and didn’t bother to look up. “What do you think they have?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Someone to snuggle with every winter, I guess.”
“Depends whether it has to be the same someone.”
I felt a twinge of jealousy. I was far from grateful to Aunt Alice for bringing those feelings to the forefront of my mind.
“What about you?” he asked, attention still on the tablet.
I sipped my espresso before answering and felt instantly better. “By your definition, I’ve already found it.”
He looked up.
“Meow and Dudley make excellent snuggle buddies.”
Amusement shone in his eyes. “Does Levi know who you turned him down for?”
“Well he did treat my cat scratches, so he might have some idea.” I pushed away the nagging voice that said I’d made a mistake in saying no and took another blissful sip. “What’s the plan this morning?”
Connor slid over the tablet he’d been so reluctant to look up from. The headline leapt out at me.
BusiLeaks Whistle-Blower Murdered!
“The LAPD informed the media late last night,” Connor said, “which means you’ll likely be contacted by reporters looking to pad out their stories today. Keep your responses to a minimum. You can express sorrow, but don’t talk about the case, period.”
My pleasant morning bubble popped. “Got it.”
“Beyond that, we’ll talk to Mr. Massey and find out if he knows anything about that flash drive. If we’re lucky, he’ll know more than you did.”
Jerk.
Thirty minutes later I jogged up the stairs to my apartment for a change of clothes. Okay, I jogged up half the stairs before I got a stitch. I told myself it was the exercising-on-a-full-stomach thing rather than the totally unfit thing and hoped Connor wasn’t watching from the car. Surely he had better things to do.
Oliver was asleep, so there was no need to explain why I hadn’t come home last night. I put the rescued muffins in the kitchen, petted Meow for a minute, and threw on a new outfit. Then I made a quick detour to the bathroom to brush my teeth with a real toothbrush and add some product to tame my wild hair. I thought about applying some extra makeup, but since my revised position on the case involved hiding in the car while Connor interviewed people, decided against it.
My phone buzzed a second before someone knocked on the door. Figuring Connor must have come up to see what was taking so long, I opened the door while digging through my bag for the phone.
A camera flashed, a video camera blinked at me, and three microphones were thrust at my face. “Isobel Avery?”
I blinked back at the cameras.
“How do you feel about Earnest Dunst’s death?”
“How long were you dating Earnest?”
“Is it true you found his body?”
“Did Mr. Dunst leave a will?”
“I…”
Everyone fell silent to hear what I had to say. The problem was, I didn’t know what to say.
“Um.” Great start. “Earnest Dunst was a good man. A very good man. His death is a tragedy. And I don’t feel up to talking about it right now. I’m sorry.”
I tried to shut the door but the microphones got in my way.
“Who do you think might have killed Earnest?”
“Will anyone continue his work?”
“How did you meet him when he almost never left his house?”
“Are the police treating you as a suspect?”
“I’m sorry. No further comments.” This time, I managed to pull the door shut.
Wow. How did anyone deal with being famous?
I remembered I’d been rummaging through my bag for my phone and recommenced the search. The text I’d heard come in was from Connor.
Press are about to knock on your door.
Perfect.
I sent him a reply.
Didn’t see your message until it was too late. Do you think they’ll go away?
Oliver came out of his bedroom. “What’s going on? Why are there reporters on our doorstep?”
My phone rang before I could answer him. Etta. “Did you know there are reporters outside?”
I blew out a breath. “You should come over when they leave. I might as well tell you and Oliver at the same time.”
The next ten minutes seemed to take at least twenty. Oliver had a shower. I fed Meow, put on extra makeup despite it being too late now, and made three cups of tea. I also texted Connor again.
I have to do damage control with Etta and Oliver. Could be a while. Wanna come up?
He replied right away.
I’ll sit this one out.
Jerk.
Eventually the news crews realized I wasn’t coming back out until they left, or they got a more exciting proposition than Earnest’s unknown, uncooperative, and ineloquent girlfriend. Etta was over thirty seconds later, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She was decked out in yellow slacks, a black fitted jacket, and a stylish patterned scarf. I couldn’t help but think she would have made a far better picture for the cameras.
I handed her a cup of tea, and we sat down at the table with Oliver who was in his usual T-shirt and worn-out jeans. He’d recently started collecting novelty T-shirts and now showed them off at least a couple of times a week. Today’s said “Save the Chubby Unicorns” with an image of a rhino underneath. It was very tame by his standards. I assumed that was for Henrietta and Aunt Alice’s sake.
“Do you know what this is about?” Etta asked him.
“No clue.”
“How is that possible? She’s your housemate.”
“You’re the one who usually knows everything about everyone in this building,” he said. “You must be losing your touch.”
They jostled each other the same way eight-year-old siblings would and turned to me expectantly.
Oh boy. “You’re not going to like this,” I told them. “I’ve been dating someone.”
“What?”
“Who?”
“When?”
“Someone you might have heard of. The man behind BusiLeaks. You know, that whistle-blowing website about American businesses?”
“The one that died a few days ago?” Etta asked.
“Uh. Yes. And now the police are treating his death as suspicious. Which is why the press were here this morning.” I chewed my lip, unsure how to continue.
“Well, hell.” Etta said, all the air gone out of her. “I really thought you and Connor were getting back together.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Oliver asked. “We know your job is confidential, but surely your boyfriend isn’t!” He crossed his arms and managed to look indignant and dejected at the same time, even with a cartoon rhinoceros on
his shirt.
He had a point. I could’ve told them about the “dating” Earnest part, given that it was congruent with my cover. But with Earnest keeping such a low profile, and Etta crestfallen over my breakup with Connor, I figured it was easier not to. There was no reason for them to ever find out. Or so I’d thought.
“Sorry guys. I know I should’ve told you. I just… Well it was new, and I couldn’t believe it myself and you both liked Connor so much…”
Their gazes were not understanding.
“Um. Wanna try my white-chocolate-and-raspberry muffins?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“But you can’t buy us off with food,” Etta added. “We’re very upset with you.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “But they’re pretty good.” I fled to fetch them.
Three muffins later, there were fewer glares being cast my way. I figured it was as much as I could expect for a while. I brought over another pair of sugary peace offerings. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to Aunt Alice.”
“If those news crews were anything to go by, your face is about to be splashed all over the papers,” Etta said.
Damn. She was right. Probably beside a shot of Oliver’s Chrismyass poster knowing my luck. “True. But I mean, if you could pretend you knew I was dating him—”
“Forget it.”
“I’m not lying to Henrietta!”
“Okay.” It was fair enough, and I couldn’t find it within me to argue. “Well, I’m sorry again for keeping all this from you. But I need to run.”
Etta’s eyes shot up from the muffin. “Wait. I was hoping you could take Dudley today. I’m having some rooms repainted, and I don’t want him to be stuck inside with the fumes. I’d take him out myself, but I have to make sure the painters know what they’re doing.”
“Well, I’m working with Connor again today.” I went to the window and peered down to the street below. He hadn’t moved from his SUV, but I saw my Corvette had been miraculously returned. I didn’t know if I’d be able to miraculously squeeze eighty pounds of Dudley inside though, even if Connor would let me drive it. “I’ll see what he thinks about having a dog in his car.”
The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2) Page 11
