by Bishop, Ally
Another man sits to Ian’s right, but he’s much quieter than everyone else, seemingly taking in the environment rather than participating, so I’m surprised when he actually asks a question after I explain the story behind Elementary.
“You write all of the mysteries?” His tone isn’t skeptical exactly, but there’s definitely some disbelief there.
I nod. “Yep. Every single one. I’ve been writing mysteries since I was twelve, so it’s sort of habit.”
“You’ll have to forgive Casey. He’s very suspicious of anyone that claims to write full-time, given that he’s a never-ending novelist,” Ian teases, doffing Casey on the shoulder.
Casey laughs demurely and nods. “True. I’m probably just ridiculously jealous. But kudos to you for making it happen. This was brilliant,” he compliments as he gestures to the room, which only hours before had been a stage. “If you ever need anything writing-wise, I’d be happy to help.”
I remember Casey’s name from the conversation Ian and I had on the way to Connecticut. There’s a sadness to Casey, or at least, I interpret it that way, but he seems at ease, his smile relaxed. We talk about his writing, which is more along the lines of literary fiction, but he’s also been working on a bit of genre fiction.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about working on a vampire mystery, something fun, and maybe a tad bit cheesy. I could use some consultation, if you’d be up for it.”
Casey runs a hand through his short blond hair, clearly pleased at being asked. “That would be great. I have a friend who might be interested in something like you are doing here, so maybe we can help each other out.” He grins, a blush brightening his cheeks.
I smile at him, appreciative of his offer. “Sounds perfect.”
The evening ends with business cards passed out, Mick’s promise that he’ll be in touch as he must know the end of the story, and more compliments than I can answer without turning a bright shade of pink. If they notice Ian’s arm brushing mine or our hands touching beneath the table, they don’t say anything.
“That was a brilliant night.” Ian wraps his arms around my waist, grinning down at me. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome. You have lovely friends.”
He kisses me, and I forget what I was even thinking, much less anything else I wanted to say.
“And thank you for throwing Casey a bone. He’s actually quite good, though I don’t know if he’ll ever finish his great American novel.”
“He’s the one you told me about? With the wealthy, nonexistent parents?”
Ian nods. “That’s him.”
I hate to interject, but I have to ask. “Did Mick mention anything about Noah’s performance?”
Ian grins. “I only had a brief moment to talk to him about it before dessert, but yes, he thought he was really something. He’s directing a film in the next year or so, and he might have a small role for him.”
What I mean to do is smile brilliantly and kiss Ian. What I do is yawn expansively.
“If that news didn’t perk you up, I know you’re done for. You’re exhausted.”
I start to shake my head, but I’m so tired, the effort of denial isn’t worth it. “I’m sorry. I am. I need to get home.”
“You won’t stay here?” he asks wistfully.
“Next time. I promise.” I kiss him, hoping he can feel my apology. “But Noah doesn’t know about us yet, and I want to be the one to tell him.”
“Fair enough.” He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, but I still his fingers. “I can take a cab. I usually do.”
“Nonsense. I’ll call you a car. If I can’t use the perk of my job, why have it?”
He’s either made a good point, or I’m too far gone to care. He practically lifts me into the car before nestling into the seat with me. I fall asleep during the ride, and I’m pretty sure he would have tried to carry me into my apartment, but I manage to get my footing.
“I’m okay,” I insist when he tries to argue. “I just need sleep.”
He presses a kiss to my lips, and then waits for me to get inside before returning to the car. I watch him through the hallway window, wondering if I’ve dreamed the last week, or if I might have met the right guy at last.
CHAPTER 15
THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN
It’s after lunch when I finally rouse. And only because someone is retching over the toilet.
“Dear God, what happened to you?” I find Noah clutching the commode, his face pale and his hair damp with sweat.
“I think I’ve got the flu. I haven’t felt this bad in years.” He tries to heave again, and I look away while laying a cool hand on his neck. I hate the sound of vomiting, but it’s even worse when you’re alone, so I stay there despite my wish to grab earplugs.
“Let me run out and get you some juice and medicine.”
He slumps against the tiled wall. “I don’t think I can keep anything down.”
“Okay, well, crackers and rice it is. Do you want me to help you back to bed?”
His head wags. “I’d rather be close to the bowl in case I have to throw up again.”
I tug on jeans and a sweater, grab my wallet and cell, and head out. I check my text messages on the way to the corner market.
I’m lying in bed this morning, your gorgeous smile and delicious body on my mind. My cock is so hard, all I can think about is being inside you again.
A ridiculous smile locks onto my face, and as I scroll through the next two texts describing in detail parts of my anatomy that Ian considers quite arousing, I have to slow my pace, if only so I don’t embarrass myself in the store. The man certainly knows how to turn me on.
I nearly drop the phone when the ring startles me. “Hey.”
“So when do you get here, and what do you want for lunch? Sushi? Pizza?” Ian’s excitement over my arrival makes me grin. “Afterwards, we’ll revisit our discussion from Friday about restraining you while I drive you crazy with my mouth.”
I enter the market and head over to the health aisle, hoping my coat’s hood hides my scarlet cheeks. “I’ll be over in an hour or so. My brother’s sick, so I have to get him what he needs first.”
“He’s okay?”
“I’m guessing it’s a stomach bug, but we’ll see. Could be the flu.”
We make arrangements for me to come to his house, though I insist on taking public transportation. I’ve lived in New York for years now, and I’m quite proud of my ability to navigate a system that used to confuse the hell out of me.
After Noah’s tucked in with crackers and tea, with a promise to call me on my cell if he needs anything, I pull the writer’s excuse of needing to get inspired and write elsewhere. I want to tell him about Ian, but not while he’s not well enough to rag on me about it.
He doesn’t ask questions, both because he’ll never understand what I do and probably because he’s too sick to care.
An hour later, I’m at Ian’s, my heart thumping wildly in my throat at the idea of being with him again. But when he opens the door, there’s something in his eyes that cues me to a problem, and though his kiss is warm, it’s short.
“What’s wrong?”
He shuts the door behind me, takes my hand, and leads me to his office. “I discovered it when I came in here a few minutes ago.”
Where his first issue of The Amazing Spider-man used to hang is nothing but a bare wall. It takes me a few moments to register what he’s saying.
“You don’t think someone stole it?”
“Is there any other answer?” His voice is low and pained.
“Oh God, Ian. I’m so sorry.” Then everything clicks into place. “Last night? You’re sure it was last night?”
“I was in my office right before the party. It was here then.”
Any excitement I harbored over seeing him evaporates as a cold, leaden weight fills my stomach. “You don’t think I—”
“Of course not. I was either watching you or with you all evening.”
/> Which was true. Outside of our time in the bathroom… “You think it happened when you and I were…”
“That’s my best guess. The actors used this room to change in, right? How well do you know them?”
The accusation hits hard, even though I know it’s logical. “They would never do that. They’re all full-time employees elsewhere; they only work part-time for me because they’re hoping to make it into acting. They’d never chance something like this.” But even as I say it, I know I sound like one of my characters, determined not to see the truth before them.
“Ella, I’m not accusing anyone. But I know everyone that was here last night, except your people. My friends have been to my house countless times. I’m not saying it couldn’t be them, but I find it highly unlikely.” He pauses. “Do you run background checks on the actors? Do you know for sure none of them could have done this?”
“I don’t think they’d do it, but no. I don’t run checks.” I feel as though I’ve consigned one of them as guilty, even though I haven’t a clue if that’s the case.
“I’ll call the police then, get a report written up, and—”
“Wait. Let me…let me look into it. I’ll ask my actors and see if anyone saw anything.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, except that this could ruin Elementary, ruin everything Noah and I have worked so hard to build. “I can hire a private investigator. They’ll work faster than the police. This won’t be a priority. I’ve done enough research on crime and police investigations for my stories—I know how this works. If I hire someone to do it, we might be able to at least figure out where to start.” It sounds logical in my head, but he’s an attorney. Why would he not count on the law, when it’s what he’s given his life’s work to?
“Ella, look at me.” He holds my shoulders and waits for me to meet his gaze. “I’m not trying to hurt your company. You don’t have to be afraid. I know you didn’t do this, and I know you’re not behind it. Really, if it was just the book, I wouldn’t even care, but it came from—”
“Your dad. I know. That’s why I feel so terrible about it. But let me do this. If in a week, we’re no farther ahead, we’ll call the police. But please let me try to make this right.” My eyes plead when my words give out. I start again with a shaking voice. “I’d be devastated if I were in your position. And I know what this means. Let me do this. Please.”
He doesn’t look away, meeting my eyes for several beats before he nods. “All right. Let’s wait a week. It probably won’t make a difference. There’ve been too many people in and out of here in the last day to get prints anyway.” He releases my shoulders and runs a hand over his face before looking at me again. “Are you okay?”
In truth, I want to dissolve in hysterical sobs, but I put on my big-girl panties and nod. “I am. I’m just really sorry this happened. Let me get in touch with everyone from last night, and I’ll let you know as soon as I learn something.”
His handsome face creases with worry. “Ella, I may not have known you very long, but I do know you. I also know when people are hiding their true thoughts. It’s part of my job. Talk to me.”
I want to go home, to curl up and cry out my emotions, so I can move past them and get back to logic and planning. I shake my head and wish I could force out a more sincere smile than the grimace I’m probably making. “It’s fine. I just want to get to the bottom of this, as they say.”
“We’ll do it together.”
“I know.” I take his hands. “We will. But if this is my fault, I have to make it right. If you know anything about me, you know that’s the truth. And in order to do that, I have to be proactive and start working on this. I’ll call you tonight?”
When he hesitantly agrees, I practically run out of his house, hoping that I can keep it together long enough to get home.
Noah’s sound asleep when I get there, so I tiptoe past his room to my own. Without removing my clothes, I crawl under my comforter, pull it around me, and let the hot tears fall. I let the emotions overwhelm me—fear, embarrassment, anger, shame, sorrow, heartbreak—until I’m hiccupping with exhaustion. I might even fall asleep for a bit, but when my eyes pop open, it’s only seconds before I remember why I’m in bed in the middle of the day.
I reach for my cell and dial Lux.
“Help.”
I meet Lux in Kearny, New Jersey—an easy train ride from the city—on the corner of Midland and Beech, and we walk together to the middle of the block.
“Thanks for this.”
Lux kisses my cheek. “You’re welcome. That’s what friends do.” She brushes a curl from my face. “You going to be okay in there? Do you want me to go in with you?”
“You said you had a friend to see around here anyway. I can do this alone.”
She nods. “I’ll be a couple blocks that way.” She points south. “Cell phone will be on. Give me a heads-up when you’re ready.”
When she’s out of sight, I’m still standing on the stoop of Diamonte’s Pizza and Subs. It’s not that I’m afraid to walk inside. It’s more…there are parts of my life I’d like to forget exist. This next hour won’t let me do that.
After a deep breath, I step inside, pass the pizza restaurant’s door, and take the stairs to the floor above.
“F. Hamilton, Private Investigator” is etched into opaque glass, meeting the very stereotype I try not to write. Even up here, I can smell the peppery, greasy odor of the pizza joint. When I knock, I hear rustling before the door opens.
F. Hamilton is barely five foot, with bright red lips, blue-gray eyes, and a personality that practically shines out of her pores. Her strawberry blonde hair’s cut short, with curls spilling everywhere in a sweet halo. She’s wearing a t-shirt with Scooby and the gang on it, tight jeans, and cowboy boots. Lux informed me that “F” stood for Fiona, but she uses an initial so people don’t make assumptions about her based on her gender.
“Hiya, darlin’! I was wonderin’ when you’d get around to showing up. And here you are. Timin’s everythin’, ya know?” Her southern accent makes her words hard to understand. She steps back and waves her arm before me. “Entré, mademoiselle.”
I’m from the South, and I’ve never met anyone who sounds like her. I step in cautiously, and she grins even wider.
“I know. I’m not what most people expect when they go to see a private dick, am I right?” She winks and drops down on her chair. “Sit, sweetie. We’re going to be awhile, and there’s no point tirin’ out your stems.”
I obey but can’t quite relax. Her office is nearly the size of a closet, with a large metal desk that barely leaves enough room on the sides to skirt by. A beat-up filing cabinet sits in the corner beside a mini-fridge, and that’s about all this tiny space can hold.
“Tell me your woes, sweetpea. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” She sits back, arms crossed, smile sympathetic. “Lux didn’t say much, but if you’re a friend of hers, I aim to help.” She drops the intensity of her accent, confirming my suspicions that she amps it up for clientele.
I inhale deeply, then explain the situation. I don’t mention that I’m sleeping with Ian—not that I will be after this fiasco—but give her all the other details.
“The problem is that I didn’t do background checks on the actors when I hired them. I have no idea if one of them could have done this. But they’re all friends of ours, so I have a hard time believing it.” I clear my throat and meet her gaze. “The other problem with this is that my brother has a background. He was charged with conspiracy and theft when he was eighteen. So if anyone’s going to look guilty, it’s him.”
She narrows her eyes, giving me a penetrating stare. “You sure he didn’t steal the book?”
I nod. “I’d stake our business on it. Look, he didn’t steal anything when he was a kid. He was with…a friend. But he still got charged.” I rub my clammy hands on my jeans. “I know I sound like every other person who’s in denial over their family member’s guilt. But my brother and I have never kept sec
rets from each other,” until this past week, “ and he didn’t steal anything. But I’m scared if the police get involved, he’ll be the first one they look at.”
The seconds tick by as she seems to debate my tale. I’m twisting my purse strap, trying to calm my nerves. This is the Sunday from hell.
“Was anyone in and out of the place while you were there?”
I sigh. “Everyone.”
“Do you remember seeing anyone going out of the house with a large bag or package that could have contained the frame? You said it was framed, right?” Fiona pencils down notes, even as she asks questions.
“A lot of people were,” I say, even as the image of Noah leaving with props and a large duffel presumably filled with costumes fills my mind’s eye. That duffel was huge. Could he have…? I slam the lid down on that thought. “We had a caterer, a live band, there were guests, two of whom smoked so they went outside several times. It’s hard to say.”
She asks for a list of names of people who were at the party, as well as all of the actors. I don’t know all the guests’ names, so I give her the few I recognized as celebrities. I even give her Misha’s name, though I find it hard to believe the caterer would do anything like this. We go over everything I can remember one more time.
“You get back to me on the complete guest list. Think you can do that by tomorrow? I’ll do a little digging, a few background checks, and see what we can find out.”
I nod my affirmation. “How much will this run?”
Fiona gives me a wry grin and waves her hand. “For Lux, I’ll do the checking around for free. Anything more than that, and I charge by the hour.”
“Fair enough. Thank you very much.” I aim for a smile, hoping I get close.
She meets me at the door, but when I reach for it, she touches my shoulder. “Hon, this is pretty easy stuff, and I’ll gladly do it. But you need to prepare yourself in case the reality is a bit different than what you hope. People don’t usually get charged for crimes unless they had some hand in them. Maybe not the blame they got, but they usually did somethin’.”
