At the Drop of a Hat (9 page)

To my surprise, he didn't correct the nickname. Instead, his countenance darkened and he said, “It's Ariana. She's being held as a person of interest in the murder of Anthony Russo.”

“What?” I gasped. “When? How? Why?”

“Speaking of locust-feeding reporters,” Nick said.

I swatted his arm to hush him.

“I don't have all of the specifics,” Harrison said. “Alistair just texted me that Stephen called him when the police arrived at Ariana's apartment with a search warrant and again when they arrested her.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “This is bad, isn't it?”

“It's not ideal,” Harrison said.

“What will happen next?” Viv asked.

“I guess that depends upon what the police find,” Harrison said.

“Poor Ariana,” I said. I thought about the wide-eyed girl, crouched beside her boss's body, looking horrified and lost. “She didn't do it.”

I thought it spoke well of them that no one contradicted me. I'd been ready to put forth an argument, but there was no need. It wasn't this crew that needed to be convinced of Ariana's innocence.

“Oh, no,” I said as I looked at Nick. “The reporters.”

“It will have started by now,” he said.

Together we raced for the door. He was fumbling with his phone as we hit the stairs to our apartment at a jog. I entered first and switched on our flat-screen television, flipping through channels until I found the nightly news on BBC One.

“Andre is coming over,” Nick said. “He wants to know if you need anything.”

“Tell him to bring dinner,” I said. I watched as a montage of Anthony Russo in various states of drunken disorderliness with a bevy of beauties on his arm flashed across the screen. “This is going to be a long one.”

We kept up our vigil through the eight o'clock and the ten o'clock news. The reporters had missed Ariana's arrival but it didn't deter them from camping outside Notting Hill Station, which is where the custody suites for criminals arrested in the Kensington Borough of the Metropolitan Police Service were located. Nick, Andre and Fee departed before the ten o'clock news, but Harrison stayed with Viv and me. When they were rehashing the story for the umpteenth time, Viv took the remote and shut it off.

“Enough,” she said. “I can't listen to another word.”

“Agreed,” I said. “I kept hoping there would be a new suspect announced.”

“Seems unlikely on the first day,” Harrison said. I appreciated that his tone was regretful.

“Well, Harrison, always a pleasure, even under poor circumstances,” Viv said. She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “See him out, won't you, Scarlett? I'm dead tired.”

She didn't wait for an answer but disappeared into her bedroom before either of us could offer so much as a good night.

“I have a key,” Harrison said. “You don't need to walk downstairs. I know you've had a long day.”

“No, it's all right,” I said. “I always do the final sweep of the shop before we lock up for the night. It gives me peace of mind.”

He led the way down the narrow staircase. The store was dark with just the emergency lights on. I glanced at the wardrobe in the corner with the large wooden raven carved in the top. I had named him Ferd the bird and we frequently conversed when I did my nightly rounds. Okay, I conversed as his beady wooden eyes followed me around; still, it was our routine.

All was quiet and there was a certain intimacy to walking through the deserted shop with Harrison at my side. I tried to tell myself it was the one-two punch of the enormous amount of spaghetti and meatballs I'd eaten, which was Andre's go-to meal for impromptu events because he could pick up all of the ingredients at the Tesco up the street, combined with the late hour, but it wasn't.

Like it or not, I felt a closeness to Harrison that defied any past experience I'd shared with a man. Usually, if I liked a guy, I started dating him immediately. The passion tended to burn out pretty quickly when I discovered his inability to use a hamper or wash his dishes, or, you know, actually divorce his wife, and so the relationship would fizzle after a few months.

But Harrison was different. By consciously not dating him, despite finding him extremely attractive, I was forced to build a different sort of relationship with him, a friendship with sizzle, if you will.

Call me crazy but it felt infinitely more dangerous than any of the relationships I'd thrown myself into after ten minutes of thinking the boy was cute. I wasn't entirely sure this was such a good thing, but I'd set my course and I was determined to stay it.

At the front door, Harrison paused and turned to face me. It felt too cozy in here with the lights mostly out and the room warm against the chilly air outside. I pretended to be scanning the room to see that every hat was in its place, but I could feel Harrison's gaze on my face.

“Ginger.” He said my name, his voice a deep gruff growl with his very precise British accent making the “r” disappear in the most delightful way. It positively made me dizzy.

“Hmm, yes?” I said, still checking out the shop.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

“Me? Oh, yeah, I'll be fine,” I lied.

“I don't believe you,” he said. “You can always call me, you know, anytime, day or night.”

“Good to know.” I looked over his shoulder at the shelves on the far wall. Nope, nothing out of place.

He captured my chin with his hand and gently turned my face toward his. He stared at me for a long moment while I felt the blood rush to my ears and my breath stall in my lungs. It was dangerous, being this close to him. I closed my eyes, thinking it might be best if I didn't look at him.

When I felt his mouth brush ever so gently against my cheek, I almost turned toward him like a sunflower turning its face to the sun, but I resisted even though it about killed me.

I felt him move in closer, the heat of his body pressing and mingling against the heat of mine. He was so close, so wonderfully, magically close, I actually trembled.

The soft pulse of his breath brushed against my ear when he whispered, “Good night, beautiful.”

Hard to say how long I stood in that same spot—seconds, hours or a few blissed-out weeks, I have no idea. The man hadn't even kissed me properly and I was completely undone. It had to be the accent, I assured myself. How could a girl not feel stirred by such charming elocution?

I shook myself out of my trance and glanced at the door. Not only was it shut, but he had also locked it. I crossed the floor into the kitchen to check all of the windows and doors, and on my way back, I passed the wardrobe. I glanced at Ferd and I was pretty sure he was smirking at me.

“Don't say it,” I said to him. “Don't even think it.”

Maybe it was the events of the day making me see things, but I was pretty sure he bobbed his head in a silent laughing fit.

I stomped up the stairs to our flat. Viv's door was shut and her light was off. I took that as a sign that she didn't want to be disturbed. That was fine with me—I was pretty sure I wasn't up to conversing with anyone, and I definitely didn't want to answer any questions even indirectly about Harrison's departure. In fact, I didn't even want to think about it.

As I tugged on my flannel jammies and climbed into bed, I resolutely shoved aside any thought of Harrison and whatever the heck that, wow, was between us at the door. Instead, I thought about Ariana. How must she be feeling being arrested for the murder of her boss? She had to be terrified.

I sifted through the events of the day. Russo dead. The police station. Even then, the police had been looking closely at Ariana. I tried to make it work in my head. She had said she wanted her boss dead. Was it a confession? No, it hadn't felt like it. Instead it had sounded as if she knew she was going to be a suspect and felt that wishing ill of her boss made her culpable.

Ariana Jackson, a murderess. I couldn't see it. I couldn't believe it. There was something so refined and orderly about Ariana. In a nutshell, she seemed too smart to be a killer. Besides, what could she possibly have to gain by killing her boss? She'd be out of a job—how was that a good thing when she was about to be married?

Tomorrow, I promised myself as I began to fall into the sweet abyss of sleep, tomorrow I would find out as much as I could about Ariana Jackson and Anthony Russo.

*   *   *

“I don't think Harrison is going to like this idea,” Viv said.

We were standing in the shop putting on our jackets. I glanced outside to see if I needed my umbrella or not. It was pale gray and chilly looking. I supposed I'd better bring it just in case.

“Why should he like it?” I asked. I could feel my face get warm at the mere mention of his name. Gah, this would not do! I had to get a grip on myself. “It has nothing to do with him so I don't know why he'd have any say about it one way or another.”

“You really think he isn't going to find out that we went to see Ariana?” Viv asked.

“Oh, no, I'm sure he'll find out,” I said. “But since it's about the business, I don't really see that he can complain.”

“About the business?” Viv laughed. “That's a stretch, isn't it?”

“Not if we inquire about the hat, it isn't,” I insisted. “I mean, we don't know what to do with it or what she wants us to do or even if she's going to forge ahead with the wedding.”

“Perhaps we shouldn't mention that part of it,” Viv said. “Awfully depressing to have to postpone your wedding because you've been arrested for murder, and if she did kill her boss—”

“She didn't,” I interrupted.

“How can you possibly know that?” Viv asked.

“I just do,” I said. And no, I didn't mention the part about Ariana telling me she had wished him dead. I wanted to talk to Ariana first.

“All right,” Viv said. She had that tone she used when she thought I was being bullheaded. Normally, I would balk and argue that I wasn't, but I had a feeling this time she might be right.

“Let me know how it goes, yeah?” Fee asked from the front counter of the shop.

“We won't be long,” Viv said. “Please tell Mrs. Hodges that I'm sorry I couldn't be here, but I know you'll do an excellent job with her.”

Fee looked pleased with the praise. “I'll call you if there's a problem.”

Together Viv and I pushed through the door out onto Portobello Road. Despite the gloomy weather, there was a fair amount of foot traffic. I saw the white-breasted flash of a black-headed magpie as it winged overhead with something snazzy in its beak. It looked quite pleased with itself and I smiled.

I knew some people considered the magpie to be a pest, but I'd always thought they had a lot of personality. Plus, that whole attraction to shiny things, well, I thought it made them quite smart, but that could be my own attraction to shiny things doing the talking.

The fastest way to get to the Notting Hill Police Station was to walk through the neighborhood. It was a solid half-mile hike down Ladbroke Grove, and Viv and I had both dressed warm to ward off the early autumn chill. We crossed Ladbroke Road and approached the imposing weatherworn brick building that I had first gone into to report Viv missing several months before. I could have lived without a repeat visit.

Viv strode forward as if she stormed police stations every day. I was trying to be a little less conspicuous. I didn't particularly want to be noticed, especially by Inspectors Franks and Simms if they happened to be around.

It was too much to hope that the station would be quiet and we would be able to slink on in and ask the constable at the front desk if we could visit with Ariana. Oh, no.

A frothing pit of reporters and photographers filled the lobby to bursting. Viv and I were pushed back against the wall as the reporters fired questions at the woman behind the desk. She wore a black-and-white-checked cravat with a white shirt and dark pants. From the tight expression on her face, I could see she was feeling harassed.

“What should we do?” Viv asked. “I don't see how we can get through this.”