Not One Clue (11 page)

I considered pushing him away, but didn’t really want to. “You’re doing okay.”

He snorted and slipped a loose lock of hair behind my right ear. “She even got in your backseat before I did.”

“There was no tongue,” I said.

“Jesus, McMullen,” he said, and pulled me closer. “I’m having a hard enough time remembering you two kissing without thinking about …” The length of him felt hard against my thigh. He shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus.”

“So you’re one of
those
guys,” I said.

His eyes were like dynamite. “One of those guys who wants to screw you?”

I swallowed. “One of those guys who gets turned on by the thought of two women together.”

“Oh, you mean a guy with balls. Yeah,” he said, “I am. But I’m not sure mine are as big as yours.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t really know if you’re gutsy or just stupid.”

“Gutsy,” I said.

He chuckled a little and touched my cheek. “What the hell were you thinking?”

The events of the evening were beginning to take their toll. The palms of my hands suddenly felt sweaty. “Do you think they’ll figure out where she’s at?”

His eyes were dark and seemed to be whispering sexy secrets about abandoned beaches and breakfast à la him. “There’s no way to be sure if they were even after her.”

“They checked all the bathroom stalls.”

His fingers paused on my cheek. “What’s that?”

I swallowed. I felt a little shaky suddenly. “They came into the restroom and checked all the stalls.”

“Muslim men went into the women’s bathroom?”

“Um … no.”

He swore, but it was quiet, so I wasn’t too concerned.

“I didn’t
make
her go in the men’s,” I told him.

He shook his head. “You are something else, woman.”

“In a good way?” I asked. “Or in a way that’ll get me five to ten.”

“That’s yet to be determined,” he said, and slipped his hand lower.

“What determines it?”

He shrugged. “Care to bribe an officer of the law? I think the backseat’s still empty.”

I laughed a little. “I think the Middle Eastern guys were shocked enough.”

“After that kiss, they’re probably home beating off right now.”

“Is that what you plan to do?”

His lips hitched up a notch. “I’ve still got hope here.”

“No, you don’t,” I said, but my voice was kind of squishy.

He chuckled, low and hot. Then he leaned closer. All my juices rushed to the forefront. All my inhibitions swooshed away like rain down a storm drain, but he reached around me and opened the door.

I scowled. He nodded me inside, so I stepped in, and he followed.

“Elaine.” He called her name and she was there immediately, eyeing me, eyeing him.

“What happened?” She was wiping her hands on a towel. A frown had dared venture onto her perfect brow.

“I want you to make sure McMullen doesn’t leave the house tonight,” he said.

“Okay.”

“If someone comes to the door, call me immediately.”

She nodded.

“If you hear a strange noise, call me immediately.”

“All right.”

“If you’re nervous—”

“Call you? Immediately?”

“Right.”

Reaching out, she pulled me farther into the vestibule. Rivera turned, closing the door behind us, leaving us alone.

Laney tugged me into the living room. “Sit down,” she said, and urged me toward the La-Z-Boy.

I sat.

“I’m going to make you some tea, then I’m going to ask you, again, what happened.”

“You said we could have ice cream,” I said. I wasn’t whining, but … Well, maybe I was whining a little.

“You need something to calm your nerves first. Ice cream will just make you sick.”

“Slander,” I said, but she had already left. “Ice cream has never made me sick.”

I leaned my head back against the cushiness of the chair and contemplated the cosmos. Laney was back in a moment. Sitting on the couch close to the ’Boy, she took my hand.

“You found Aalia,” she said.

I managed a nod.

“Rivera went with you.”

Another nod.

“Someone tried to stop you.”

I considered that for a moment, but I wasn’t sure of the answer so I changed the subject. Or maybe I changed it because I have the attention span of a gnat. “Rivera thinks I’m a lesbian.”

She sat looking at me. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Not sure.”

“Did he say ‘ick’ or did he try to get you into the backseat of your Saturn?”

I frowned. Or maybe I had already been frowning. “I really don’t understand how you know these things.”

“You don’t understand how I know that men try to get women into the backseats of Saturns?”

I stared at her. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person in the world. Probably the universe. Yup, even counting possible extraterrestrials, she was the best. And I’d been kissed by
Aalia
.

“I guess I understand that one,” I said, and dropped my head back against the cushion.

She patted my hand and rose to fetch the tea. In a minute she was back. I don’t really like tea, but it was a prelude to ice cream, which I love more than French-kissing.

I took a sip of my tea and made a face. “What is this?”

“Ashwagandha.”

“It tastes like cat pee.”

“The fact that you know that begs so many questions,” she said, then moved on. “Aalia’s with her sister?”

I nodded.

“Did you have to put her in some kind of disguise?”

“How did you know that one?”

She shrugged. “You love disguises. Hey, I brought home one of my old wigs.”

“I never have understood why they would have you wear a wig when your own hair is like … well, like that.” I motioned toward her mustang’s mane. Maybe mine would have looked similar if I drank her Green Goo, but some things aren’t worth the trouble.

“They still have me wear hairpieces sometimes,” she said. “But Nadine likes to work with her own creations.”

“Nadine? The set’s hairdresser?”

“Yeah. She creates her own wigs, so they throw the old ones out. I thought of you.”

“You make me sound like a two-year-old,” I said, although, actually, I couldn’t wait to play dress-up.

“A two-year-old superhero,” she said.

I smiled a little and took another sip of cat pee. “I
was
kind of amazing,” I said, and she laughed.

“You always have been,” she said, and sighed as she rose. “That’s why I don’t want to take advantage of you. You ready for ice cream?”

“Is there caramel?”

“More than you can eat,” she said.

“I’ll place wagers,” I said, and stood, but something wasn’t quite right. I suspected it as I followed her into the kitchen. Knew it as I watched her reach for bowls, retrieve spoons, get out the blessed ice cream.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“We’re celebrating your continued survival,” she said. I nodded. “A serendipitous occasion.”

“And unexpected.”

“What did you mean by ‘you don’t want to take advantage of me’?”

She smiled. “Neither do I want to offend you with the truth,” she said.

“Since when?”

She laughed. “You’re a good person, Mac. Have been since the moment you were born.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“Well, you did a good thing tonight. So let’s eat a toast.” She’d dished up the ice cream. Two big scoops for me. A molecule for herself. She pushed my bowl across the kitchen table, lifted her own. “To Christina McMullen.”

“Ph.D.,” I added.

“Ph.D.,” she agreed. “May all her acquaintances appreciate her marvelousness.”

“Here, here,” I said, and tasted my dessert. Laney had added cashews and caramel. The woman’s practically a genius.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Almost as marvelous as me.”

“They could use that in their marketing.”

“Call it Christina’s Caramel.”

“Or Mac’s Madness.”

I gave her a nod and set my bowl down. Sometimes I’m not only marvelous, I’m disciplined. But usually I’m just marvelous. “What’s going on?” I asked again.

She stared at me for a long second. “I don’t want to get you involved.”

“With what?”

For a moment I almost thought she was going to lie to me. But Brainy Laney is practically physically incapable of fabrications. I don’t have that problem … except where Laney’s involved.

“I’ve been getting some unusual mail,” she said.

“Define unusual.”

She drew a careful breath and cocked an almost-hip against the counter. “An adjective. Meaning uncommon. Rare.”

“I wasn’t asking for Webster’s opinion.”

“And I’m not asking for your help.”

“Why?”

“Because I like eating ice cream with you.”

“You haven’t eaten any.”

She smiled. “You tend to get too involved.”

“I’m funny that way. I prefer for my friends to have pulses,” I said, and picked up my bowl again. Laney had gone through the trouble of dishing it up after all.

“You had never even met Aalia before you went charging off to her rescue.”

I took a bite of ambrosia and gave her a look.

She glanced away, frustrated. Worried. “I didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about.”

“The unusual mail.”

“It was just an odd letter here or there.”

“But now?”

“They’re getting odder. I’m thinking of moving in with Jeen before the wedding.”

“So that if it’s a murderous fan, Solberg’ll be the first to go?”

She gave me a disgusted scowl. “So you don’t get hurt.”

I nodded. “We’re sacrificing
you
, then, I take it?”

Her scowl took on a little more attitude. One would think as pretty as Laney is, she wouldn’t be very good at angry, but that’s not true. She could drive a Navy SEAL to his knees if she put her mind to it. Of course it might have less to do with anger and more to do with the size of her boobs. “We’re not sacrificing anyone,” she said.

“Have you talked to the police?”

“On location,” she said.

“Not here?”

“I just opened the letter today.”

“It’s been a big day,” I said, and took another bite of ice cream. It had lost of little of its scrumptiousness. I resented that.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. “You’re apologizing? Seriously?”

“Very seriously.”

“Did
you
send the letter?”

“You’re such a dirt wad.”

“A dirt wad?”

“Don’t make me swear,” she said, and I laughed, but in that moment I saw that her eyes were teary.

“Elaine.” I set my bowl down. Laney had learned to sob from the virtuosos on daytime television, but in real life she was a silent crier. She never made a sound when she was truly upset. “What’s wrong?”

She scrunched up her face and glanced away. “You are always taking care of me.”

I couldn’t possibly have been more surprised to hear that. “Are you kidding? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I’m living here.” She flapped a hand sideways toward my threadbare carpets, my scuffed walls. “Mooching off you, and I’m never here. Always planning for the stupid wedding that’s been blown way out of …” Her voice trailed off.

Stupid wedding? “Yeah,” I agreed, voice cautious and hopeful, “the wedding’s a lot of stress. Maybe you should call it off.”

She laughed even as she wiped away a tear with her knuckles. “I’m not calling it off. It’s just … it’s gotten out of hand.”

“So take it back in hand.”

She shook her head. “Solberg wants … spectacle.”

I refrained from informing her that Solberg was an idiot. “It’s
your
wedding, Laney. You should—” I began, but she was shaking her head.

“It’s not that. Please don’t worry about that. I’m sorry I’m whiny. I just … I just feel badly that I’m taking advantage of you. Hiding out here like a frickin’ convict.”

“Well … you could deliver truckloads of cash to my front door.”

“Would you take it?”

“Absolutely.”

She laughed again. “I’ll call the cartage company immediately.”

“They’re probably closed now. Better wait till morning.”

“You’re so practical.”

“Yuh-huh,” I said, and watched her wipe her nose with the back of her hand. “Show me the letter.”

“Mac—”

“You want me to tell Solberg?”

“Oh, man, it would kill him.”

“Exactly.”

She sighed, then turned and trotted upstairs. Returning moments later, she handed me a business-sized envelope. Her expression was somber.

“Do you think I should wear gloves or something?” I asked.

“You’re the detective.”

“Psychologist,” I corrected, and going to a drawer, came back with tongs and a pair of mismatched rubber gloves.

“Very professional,” she said.

“CSI: L.A.,” I said, and pinching the envelope with the tongs, put it on the counter. The handwriting was blocky and perfect. There was no return address. “Nice penmanship,” I said.

“I was impressed, too, before I thought he might intend to kill me.”

“How many letters have you gotten?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m not exactly sure which ones are from him. There have been five that seem very similar. But I have other mail without signatures, too.”

“When did they start?”

“Back in May. About one a month.”

I glanced at the envelope again, finally read the address, and felt myself pale, felt the world slow like an unwinding top.

“They sent it here.” My voice was almost entirely without inflection.

Hers was the same. “Yes.”

“I didn’t realize … I mean, I thought you got it with your latest mail bundle. I …” The floor beneath my feet felt oddly tilted. “So they know you’re living here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s …” I began, but suddenly I was shaking too hard to continue. My skin felt clammy and my stomach queasy.

A hundred ugly scenarios bloomed in my mind, and as I imagined men in turbans floating down on a sea of oversized envelopes, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

12

Not every Prince Charming has a full head of hair.