Mayhem & Mistletoe, стр. 39
“I don’t disagree.”
“He also knows he let slip Beau’s name in front of me. Part of him probably hoped I’d forget. What happened last night will serve as proof that I’m still digging.”
“I don’t think Jake expects you to stop digging. He knows you better than that. It’s likely he hoped it would take you longer to track down Beau’s last known address. The fact that you’re moving so quickly probably has him agitated.”
I hadn’t considered that, but it made sense. I cracked the eggs into a second pan. “I can’t worry about his feelings on this,” I warned. “This is going to turn into a big story.”
“I know.”
“I’m just warning you because things will likely get ugly between us before they get better.”
“I know that, too.” He watched me drop bread into the toaster, his grin widening.
“Keep it up,” I intoned. “I’ll lick your eggs if you’re not careful. Making fun of me is not the way to get this morning started on the right foot.”
“I’m not making fun of you.”
“I see you smiling.”
“I’m smiling because you’re ... you.” He held out his hands. “You act strong and tough, to the point people think you’re evil. You’re so much more than that, though.”
“Oh, geez. Are you going to start spouting nonsense?”
“I’m just going to say that I love you.”
It was simple and heartfelt. It also made me want to pinch him. “Next time, we’re going out for breakfast. I’m not geared for this.”
He laughed, turning his attention to the television as the morning news reporter’s face filled the screen. The scroll beneath mentioned an incident at a Detroit halfway house ... and a jail death.
“What’s that?” I slipped away from the stove and closer to the television to concentrate on the report.
“They’re saying someone died in the jail last night,” Eliot said, getting to his feet. He was no longer smiling. “Someone who was picked up after an altercation outside a halfway house on the east side.”
I held his gaze for a moment. “What are the odds of that?”
He slipped his arm around my back and watched with me, his eyebrows hopping when the newscaster announced it was most likely a drug overdose. “That seems ... weird. He didn’t strike me as high.”
“He could’ve been zoned,” I countered, thinking back to the altercation. “I mean ... he wasn’t exactly on an even keel.”
“No, but he wasn’t hyped up on heroin.”
I thought back to his arms. “He didn’t have track marks.”
“No,” Eliot agreed.
“Maybe it’s not the same guy.” Even as I uttered the suggestion, I knew it was ridiculous. “Maybe it was another halfway house.”
He cast me a sidelong look and pointed to the screen, to where a mugshot popped up. The face reflected back was easily recognizable.
“Or maybe something else is going on,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Even if he was high, I don’t think he had enough in his system to kill him. He was a big guy.”
“So, what does that leave us with? I guess he could’ve gotten mouthy with the guards and they got overzealous trying to restrain him.”
“Or something else is going on,” I murmured, my mind zooming. “Like maybe there’s some sort of coverup.”
“Involving the police?”
I held out my hands. “Involving somebody. I guess I know where to start looking today.”
“While being careful, right?”
I nodded. “I have everything under control.”
His scowl returned with a vengeance. “I hate it when you say things like that.”
“Go back to feeling mushy about me cooking you breakfast.”
“Only if you stop trying to give me an ulcer.”
“We’ll see where the day takes us.”
“Oh, I just know I’m going to hate whatever you have planned.”
14 Fourteen
Eliot had to drive me into Mount Clemens because I’d left my car at his shop. We stopped at the coffee place, where I couldn’t help but notice he seemed fine now that we were out of the house.
“Are you putting on an act now or were you then?” I asked as we waited in line.
“Hmm.” He looked at me. “Did you say something?”
He was good. I had to give him that. I didn’t remember him being this good at subterfuge when we first met. I had to wonder if he was learning some of his new skills from me.
“You seem fine now,” I noted. “Did you make a miraculous recovery? Or perhaps you’re putting on a show for the pretty young things who work here.”
He offered a wink to the blonde behind the counter as we approached. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You should order one of those cream cheese eclairs you like, too. That way you’ll have something to snack on at the office.”
He was full of it. “Are you buying?” I sneered, knowing it would irritate him.
He nodded without hesitation. “I am.”
“Technically that means I’m buying, right? I mean ... it is our money.”
He kept his face impassive, but I didn’t miss the little twitch at the corners of his eyes. “Of course it’s our money.”
“So, you’re not technically treating me to anything.”
He shook his head. “You really are a pain. You can’t even let me have one day to gloat about how things are working out.”
“I let you have this morning.”
We placed our orders and moved to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks. A man in a trench coat turned and almost collided with us. His eyes went wide.
“Ms. Shaw.”
I had to bite back a hot retort. I hated being called “Ms.” It was almost as annoying as being called “girl.” The man uttering the phrase was the publisher of The Monitor, and I knew better than to let my snark flag fly in his face. “Mr. MacDonald.”
He smiled. “You can call me Jim.”
“And you