The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 34

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the police might be involved. He seems genuinely frightened, but he’s also hiding

something.”

“Gee, hard to believe,” Jake drawled.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t trust a cop.”

The silence lasted so long I thought he might have lost signal. The physical one. Clearly

he’d lost the other long ago.

I said into the crackling void, “I’m sure they weren’t lovers, but their relationship was

more than a publisher’s representative and a favored client.”

“Look, I’ve got to go.”

I said, trying to sound indifferent, “Later.”

I waited for the click that didn’t come. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” he

asked through another surge of static.

I laughed.

“Yeah. Whatever,” said Jake and rang off.

* * * * *

Lisa had also called. I discovered her message on the answering machine when I went

upstairs to get a beer.

“I realize that you’re under a great deal of strain, Adrien, but your behavior today was

extremely hurtful. I hope you will try to see this from my perspective. Your welfare is my

first and foremost concern in life.”

I sighed and erased the message. I wasn’t sure why I had lost my temper with her. It’s

not like Lisa had wavered one centimeter from her fondly held position that I was a semi-

invalid child (with slightly embarrassing sexual inclinations) who needed to be protected

from his own self-destructive impulses. Getting mad at her was like getting mad at the Great

Wall of China for not welcoming the Mongol hordes.

I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea to help Angus pay for his legal defense. I felt like I

should be doing something. I guess my fear was that a portion of this was my fault. Would it

have made a difference if I hadn’t given Angus money and sent him out of town? In fact,

wasn’t that one of the Eleven Satanic Rules of the Earth? Do not give opinions or advice

unless you are asked . Not only had I opened my trap, I had put my money where my mouth

was.

I spent the next hour zoned out in front of the television set watching the first half of

Captain Blood. The last time I’d seen it had been with Jake in a funky theater up north in the

Mother Lode country. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

I tried to make sense of the last forty-eight hours.

Never mind the last forty-eight hours, how about my entire life? I remember reading

once that one of the officers of the Titanic survived three shipwrecks. Even taking into

account his profession, that seemed excessive. Apparently, once that cosmic target was

pinned to your back, the arrows kept flying. In my case the arrows seemed to be

involvement in murder cases.

I guess if I didn’t enjoy the puzzle aspects of crime, I wouldn’t have opened a mystery

bookstore, but there’s a serious difference between an intellectual puzzle and having people

you know arrested for murder – or killed.

Obviously there were healthier ways I could spend my time – I wasn’t thinking so

much about the potential physical danger as the fact that I was so busy running around

sticking my nose in other people’s business that I hadn’t made a bank drop or bought

groceries for over a week. I was dangerously low on Lean Cuisines – and totally out of Tab.

Sipping my beer, eyes getting heavier, I watched the black-and-white images on the

screen “celebrating in pirate fashion,” when it dawned on me that in a little over a week I

would be celebrating Christmas with four strangers for whom I hadn’t bought Christmas

presents.

I swore. Sat up. So much for my plans for an early night.

I went downstairs, turning on the lights to the ground level. The shelves threw oblong

shadows in the dim lights. The skull paperweight on the counter grinned hollow-eyed at me.

On impulse, I went over to the shelves near where Gabe Savant had sat the night of his

signing. I lifted the books in sections, sat down, flipped through them. Nothing. No sign of

any disk.

I got on my hands and knees to inspect under the writing table where he had sat.

Nothing. Well, nothing of interest. I made a mental note to ask Velvet to vacuum more

thoroughly.

I had trouble with the whole lost disk bit. Accepting that there had been a disk, why

would Savant have carried it around with him? And if he had been nuts enough to carry it

around, how could he have lost track of it? Wasn’t the most likely scenario that he had

mislaid it before he ever got to Cloak and Dagger?

He had been late arriving that night, I remembered. And he had arrived with a posse.

How well had he known the women with him? Were they friends, acquaintances, or just

chicks he’d picked up along the way? Would Bob know? Would Bob tell me if he knew?

Would Bob shoot me for asking?

About then I remembered that I had come downstairs for a non-crime-related purpose.

I picked myself off the carpet, stretched, reflected that another thing I had been

neglecting was my tai chi. I wandered into the stock room, where I sat stiffly at the desk,

signed onto the computer.

I don’t have a problem with shopping. I don’t have a problem with malls at Christmas.

But shopping in the malls at Christmas – yes, that I do have a problem with. I shop online.

I surfed the ’Net for a while, trying to come up with ideas. When you’re a guy, you get

extra credit for any sign of thoughtfulness, and I’ve earned a lot of mileage out of chocolates,

flowers, and gift certificates. But buying for one’s new supplementary family members

seemed to require more effort. I reconnoitered for a moment, then recalled one of those

universal truths about chicks of a certain age: anything vaguely reminiscent of Audrey

Hepburn is going to be a hit.

I browsed a few pages further, then settled on a retro designer silk scarf for Natasha

and a cloisonne compact mirror for Lauren. Emma was easy: five 1946 blue board editions of

Nancy Drew novels. And for Dauten, a silver whisky flask. True, he didn’t strike me as a

whisky flask kind of guy, but after months of living with Lisa, he might discover the comfort

of always having a drink close at hand.

I pressed yes for gift wrap, yes for second-day shipping, and sat back feeling self-

congratulatory.

Smothering a jaw-cracking yawn, I clicked to open my e-mail. Nothing particularly

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