Part 19 (1/2)
”Nothing in particular, Eddie. I'm just trying to put a good face on the situation. You know, keep up the clients' spirits.”
”Hmph.”
I picked up the phone to head off any more questions; I wanted Eddie well clear of the houseboat before nightfall. There really was a message from Elizabeth's baker, so I started with him. I knew the overall design-the swooping curves of the Experience Music Project would be carved from a block of cake layered with b.u.t.tercream-but the last time we had talked, the details were still in question.
”Hi, Todd. How's the masterpiece coming?”
”Super.” Todd was a laconic Scotsman, re-transplanted from British Columbia. He had a lucrative business in special-occasion desserts, and even more freckles than me. Juice's bias notwithstanding, Todd did amazing things with gum paste. ”Got just the right effect for the colored aluminum skin of the building.”
”How?”
”Edible pearlescent dust. Liquefy it with vodka, brush it over rolled white fondant. Super.”
”What about the gla.s.s panels on the roof?” It was bizarre but comforting to turn away from the dark undercurrents of this day and stay safe in the shallows.
”Simple. Cast sugar.”
”And the monorail tracks?”
”Modeling chocolate.”
”Yum. Will you a.s.semble the cake on site, or-”
He made a disparaging and Scottish-sounding noise. ”I'll be a.s.sembling all week, d'you see? So when it's done, it's to be transported all of a piece.”
”Right. Of course.”
We settled the delivery details, and I moved on down my checklist. Eddie had lectured me on the ease of inputting and amending data with his new software, but I was still clinging to my outdated ways, scribbling notes in colored ink with stars and arrows to keep track of changes. It all made sense, at least to me. And scribbling helped to distract me from more pressing questions, like how Skull had gotten Angela out onto that balcony. No signs of a struggle, Graham had said. It didn't make sense.
The hours crept by, and finally it was time for my ”date.” A rap sounded on our outside door, and Lieutenant Graham stepped into the good room. He wore the same jacket and sneakers I remembered from the Aquarium, and a handsome ski sweater that made him look almost cheerful. And certainly plausible as a man I might go out with. More plausible than Boris, come to think of it.
”h.e.l.lo... there,” I said lamely. I could not remember my date's first name. ”Eddie, I think you've met-”
”Of course I've met the lieutenant,” he growled, barely civil. ”Nice to see you. Have fun.” And he plucked his coat from the rack and marched out.
Even Graham's poker face couldn't withstand Eddie Breen. Both eyebrows went up, and once the door slammed he said, ”Fun?”
”I didn't tell him.”
”So he thinks it's a social call?”
”Yes. Sorry.”
I was sorry, too. As we descended the stairs, I decided that the lieutenant was quite attractive, in a somber sort of way. And it would serve Aaron right if I started seeing someone else while he was gone. Or would it? He might reciprocate- if not with Corinne, then with someone else-and I wouldn't be at all happy with that scenario.
A moot point, in any case. My personal charms were clearly far less interesting than my home-security precautions. Graham stalked around my humble abode with a deepening scowl of disapproval, and pointed out the fact that my front door had no peephole, and my sliding gla.s.s door had no dead bolt.
”There's a wooden dowel in the groove at the bottom,” I countered. ”That holds it closed.”
Graham took hold of the handle and jerked it, hard, with a single rapid pump of his arm. The dowel arched up from its channel and cracked like a pretzel stick.
”Jeez, you're strong!”
He slid the door open and gestured out to my narrow little deck. Night was falling fast, and the wind that invaded the room had an icy edge. ”Might as well put down a welcome mat.”
Then he returned to the kitchen and unscrewed the head from my dust mop. He laid the mop handle down where the dowel had been, brushed off his hands, and sat down on the couch. His poker face was back in place, his hazel eyes expressionless.
”Well!” I said brightly. ”Well, thanks. That takes care of that. Now what?”
”Now we wait.” He pulled out a sheaf of official-looking paperwork, and a pair of wire-framed reading gla.s.ses.
”But don't you have to station your men? Or are they already out there?”
”What men?”
”Your officers. For the stakeout.”
Graham smiled mirthlessly. ”There is no stakeout. I can't just whistle up surveillance units because someone has a hunch.”
”But did you talk to Corinne?”
”I did.” He sighed, a deep, disappointed sigh. ”Ms. Campbell is a remarkably vague witness. She saw a man in the Market. She is 'pretty sure' he was Foy and she 'could swear' he was following her. He didn't speak to her, or even get close enough to do so. And so far we have no other witnesses to the incident. Such as it was.”
”So you're here on your own?”
”That's right.”
”Oh.”
”I had theater tickets, too,” he said.
”Oh.”
Another sigh. Graham began reading in disciplined stillness, while I wandered the room, fidgeting and checking my watch. I should have said eight o'clock, not nine. I shouldn't have done this at all. What was I thinking? It began to rain. By seven-fifteen, my stomach was growling worse than Eddie, and I recalled that I hadn't eaten lunch. No wonder my head hurt.
”Do you mind if we wait in the kitchen?”
I nuked a box of frozen lasagna and made a spinach salad.
Graham unbent enough to eat with me, though he declined a gla.s.s of Pinot Noir. I made stilted attempts at conversation, speaking in low tones that wouldn't carry through the front door. Over the thin hissing of the rain, the sc.r.a.pe of our forks on the plates seemed unpleasantly loud. Neither of us actually ate much.
Finally I got up to make coffee, eking out a half-pot from the last handful of beans in my cupboard. Murder really screws up your grocery shopping. Behind me, Graham cleared the table with quick, economical movements.
”What if Skull doesn't show up at all?” I asked, pouring coffee for him and more wine for myself. Might as well drink for both of us.
”If he doesn't show up, we have a problem,” said Graham. ”I can request ongoing protection for you, but we're short of people and it's not automatic. You haven't actually been threatened.”