Part 40 (1/2)
”We can talk to them together.”
”Better not. I'm going to call my lawyer, just to let him know. Lock your doors.”
”All right, fine. I'll be back tomorrow. I'd like you to call me if anything happens.”
”I can handle it.”
”I think you can.” She angled her head. ”What happened, Eli?”
”I had a good day, mostly. There's been more of them lately. I can deal with this.”
”Then I'll see you tomorrow.” She set the gla.s.s aside, laid her hands on his face. ”Eventually you're going to ask me to stay. I like wondering what I'm going to do about that.” She brushed his lips with hers, then pulled up her hoodie against the rain and left.
He liked wondering, too, he realized. And sooner or later, the timing just had to get better.
CHAPTER Eleven
HE ROSE AT DAWN, AFTER PULLING OUT OF A NASTY DREAM where he looked down at a broken, b.l.o.o.d.y, staring Lindsay on the rocks below Whiskey Beach Light.
He didn't need a shrink to buy him a clue into his subconscious on that one.
He didn't need a personal trainer to tell him every bone, every muscle, every freaking cell in his body hurt because he'd overdone the pumping iron the day before.
Since there was no one around to hear, he whimpered a little as he dragged himself to the shower, hoping the hot water would pound out some of the aches.
He sweetened the pot with three Motrin.
He went down to make coffee, drank it while dealing with e-mail. Time, he figured, for another update to his family. He wished he could realistically edit out any reference to break-ins and dead bodies, but at this point, better they hear it from him than elsewhere.
Word always traveled. Ugly words traveled fast.
He took care with the delivery, a.s.sured them all the house was secure. If he glossed over the death of a Boston PI, he thought he was ent.i.tled. For Christ's sake, he'd never even laid eyes on the man. Deliberately he left the impression of an accident. It could have been an accident.
He didn't believe that for one quick minute, but why worry the family?
He segued into progress on his book, the weather, made some jokes about the book he'd read on the Calypso and the dowry.
He read it over twice, decided weaving the bad news through the center, bookending it with light and positive, equaled the best framework. Hit send.
Remembering his sister, and their bargain, he wrote another e-mail just to Tricia.
Look, I'm not editing ... very much. The house is secure, and the local cops are on it. At this point it looks like some a.s.shole's been digging for mythical treasure. I don't know what happened to the guy from Boston, whether he fell, jumped, or got tossed over the cliff by Captain Broome's vengeful ghost.
I'm okay here. Better than okay. And when the cops come around-and I know they will-I'll deal with it. I'm ready to.
Now, stop scowling at the screen, and I know you are. Go find somebody else to worry about.