Chapter Six

Blood, that’s what she needed.

Kate scanned the top shelf. There was room for one more book in her final display of summer reads for the season, and the cover had to be eye-catching. This time, she had arranged the books around a vintage carafe and glass set. The bay window showcased the hard-covered books and allowed a glimpse of shelves lining the space within. The design was close to perfect, but something was missing.

Extravagant characters in an exotic setting. A sensational illustration.

Her cell phone buzzed, vibrating against her hip. Kate jumped and pulled it out of her pocket. Looked at the screen. One new message. Ethan. Kate smiled at the sight of her brother’s name. She scanned the text. Found a body? Somehow not surprised. A wish fulfilled or nightmare? Mom says, “Just goes to show you shouldn’t have moved to England.” Assumption of high death rate must be caused by reading Agatha Christie. Call soon or guilt trip will get worse. Also, need Cadbury’s. Situation dire. When are you sending next parcel?

Kate shook her head. News had always travelled fast through the family grapevine. She’d call as soon as she got the chance.

Her thoughts drifted back to the café. The jar of collision. The silver line of a scar beneath the shadow of stubble. There was something about the way he moved, the width of the shoulders, tilt of the head. Some vague memory at the back of her mind. Probably a four-sentence description, a fragment of dialogue. It had happened before. A line, so certain it had been a part of a conversation, when all it had been was words on a page.

The bell above the door chimed as someone entered the store. “Kate?” A familiar voice called from the doorway. “Where are you? Show a sign of life, a hand, anything!”

“Over here, Marcus!”

Marcus breezed around the corner on a whiff of expensive cologne. He was impeccably dressed in a designer suit. A plastic bag, weighted down by the contents, in his hand. “There you are! There are far too many angles to get lost in, in this labyrinth. Sometimes I’m positive you designed it purposely to baffle.” Marcus pressed an affectionate kiss to her forehead.

“What are you doing here?”

“What about, ‘Thanks for coming, wonderful to see you, you’re looking positively dashing?’ You’re welcome. I’m touched you noticed.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Do you need a partner for that conversation?”

“I’ve brought dinner. Chinese.” He held the bag up.

“From the place we like?”

“Only the best. I was showing a two-bedroom garden flat around the corner, and thought, why not?”

“Fantastic, I’m starving. Let me just prop a window open, so the store doesn’t end up smelling like a restaurant.” A glance at her watch, past seven now. She flipped the store’s sign to closed.

“Much as I love coming by, I think we should revert to telepathy.” Marcus dropped into one of her worn leather armchairs, careful not to wrinkle his trousers. He brushed an offending piece of fluff from his sleeve. “It would save so much time.”

“We’re merely a step away from telekinesis as it is. Plates?”

“Yes, please.” Marcus shifted a stack of books out of the way and began unpacking the cardboard containers, arranging them on the table next to his chair. “We could enter into a marriage of convenience. We’d live together in blissful harmony until death do us part.”

“You’re actually quite annoying.” Kate ducked behind the counter, grabbed two plates off the shelf. Blue china, cracked and a little faded. A fork for herself. No point in trying to maneuver with chop sticks tonight. Tap water in wine glasses. The beat of the song on the radio had her pausing. Distorted guitar tones, rough vocals, electric down the spine. Late sixties. She turned the volume up, quick twist of the dial. Just enough to pick up the rhythm, pleasantly scratchy through the speakers.

“Really? I do have some flaws. I keep having inappropriate thoughts about that man I showed a flat to last week. So it’s probably for the best.” Marcus accepted the plate from Kate with a grin. “How are you doing?” His eyes held hers.

She sat in the chair next to him, took a sip from her glass. “I’ve never started the day by finding a dead man before.” She still felt edgy, off. Her hands were steady though. She wasn’t one to give in to jitters.

“If you have, you’ve hidden it well, and you’ll have to forgive me if I no longer spend time alone with you.” Marcus pretended to shrink away from her, shielding his face with one raised hand.

Kate laughed, took a heaping fork full of rice. Shrimp, soy sauce, mushrooms. Still hot, sizzling on the tongue. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t murder.” She leaned back in the seat, curled her feet beneath her. “Mr. Wendell died of a heart attack. The doctor confirmed it. He said it was quick.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead. Gone, like that.” Marcus snapped his fingers. “I hardly knew the man, but still.” He shook his head in disbelief. “He was, what, forty-six? It’s enough to have a person pondering their own mortality.”

“I lived in the same house with him, and I don’t know much more.” A question, some small talk, that’s all it would have taken. Easy, afterward, to dwell on the what ifs. “Mrs. Marsh never complained about him. I’m assuming he paid his rent on time. He worked at an office and dressed the part, suit and all, but I have no idea what he did there. I don’t even know if he has family.” She thought back. “He was in and out at strange times.” An arc of light across the window, late at night. Tires, crunching on the drive, heard through a dream.

“We can’t know everything about other people. Just because you don’t know his favorite color, doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

“The only thing I can think of right now, is Mr. Wendell shuffling through the kitchen in worn sweats, eating pickles straight from the jar and listening to his MP3 player. You still think that doesn’t make me a bad person?”

“No worse than anyone else. Everyone has something to hide.” Marcus shrugged. He leaned forward, chose a spring roll from the bag. “Everyone lies.”

“Even you?” Kate raised an eyebrow.

“Even me,” Marcus replied solemnly. “Plum sauce?”

“Here.” Kate nudged the plastic cup toward him.

“What happened after our phone call this morning?”

“Not much. The doctor came to pick up the body. I had to open the store, so I left Elaina in charge.”

Marcus choked. “You left—” He swallowed, tried again. “Elaina in charge? Do you think that was wise?”

“Let’s just hope they didn’t drop him in the hydrangeas. When I told Great-aunt Roselyn, she said”—Kate dropped her voice—“‘There will be no more death in this house.’”

“‘No more death.’” Marcus considered the phrase, chop sticks hovering over his egg noodles. “Did her husband die in the house?”

“I think he had cancer and spent the last month in the hospital. It’s not on par with a sudden death at the bottom of the basement stairs.”

“She may have been referring to a relative who died in the house long ago. Not something recent.”

“I suppose. But who?”

“Much as I’d love to don the deerstalker with you and solve the mystery right here and now, I doubt we’d have much luck.” Marcus looked up from his plate, frowning at the shelves around them. “Right, I can’t stand it anymore. What is that humming sound?”

“Humming sound?” Kate blinked and looked around. A whirring, low and steady, under the music. “Oh, that humming sound. It should stop soon. If not, I’ll warn you. You’ll have more than enough time to duck for cover.”

“I hope you’re joking. Is that coming from your computer? You should get that fixed.”

“That takes money. Are you going to finish that?” Kate gestured at the remaining noodles on his plate.

“Be my guest.” He pushed it toward her. “Will you be safe?” Eyes slanting, smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Half-serious, half-joking.

“Of course.”

“No need for heroics?” Quirk of a brow.

“None.”

“So disappointing. May I give you one final piece of advice?”

“If you must.” Kate copied his posh accent, putting the emphasis on must.

He tapped the tip of her nose. “Leave that box I see discreetly tucked next to the shelf. Unpack it in the morning. The books can wait.” He gathered their empty plates. “Go home, get some rest.”

“Have a G and T?”

“Yes, that would work, too.” Marcus laughed. “Open that bottle of gin I gave you. Put your feet up.” He pulled her close in a one-armed hug. “Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m never stubborn.” Her voice came out muffled against his shirt.