Agreeing to let Christopher pick me up for Diane’s barbecue wasn’t the smartest idea, I admit. I should’ve been nervous, having a cop coming to my house.
I wasn’t.
Christopher was looking for a serial killer, a big bad guy who was snatching up Baton Rouge’s men and making them disappear. He’d warned me to be careful, while everything about him—from his body language to the way he spoke—said he wanted to protect me. It was cute, how physically close he was to the answer he sought, but he couldn’t see it. He’d never see it.
When he’d insisted on giving me a ride, I’d agreed. Not only because it’s what Sweet Cordelia would do. In fact, I’d hardly considered her at all. No—I agreed to let Christopher come to my home because the thrill of being smarter, of being several steps ahead, it was intoxicating. And, okay. Maybe he was fun to talk to. In another life, we might’ve even been real friends.
I waited on my front stoop because, as exciting as it was to be the cat to his mouse, why press my luck? He didn’t need to come inside.
McSmiley arrived five minutes late (of course), with his signature smile in place (also, of course), and thrust a bouquet of sweet-smelling lilies toward me. “For you.”
“You didn’t have to get me flowers.” I buried my face in the blooms and inhaled.
“Are you kidding?” His eyes lit with mischief. “I dug myself into a hole on our first date; then we met up at your favorite place—the zoo, where I bailed early. I’m kind of starting at a deficit. It’s only my A game from here on out.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, then. I’ll put these in water before we go. Wait here.” I opened the door to step inside when Mango came out of nowhere, zipping through my legs.
“Damn it.” I set the bouquet on the side table near my front door. Mango rushed to the fridge and spun in tight circles, yodel-barking louder and louder.
Christopher stepped inside behind me and nodded toward Mango, one eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong with your dog?”
I froze. He was standing inside my home. A few feet away, one of my favorite paintings hung on the wall—Ethan. It was a beauty. Ethan had been a fun one to hunt. He’d hurt elderly women, so I’d hurt him. And now he decorated my foyer.
My heart thumped—There is a cop in my house!—while the delicious pang of excitement grew. McSmiley had no clue where he was, what happened here. Who I was. My skin prickled.
“Cordelia?” Christopher cocked his head to the side. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Yeah. I’m great.” I pulled Sweet Cordelia back into place. “But this dog? Well, since you asked, everything is wrong with this dog.” Mango barked at the fridge, demanding her cheese. I ignored her and retrieved a vase from underneath my sink and filled it with water before passing it to Christopher. “Put my flowers in here, please.”
I scooped up Mango and unwrapped a slice of American from the fridge. “Here ya go, ya little terror,” I whispered. The dog vibrated in my arms, snapping up the treat.
Christopher arranged the lilies in the vase and set them on the entry table. His arms were crossed over his chest as he studied the painting hanging above it.
“You like it?” I walked over, holding Mango. “It’s one of mine.”
My chest was buzzy, as if my ribs protected a beehive instead of a heart and lungs. How long had McSmiley searched for this monster? Was the case still open? How many nights’ sleep had he lost, going over evidence, listening to theories? And yet here he was, feet away from proof that could close the case for good… That was the power I held.
“I forgot you’re a painter,” he said. I’d mentioned it on our date. “And yeah. I like it. Something about the dark red—it has a… I don’t know. A depth. Do you sell your work?”
“No. I paint for myself. I’m glad it speaks to you, though.” I shifted Mango from one arm to the other, her tiny claws scratching my goose bumps. “What do you like about it, particularly?” Sweet Cordelia looked up at him through her lashes. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Christopher peered with a quiet intensity at the slashes of red and blue paint mixed with the blood of a predator. “Don’t take this the wrong way—but it feels almost violent. Like it contains a rage, but also peace.”
“Really?”
“I’m sorry.” Christopher’s brows shot upward. “Was that rude? I know nothing about art. Ignore me.”
“No. No you weren’t rude at all.” The sentence trailed lightly from my lips, almost a breath. Christopher’s eyes flickered onto mine. I recognized the look. He wanted to kiss me.
Sweet Cordelia would never kiss someone so soon. But I—Cordelia Black—almost wanted to let him. To see what it would be like. He’d described my painting—Ethan—perfectly. The violence. The rage. The peace too. Could there be more of a depth to McSmiley than I’d given him credit for?
The corners of Christopher’s mouth ticked up into the slightest smirk. He leaned closer, his dark fringed eyelids lowered to half-mast. Maybe…
No. It wasn’t the right move. I was looking for information—not a good time.
I cleared my throat and stepped back. “Let’s get this devil dog home so we can leave.”
My hand was almost on the knob when the door flew open. “Mooom! CiCi and her boooyfriend are here!” Sugar narrowed her bushy eyebrows and smiled, her incisors peeking through lips, sharp as puppy teeth.
Christopher stood behind me as I glared in mock anger at my goddaughter.
She giggled, stepping back and letting us inside. The house was messy, as usual, but we were met with the aroma of savory grilled meat and baking sweets.
Sugar peered up at Christopher. “How’s Olive?”
“She’s great,” Christopher said. “Next time maybe I can bring her with me.”
Sugar—only child that she was—loved bossing around smaller kids. She beamed. “That would be fun.”
“Where’s your mom, anyway?” I asked.
“She’s out in the backyard.” She glanced toward the television. “I need to go. I’m in the middle of a new game.” After a quick hug, she stomped away in her pink Converse.
“Come on.” I led Christopher through the house, navigating around Diane’s doom piles and half-finished craft projects, toward the patio doors.
In the backyard, a folding table was covered with a lavender sheet. Mason jars filled with short fat candles made up the centerpiece, while overhead, fairy lights were strung between two posts, twinkling in the dusky evening pinkness.
“Good, you’re here.” Diane drawled out her vowels in the way that meant the beer she held wasn’t her first. “Like my table? Looks good, huh?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Diane threw an arm over my shoulders. “Also, I told you this was casual.” She eyed my Stella McCartney midi dress.
“I am casual.” I’d paired the cotton frock with low-heeled sandals and tinted lip balm—what else did she want from me?
Diane was barefoot, wearing her usual painter’s overalls over a cropped white tank.
“Your dress cost as much as my entire closet—there’s no way you really think that’s casual.” Diane eyed Christopher as if noticing him for the first time. “Not to say our Cordelia here is high-maintenance or anything.”
“What’s wrong with being high-maintenance?” I asked.
Christopher squeezed my hand. “I like high-maintenance. Who doesn’t want to walk into a room with the best-dressed woman in the place?”
“Damn straight.” Diane nodded her approval. “Cordelia Renee—”
“Still not my name.”
She ignored me. “Cordelia Renee Black. I like McSmiley.”
I turned to Christopher. “My name isn’t Renee.”
He held up his hands. “She likes McSmiley.” He mimicked Diane. “So McSmiley isn’t saying a thing.”
Not rolling my eyes was a struggle, but I reminded myself that tonight I was Sweet Cordelia, the damsel McSmiley could tell all his case secrets to. I dipped my chin demurely.
“Is your boyfriend here? I was hoping to get to know him a bit,” Christopher asked Diane.
“Yes—”
“Why?” I interrupted Di, the word crossing my lips urgently before Sweet Cordelia could choke it back. Why did Christopher want to get to know Simon? He’d recognized the darkness—the violence—in the brush strokes of my artwork. Was it possible he’d recognized some darkness in Simon as well? Did he agree that I wasn’t crazy? That the way Simon pulled at Diane wasn’t so accidental, and the way he treated Sugar wasn’t funny?
Christopher looked at me quizzically, and I forced myself to smile. To flutter my lashes. To be fucking normal. I cleared my throat. “I mean—I didn’t realize you guys hit it off so well.”
What a stupid thing to say; of course they hadn’t hit it off.
Christopher shrugged but sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Nah, I was just wondering if he was here or not…”
“He’s here somewhere.” Diane looked around the small yard, unflustered as always. Maybe she didn’t notice the uncomfortable shift in Christopher’s tone. Like my question had hit a nerve. “He must’ve gone inside right before y’all got here. Let’s go find him; it’s time to bring out the food.”
Diane walked ahead of us toward the house, and Christopher slid a hand to the small of my back. “You okay? You got this weird look on your face.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just…thinking.”
Christopher was quiet as we followed Diane through the backyard. He tugged my hand, and we slowed, letting her walk ahead. Once she’d disappeared through the patio doors, I turned to him. Christopher sighed. “I want to say something, but I don’t want to upset you.”
Sweet Cordelia tilted her chin, and looked up at McSmiley, her lashes batting like butterfly wings. Fingers sliding through his. Internally I was a mess—confused about Simon, worried I might be right, frustrated I might be wrong. But outwardly, Sweet Cordelia was cool and calm and ready to collect McSmiley’s secrets. “You won’t. Upset me, I mean.”
Christopher’s lips pressed into a hard line, which looked out of place on his eternally happy face. His heavy brows knitted together. “I’d never say something in front of Diane, but…something about this Simon guy, I don’t know; he just got my antennae up at the zoo. It’s probably nothing, but I see a lot of guys who can get…possessive.”
My heart rate sped. Christopher did feel it, then? That…that thing about Simon? That offness. Sweet Cordelia’s voice was neutral. No excitement—because why would she be excited? Sweet Cordelia certainly wasn’t celebrating that her best friend’s boyfriend was being described as possessive. “What do you mean? Should I be concerned?”
“I’d just…keep an eye on things. Maybe I can check him out at the station? Honestly though, it’s probably nothing. With all this work stress going on, you start seeing bad guys everywhere, you know?”
When I didn’t immediately respond, he added, “I’ve made you mad.”
“What?” I squeezed his fingers in mine. “No, you didn’t, I promise. I don’t care for the guy, either.” Understatement. “But I’m not worried. He won’t last long.”
That last part? That wasn’t Sweet Cordelia. That was me. And it was true.
Because one way or another, Simon wouldn’t last long.
I’d make sure of it.
The sky was a watercolor of pink and orange bleeding into muted blues that reminded me of lips and fingernails and my workshop. Calming and perfect. The rosy light bathed everything in a soft focus and set Diane’s copper hair ablaze. It was difficult not to stare—she was beautiful in that light. But she was beautiful in any light.
“Tell him, Cordelia,” Diane urged.
“I’m sorry. What were we talking about?” I looked in each of their faces. Diane’s brows raised in question. Christopher wore an amused expression. Simon’s mouth curled into a smile.
Diane rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Ms. Uptight Rule Follower. You can’t get in trouble for it after all these years.” She turned to Christopher. “In college, at night we’d jump the gate to this one house in this snooty neighborhood and use their pool. We never got caught.”
The skinny-dipping story—Diane’s favorite. “Yeah,” I said. “We’d strip down—”
Diane’s eyes flicked urgently to Sugar, who was all ears.
“We’d strip down to our swimsuits,” I course corrected, “and float all night, staring up at the stars.”
“Sound’s amazing, babe.” Simon reached across the table, and Diane slid her fingers into his.
“It was.” She smiled longingly. “Sometimes I think I’ll spend the rest of my adult life chasing the peace we captured in those moments.”
“Ugh,” Sugar groaned, her wide eyes staring daggers at her mom’s fingers tangled in Simon’s, her cherubic lips pursed into a frown. “Y’all are so gross.”
“Manners.” Diane pulled her hand away from Simon’s grasp as she spoke.
The smallest almost smile flickered over Simon’s lips before he tucked it away, leaving his face blank. He’d enjoyed the way Diane had corrected Sugar—but he knew better than to show it.
I bit into a dinner roll to keep from saying something I’d regret.
Simon shoveled a piece of rare beef into his mouth, chewing loudly, red juice dribbling from the corner of his lips, down his chin.
How I ached to drain those lips of their rosiness. That mouth would fade to a perfect icy blue, the same color that streaked the evening sky. I imagined how he’d spread across my canvas, smooth as silk. Where would I hang him? Somewhere prominent…
I took a deep drink of my wine, careful to keep the delight of my daydreams from appearing across my face. Sweet Cordelia was a gracious guest. A good friend. She didn’t have deadly fantasies of her bestie’s boyfriend over dinner.
I refilled my wineglass. Simon laughed at something Christopher said. I smiled along, even though I wasn’t hearing any of it.
I took another sip of my drink.
Across the table, Diane leaned toward Christopher, who nodded along as she started on her favorite subject—the financial dangers facing Mercy Hospital. My head swam from the alcohol, and my belly was full of red meat and buttery yeast rolls. The evening air was a warm hug against my skin. Sugar played quietly with Diane’s phone.
No one was watching. No one was listening. I leaned close to Simon, staring into his face, until he was forced to look at me. “Not again.” he rasped quietly. “What do you want now?”
Did he think I was crazy? Maybe I was. I felt crazy. My mind felt light and bubbly and I didn’t care.
“What’s your game here?” I propped an elbow against the table, leaning the side of my head against it, never dropping my gaze. I wouldn’t risk looking away—missing a flicker of smoke hidden in the depths of his irises.
“My game?” He sounded bewildered. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, and you’re asking what my game is? My game is dating Diane. I care about her and Sammy—”
“Samantha,” I said. “And I bet you do.”
He ignored the jab. “I care about Diane and for some reason she cares about you. Which is why I didn’t tell her about your little stunt at the zoo. But this is getting ridiculous.”
Simon’s eyes widened and I leaned forward, trying for a better view.
“Are you drunk?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust and scooted away. “It’s not fair. Women can drink and act as crazy as they want, but a man can’t do anything or he’s—”
“He’s what, Simon?” I pretended to pout. “Tell me about all the poor men, treated unfairly.”
“This is what I’m talking about. You’ve lost your mind, and I have to sit here and behave, or you’ll call me a misogynist and tell Didi I’m some kind of woman hater. One day, when we are—”
“Wait. Who the hell is Didi?” I crossed my arms over my chest. This jerk was desperate to give someone a nickname. “And when you’re what, exactly?”
“Oh good, you two,” Diane said. Simon and I froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about over there in such deep conversation, but I knew you’d be friends.”
Simon and I both pulled our masks into place—he, Nice-Guy, and I, Sweet Cordelia. We beamed at each other, all teeth and eye crinkles. Best friends forever.
“Sure thing, babe!” Simon said.
Diane gave us a thumbs-up, relief playing over her face, then returned to her conversation with Christopher, who was learning more about the hospital audit process than he probably ever cared to know.
“Leave me alone,” Simon whispered. “You’re insane.”
“You’re probably right,” I whispered back. “But I won’t leave you alone, Simon. I can’t.”
The rest of the night, Simon ignored me. He spoke with Christopher. He laughed with Diane.
I nursed another glass of wine and watched him intently.
But there was no cold stare. No cruel gaze on my goddaughter or jealousy when Diane laughed at Christopher’s corny jokes.
No matter how long I peered into those wide gray eyes, smoke never appeared.