9:32 p.m.
“WHAT’S THAT? Hang on, kiddos, let me find out. Excuse me, miss?”
The waitress at the Rittenhouse Hotel bar was the same one from the night before, but gone was any hint of flirtation. In its place was an icy veneer. Veena must have really rubbed her the wrong way. That’s what Veena did for a living, but Cooper needed to make it right. He liked it here.
“Yes?” she said quietly.
“I’m on the phone with some old war buddies…okay, that’s a lie.” Cooper showed her his best smile. “My kids are on the phone, and they have a very important mixology query. What’s the real difference between a Rob Roy and a Shirley Temple? I mean, is it the same thing only sexist?”
“Order your kid a Rob Roy,” the waitress said, “and I could have you arrested.”
“Come again?”
“You’re thinking of a Roy Rogers, which has Coke in it. A Shirley Temple uses Sprite. That’s the difference.”
“You hear that, kiddos? This impossibly beautiful woman just saved me from prison.” Cooper looked up at her and mouthed, Thank you.
But it was something else—probably the words impossibly beautiful—that melted the ice, and suddenly all was calm and good in the lounge at the Rittenhouse Hotel once again.
That is, until Veena Lion arrived, pulled out her chair with a teeth-shredding scrape, and barked out an order for a double martini with three blue-cheese-stuffed olives, easy on the vermouth. Cooper said good night to his kids, told them he loved them, and placed his phone on the table.
“Okay, what the hell is going on with this case?” Veena said.
“So are we finally past the whole ethics thing? Can we talk straight?”
“We shouldn’t be talking at all, but I need to know the truth.”
“Amen to that. And here come our libations.”
They drank in silence for a while, recalibrating their nervous systems. Then Veena said, “Speaking of the nanny cam…”
“Ah,” Cooper said. “So you’ve met the lovely Ms. Rain too.”
“Eh. She’s too good to be true.”
“I like her.”
“Based on?”
“Gut feeling. I know, I know, I’m keeping an open mind. But I’m going to be terribly disappointed if she had any part in Archie’s murder.”
Veena watched him carefully with her green eyes, analyzing every word, every micro-expression. “My God. How did you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Fall in love so quickly.”
“It was easy. Happened the minute she slipped her arm through mine and escorted me into the garden.”
Cooper’s intention was to playfully jab back at Veena for that falling-in-love wisecrack. But she surprised him by leaning across the table and kissing him on the cheek.
“That almost hurt,” Cooper whispered.
“Rowrr,” Veena whispered back.
“Does this mean you want to come for a sleepover tonight?”
“No, it does not.”
“Well, that hurt even more.” Cooper was confused about where all of this was going. Was it the usual flirtatious banter? Or were they about to cross all the lines in their professional relationship?
He had just resolved to hang in there and find out when a harsh buzz on the table broke the spell, followed by a second buzz a moment later.
Both of their phones.
Lion and Lamb scooped up their devices quickly to read the incoming flurry of texts from Janie and Victor, respectively. The TV newscast droning in a corner of the lounge had the same breaking news one minute after that.
“Holy God, Chef Nguyen—” Cooper muttered.
“Didn’t make it,” Veena said.