chapter twenty-seven

Things with Patrick were patched up. My dog was being looked after by an indulgent baker who’d be slipping her Belgian waffles all morning. Wayne Seben’s death pointed us in a new direction toward solving the murders. It almost wasn’t gonna be a terrible day, maybe.

“Kuh-rist,” George moaned, stumbling out of the elevator and shuffling toward me like a grumpy, coffee-swigging zombie. “Goddamned serial killers. No consideration for our private lives.”

“It’s so cute that you said ‘our.’”

“Goddamned Michaela better be here and Paul Torn and Emma Jan, too.”

“Goddamned Michaela is; Emma Jan’s on her way. I’m not sure about Paul, which is okay because I wanted to talk to you first.” I lowered my voice as if Paul might be lurking beneath my desk. “We should ease him into the whole lost funding thing this morning, I think.”

George yawned. “You do it.”

I stifled a flare of irritation. Something emotionally confrontational and thus potentially messy, with yelling and maybe crying involved, and not just your own … you do it, Cadence.

(I got it from Shiro, too.)

“We also gotta get back to looking at the other vics, see if they were in any suicide T-groups or seeing shrinks or on antidepressants or whatev.”

“Yes, I was there last night, too. I remember. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Last night. You and Gallo have a nice ride to the thundercloud you’re inexplicably living in with a man named Aunt Jane?”

“Anything sounds bad,” I replied, throwing his favorite lament back at him, “when you say it like that.”

He guffawed and went to the kitchen to top off his coffee, leaving me alone at my desk to tremble at the thought of what Max must have thought of last night’s car ride. What had Shiro done? Oh please, please let it be Shiro who bounced to the front of our brain. Adrienne had no reason to pop out like a red-haired bitch-in-the-box.

The worst part was, I was left to wonder because I didn’t dare call him to find out what had happened. Hi. Thanks again for the ride. By the way, which one of my alternate personalities popped out when I was about to start sucking face with you?

And did anyone actually use the phrase “sucking face” to indicate “kiss you deeply and hard so I can taste you in my sleep”? Also, why did I care?

In next to no time, George was back, slurping at his vase-sized go-cup. He (a) hated the “goddamned Starbucks foofey coffee-drink universe that we let grow up around us” and (b) loved coffee. He drank it black, with loads of sugar, at a rate of about nine gallons a day. He was constantly loading up in the kitchen. Why he didn’t have to spend half the day in the gents’ was a miracle to me. “So did anything happen?”

“What? Last night? You know I’m with Aunt Jane.” He knows, he knows; he’ll get it all out of me, all of it, he’s a trained investigator and even if he wasn’t, knowing when I’m hedging is one of his super powers, and then I’ll have to kill him and then myself, out of remorse, and that’ll seriously wreck Shiro and Adrienne’s week. “Don’t be such a dope.”

George sighed and plopped into his chair. In keeping with his Saturday dress-down-for-work tradition, he was wearing cargo pants (like Jesus!) and his navy blue Manatee: The Ocean’s Hamburger T-shirt.

“Cadence, he’s obviously into you. Shiro, too. I’ve got no idea about the other freak in your freak show.”

“I don’t think so,” I said stiffly.

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

“And it’s irrelevant anyway.”

“Oh, sure, why would Edgy New Guy in Town be into you guys? You really don’t have a clue, do you? Christ, look who I’m asking. I can’t believe I have to have this conversation with you.” He tilted back his chair and stared at the ceiling for a long moment while I was transfixed and sort of terrified. Then he sat up straight, set his coffee on the desk with a definitive plonk, and proceeded to further scare the bejeezus out of me. “You’re … not … hideous.”

“Okay.”

“In fact, you’re kind of easy on the eyes. And hey! Some guys like long-legged pale hotties with long blond hair. And some guys even go for the big-eyed, eyelash-fluttering, can’t-we-all-get-along-and-have-you-seen-how-this-sweater-accentuates-my-perky-tits type.”

I started rubbing my temples. “Please stop now.”

“So there’s that, and how you’re crazy—that’s interesting, too. Guys who don’t know better interpret that as ‘high-spirited’ or ‘passionate’ or some ignorant shit like that. And you’re a cop and you get to carry a gun and do cool stuff like arrest Jesus. Also sexy. And Shiro’s a card-carrying badass and she might think she’s a teeny Asian-American chick, but she’s walking around with your hair and face and boobs, so that’s catnip to guys, too.”

“One of us will have to kill each other soon.” I couldn’t look at him. I could count on one hand how many times I actively wished Shiro would pop out like a genie and save the day: this was absolutely one of those times. There had been times I’d been held at gunpoint and not wanted her to come out so much. “So you can stop now, okay?”

“All this to say of course Gallo wants to get into your Little Mermaid panties. And if you don’t get that, you’re dumber than I ever thought, which gives me such a headache to even contemplate. The massive amount of your dumbness. It hurts me,” he whined.

“But I said it’s irrelevant. And it is—I’m with Patrick. Assuming all the stuff you just said doesn’t lead him to dump me. Or that spillover from BOFFO doesn’t get him hurt or killed. I can’t believe he knows all that and he still made me waffles today.”

George was giving me a look I’d never seen before: sort of pitying amazement. “Is that why you’re shacking up with him? You’re all mystified that he wants to be in your life, ergo ‘Hey, I think we’ll move in together!’?”

“Well.” Was this so extraordinary? Couldn’t be. “Yeah.”

“My head, my head—you’re killing my head.”

“Sooo sorry.”

“Thanks, but you’re still killing me. Look, Aunt Jane knows an almost-good thing when he gropes it. Oh my God. It just occurred to me. That poor idiot has to put up with all your crazy and he’s not even getting laid, is he?”

Shiro, will you wake up already?