Forty-two

I crept into Matt’s bedroom to dig up something for coverage down under and found him sitting on his king-sized bed with his laptop open.

The screen displayed grainy security footage of the vehicle that almost ran me down. Matt had frozen the image so I could see the driver, a youngish man with a beard, caught in the act of opening the SUV’s door.

“So that’s the flash I saw? His car’s interior lights?”

Matt looked up and I tightened my grip on the towel around my waist.

He smiled—actually, he suppressed a laugh. “You want to borrow a pair of shorts?”

“Please.”

“Come here first. Take a look. The SUV that nearly ran you down was parked by my warehouse for almost an hour. The driver got out and disappeared behind his vehicle. My guess? Nature called. Then he saw you coming toward him and took off.”

“Don’t you think that’s suspicious behavior?”

Matt shrugged. “The roastery construction site is locked tight, and this warehouse has obvious security cameras. I think the guy was just innocently looking around, curious about the area. Maybe he wants to build here . . .”

As Matt went on, I stared hard at the screen and realized I recognized this man. The photo was grainy and black-and-white, so I couldn’t tell the color of his beard, but I was sure that facial fur would be dark red—just like the man’s SUV.

“I’ve seen that bearded man in our coffeehouse!”

Matt looked closer. “Yeah, he does look familiar. I think I’ve seen him in the Village, too.”

“So what’s he doing parked for an hour in front of your Brooklyn warehouse?”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“I spooked the guy, Matt, so much so that he fishtailed to get out of here and nearly killed me—without slowing down to find out if he did. That doesn’t sound innocent.”

“No, it doesn’t . . .” Matt moved through the footage again. “I can’t make out his vehicle’s license number. But I see the warehouse camera did get a nice shot of you landing on your beautiful round behind. Would you like to see?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Look, I’ll share the footage with the local precinct, but that’s about all I can do—other than confront the guy if I see him again.”

I considered the possibilities. “Do you think he could be a private investigator?”

“What would he be investigating?”

“You.”

“Me?!”

“Yes. Using dating apps to cheat is not uncommon in the swipe-to-meet world—you agreed to that fact three days ago.”

“I’m not married anymore!”

“No, genius, but one of your conquests might be.”

“I don’t sleep with married women, Clare. It’s asking for trouble. And before you say it—yes, I can spot when a woman is married and posing as single.”

“Really? You have mind-reading vision, do you?”

“End of discussion.” Matt closed the laptop. Then he handed over a skimpy pair of nylon gym shorts. “Best I can do.”

“And here I thought you’d forgotten.”

Matt looked me up and down. “I figured you didn’t really need them. That shirt is long enough to cover your sweet parts, yet it’s the perfect length to show off your legs. It also looks better on you than it ever looked on me.”

I rolled my eyes. My ex-husband was the only man I knew who could find sexual overtones in an old flannel shirt.

“Can I get dressed now?”

“When you’re done, join me in the kitchen. We’ll have a bite to eat before we sample the new coffee.”

“New coffee?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To try the East Timor cherries I sourced on Mount Ramelau?”

“Uh, sure,” I replied. “But I also need your help with something else. Something important . . .” (I neglected to mention this “help” I needed involved setting a trap for a murder suspect.)

“You can talk to me about it in the kitchen,” Matt said over his shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”