Sitting across the table, Bo found it hard to believe it had only been a week since he’d last seen Simone. So much had transpired, it felt like a lifetime. Simone was easy on the eyes. Tall. Brunette. Athletic. Her toned body gave her an appearance of an Olympic athlete. He thought about what Quinn said earlier about everyone having a type. Maybe she was right. Statuesque brunettes seemed to be his thing, although Quinn was slender, not toned.
When they first met, Bo thought Simone was the kind of girl he could settle down with one day. She was bright, funny, motivated. Organized. Now, he wasn’t so sure. And he was anything but settled. Viewing her across the dinner table at the upscale restaurant, he felt like he was picking her apart, focusing on her flaws, her imperfections. The way one of her fingernails hung halfway out of the corner of her mouth, dangling as her teeth bit down while she talked at the same time. And earlier, on the drive there, she’d cracked her knuckles several times.
Had she always done that?
Why hadn’t he picked up on it before?
Or had he, except the difference was, it didn’t bug him before, and now it did?
“Did you miss me?” Simone asked.
“Yeah. It’s good to have you back.”
“What did you do while I was gone?”
“Police work, for the most part.”
“Are you getting anywhere with the case you’re working on?”
“Not really.”
Simone lifted a spoonful of tomato soup to her burgundy-stained lips, but instead of opening her mouth, she barely parted her lips, choosing instead to savor the flavor of the soup by slurping it. Bo couldn’t tear his eyes from her, unable to shake the feeling he was with a completely different woman tonight. And then it hit him. Maybe the newness of the relationship, all those fluttering flips of the stomach like a car taking an abrupt dip in the road, were starting to wear off.
Simone looked stunning tonight in a low-cut navy blue dress and strappy black heels, like the kind of woman any man would be grateful to have on his arm, even if for nothing more than a single night. Still, he was starting to wish that lucky man was someone else. Someone other than him.
“You didn’t bring your cell phone in,” she said. “That was nice of you.”
She was right. He hadn’t. But it wasn’t for the reason she assumed. In his haste to be on time to pick her up for their date, he’d dropped it, the front cracking against the floor. He’d tried turning it back on a few times and was met with nothing but a dark, black screen of death.
“Bo, is everything all right?” Simone asked.
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re not saying much. Usually we never run out of things to talk about.”
“I’m sorry, Simone. I have a lot on my mind.”
She reached across the table, turning his face toward her. “Can I help? Talk to me.”
He wanted to answer, to speak freely. He just didn’t know what to say.
“Something’s different,” she continued. “What happened while I was away? What’s changed?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re distant.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“Let’s try this,” she suggested. “Tell me what you did today.”
“I questioned Roy Ferguson again, found out he lied when he said he wasn’t at Evie’s place on the night she died.”
“Are you thinking he did it?”
“I’m not. When Quinn got in his face today, accusing him of Evie’s murder, he was irritated, but he just stood there, stone-faced.”
Simone removed the napkin from her lap, wiped her face, then clenched the napkin in her hand. “Did you just say Quinn—as in the woman you used to date in high school?”
There was no sense denying it now. “I did.”
“I thought you haven’t seen or talked to her in ages.”
“I haven’t. It’s complicated.”
“And today you were with her. The two of you. Together.”
“For a short time, yes.”
“What is she doing here?”
“I explained all of this before—Quinn and Evie were close friends.”
“But Quinn doesn’t live here, and Evie’s funeral was several days ago. What’s she still doing in Cody?”
It was neither the right time nor the right place to air the details of what had transpired over the past week. And it wouldn’t help things even if he did. It would only make them worse.
“Quinn is staying here with her family while she figures some things out.”
“What is there to figure out, Bo?”
He didn’t like her tone, or the way she was looking at him, or the disgusted look on her face. He didn’t like the way the other patrons were looking at him either. “I think I’d better get you home. We can talk more about this tomorrow.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Bo. We’ll talk about it now, or they’ll be no tomorrow for us.”
Bo stood. “You can stay and I’ll call you a cab, or you can come with me and I’ll drop you at home. Either way, I’m leaving.”