Chapter Four（2）

Jake’s expression was impassive. I got it. The thick blue wall. Alonzo had committed the cardinal sin of going after a fellow cop. Jake had his enemies, but he also had his allies. And even his enemies disapproved of breaking rank more than they disapproved of anything Jake had done.

From there the conversation moved to the current offer on Jake’s house in Glendale—the last two had fallen through in closing. What I wanted to ask him was whether he’d heard from his family, but I knew that if he had, he’d be telling me.

The Riordans had not dealt well with the revelation that their oldest son was gay. Unanimously, they had taken the part of Kate, his ex-wife, even as Kate and Jake struggled to keep their divorce from turning into a civil war.

I had never disliked anybody as much as I disliked every single member of Jake’s family. He had done a difficult and painful and courageous thing by coming out. And even if they couldn’t support his decision, they could have tried to understand. Nope. It was all about how they felt, how disappointed they were, their shattered hopes and dreams. The Amish could have learned a thing or two about shunning from Jake’s family.

Still, the first rule of cohabitation is Thou Shalt Not Diss the Other Dude’s Kinfolk. So I kept my mouth shut. Which ought to rank at least among the top three on the Greatest Tests of True Love list, right above the one about spinning flax into pure gold.

Jake finished his lunch—and mine—and then the bill came.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and remembering the comment about free rent, I turned my reach into an elaborate raking back my hair. “Thank you. I needed that,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he said seriously.

While we waited for his credit card to be run, I said, “What do you think about meeting Kevin for dinner? Since you’re going to want to talk to him anyway.”

Jake grimaced. “From my perspective it would be better not to mix social with business.”

I was silent.

He said with sudden, disarming honesty, “And also I would really, really like a night alone with you.”

I couldn’t argue with that, although I think he thought I was going to because he forged ahead. “I don’t care that all the boxes aren’t unpacked and that we can’t find the toaster or the remote controls or the flannel sheets. I don’t care about any of that. I just want a night where we don’t have to be anywhere or do anything other than maybe walk the dog and have dinner together.”

“I’d like that too.”

Jake looked relieved.

“But.”

He let his head fall back, looking heavenward. I reached over and covered his hand with mine.

“Hey. I can’t blow him off over the phone. Maybe we could meet for drinks. You can interview him, and I can explain why, even though you aren’t specifically taking his case, you’re still going after the result he wants, which is to find Ivor. And then we can have the rest of the night to ourselves. Which I also really, really want.”

His cheek creased in a wry smile. He turned his wrist so that we were lightly holding hands.

“Done,” he said.

* * * * *

“Oh, then you did come back!” Natalie called sweetly when I arrived at the bookstore. “I guess you’re not keeping regular hours yet?” She looked meaningfully at the clock on the mantel.

I opened my mouth to point out that technically I wasn’t due back until Friday—never mind the fact that I was still her boss and signing her paychecks and keeping her guilty secrets from our combined family, however frustrating to us both that was—but the interested gazes of the line of waiting customers decided me against it.

“Cor blimey, Ms. de Vil, don’t dock me wages!” I wailed, heading straight for my lair.

I found Tomkins sniffing delicately at the open can of Tab on my desk. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here.” I scooped him off the desk.

He meowed at me loudly, gusting Fancy Feast Tender Tongol Tuna breath right in my face.

It was now unanimous. I got no respect from my staff. Times like these I longed for the good old days when it had just been me, twenty thousand books, and the occasional psycho killer.

I began to go through the stack of messages thoughtfully placed dead center on my desktop blotter. There seemed to be a lot of them, including one from my editor and a couple from my ex, Guy.

It said a lot about my writing career that I was more curious to hear what Guy had to say for himself than my editor.

There were several requests from authors seeking signings at Cloak and Dagger. The boom in publishing meant writers great and small were ready and willing to grab any chance at a signing, even at a small—okay, medium-sized—indie bookstore. Big names like Gabriel Savant and J.X. Moriarity were touching base for the upcoming year, and a host of writers I’d never heard of—including writers who were only published digitally—were requesting time slots. Did they not understand how bookstores operated? Boasting about their Kindle Unlimited stardom was like bragging to me about their current case of bubonic plague.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I decided I still wasn’t ready for a return visit from Savant. Sent a yes, please to Moriarity, who was gay, an ex-cop, and most importantly, an all-around nice guy who always brought an enthusiastic crowd.

That started me thinking. What kind of stories would Jake come up with if he decided to write a book?

I mulled that over for an enjoyable minute or two and then got busy returning phone messages.

“Can I talk to you?” Angus poked his head into my office as I was getting off the phone after arranging to meet Kevin for drinks at the White Horse Lounge.

“Yep.” I pushed my chair back and beckoned toward the stack of cardboard cartons. “Grab a box.”

Instead, Angus folded his arms defensively, leaning back against the closed door. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s certainly half your fault,” I agreed. “I mean, it’s not a matter of fault. I know you’re both adults, and I know I can’t control—don’t want to control—who you get involved with. I’m thinking of your work relationship and how that’s going to affect the store.”

At least that’s what I kept telling myself was my main concern.

He swallowed, bracing himself for the big question. “Are you going to fire me?”

“No. If I fire anyone—well, forget I said that. I’m not firing anyone. All the same, I’m not happy about this.”

Like they didn’t know that? Like they cared?

“It won’t affect the bookstore,” he assured me.

“You say that now, but it’s already affecting the bookstore. And believe me, I totally appreciate the fact that you worked late on Christmas Eve. Opening an hour late today was not a big deal. In the larger scheme of things.”

He viewed me solemnly through the blue lenses of his wire-framed spectacles. “It won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” I assumed he meant opening the store late, though it would have been nice to think he was swearing off my female kinfolk.

Angus said, “I love her.”

“Oh God no,” I said.

He looked startled at this outburst.

“Don’t start with the love thing,” I said. “You barely know her.”

“I’ve been working with her nearly every day for five months. She’s smart and funny and really beautiful.” He added in afterthought, “And a good manager.”

“That’s not— That’s just— Don’t fall in love with her. That’s all I’m saying. A couple of months ago she was still moping around over that asshole Warren, remember? She probably still thinks she’s in love with him. She’s not a good relationship risk. I think she’d be the first—or now the second—person to tell you that.”

He smiled at me. A big, wide pitying smile like how could I, an over-thirty bookseller, sometimes amateur sleuth, and an even fewer sometimes sometimes-writer of crime novels possibly understand the mysterious workings of the human heart?

As if I wasn’t a Master Detective when it came to deciphering the enigma of falling in love against your better judgment.

“You’ll see,” he said.