One Hot Mess Part 28

"Keep a few chickens."

Harlequin was lying between us. "Are we speaking in metaphors?"

"Do you know how the big coops treat chickens? It's despicable. I'd let mine roam."

"Uh-huh."

"And I'd have a goat."

"Because..."

"The milk is h.o.m.ogenized naturally. Better for your digestive system."

"Of course." I felt sleepy and as content as a cuddled kitten.

"If I got a couple of horses, would you ride with me?"

"If I could wrestle Solberg out of the way."

"Can you imagine Jeen on a horse?" she asked, and we giggled like schoolgirls, or like idiots.

The room went quiet, soft with camaraderie and contentment.

"How much danger are you in?" Harlequin was snoring like a drunken sailor and took up a tremendous amount of room. Laney was playing with his paw. I rubbed an ear. The moonlight slanted across the bed, shining on Laney's hair and Harley's ribby thorax.

"I don't even know if the deaths are connected."

"Coincidences are just spiritual puns," she said.

"I don't know what that means."

"What a coincidence."

I rolled my eyes. "The police have determined them accidental," I said.

"All three of them?"

I nodded. Maybe she couldn't see me, but it didn't matter. She could read my mind. Sometimes it's spooky. Just then it was almost soothing.

"What does Rivera think?"

"It's out of his jurisdiction."

"That hasn't necessarily stopped him in the past."

"I think he's given up on me."

She didn't say anything for a second, then reached across Harley's boxy head and pushed some hair back from my face. "Maybe he's trying to."

"I think he's succeeded."

"Would it help if I told you about the extremely well-accepted fish-in-the-sea theory?"

"It's worth a try."

I could sense her smile. "Apparently there are a lot of them."

"Do they try to kill you?"

"The mercury levels are disturbingly high."

I smiled and rolled onto my back. "Are you going to marry Solberg?"

"Ask some other time," she said. "When you're not so despondent."

"I'm not despondent."

"Please don't get yourself killed, Mac," she said. Her voice felt soft and foggy in the darkness. It was no secret why every living being adored her.

"Okay."

"Who do you think killed them?"

"I take it you don't believe in that accident gibberish."

"If I said yes, that I feel it in every organ of my body including my appendix, that all three of them died of unsuspicious if rather unlucky circ.u.mstances, would you drop it?"

"How does your appendix feel?"

"A little queasy," she said, and sighed. "I have to tell you something, but I don't want you to read more into this than necessary."

"Into what?"

"Promise me you'll think things through before you react."

I tilted my head toward her. She was no less beautiful in the moonlight. "You're really a man?"

"Try not to be an idiot."

"If only."

"They died on three consecutive days of the week," she said. "Starting on Monday."

The world went quiet. "What?" I said, but my voice barely made a ripple in the darkness.

"I checked your timeline," she said. "It's mathematically improbable."

22.

Dating-the socially acceptable alternative to the rack.

-Mr. Donald Archer FELT A LITTLE EDGY on Friday. I'd stayed up until two in the morning staring at my office wall with Laney She was right. They had died on consecutive days. But then, of course, she could do algebraic equations on her pinky finger. Days of the week were fairly elementary.

Between clients, I sat in silence, letting my mind wander. Not that it had much of a choice. It was something of a nomad these days.

My intercom rang. I pushed the appropriate b.u.t.ton. "What's up?"

"Ms. McMullen?"

I was still amazed that I had a secretary who could use something as complicated as the phone system. After Laney had left my office to become the Amazon Queen, I had begun to despair.

"Yes?"

"I made an appointment for a new client."

"I thought my schedule was packed."

"Your four o'clock, a Mr. Ha.s.sler-probably not the author-needed to cancel. I found a spot for him tomorrow. Then I slipped Mr. Donald Archer into his slot."

"Shirley?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"What happened to the Magnificent Mandy?"

"Truth to tell, I'm not exactly sure."

"I didn't really want you to kill her, you know."

She chuckled a little and hung up. I did the same, minus the chuckle. Clients came and went.

My four o'clock arrived. Shirley buzzed to announce my newbie. I stood up to greet him. The man who stepped through the doorway had a familiar face. He also had curly hair, green eyes, and twenty pounds more than recommended by the healthy-heart people. It took me a while to place him, but finally the memories congealed. I had spoken to him in Sespe over a vodka cranberry. I'd introduced myself as Mac. He'd introduced himself as the same.

"Ms. McMullen, this is Donald Archer," Shirley said.

I blinked, mind ticking, and took the carefully printed record she offered. "Thank you, Shirley," I said. She nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

I waited in silence for an instant, not sure where to go from here. Was this another coincidence? A spiritual pun? A...

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" I was buying time as if I had the cash.

"I didn't lie to you in the bar. At least, I didn't mean to."

Pieces of the puzzle were floating around my brain like dollar bills in one of those money phone booths you see on game shows. "Donald Archer," I said. "You own Ironwear Incorporated."

He smiled. The expression was a little sheepish. "My father," he said. "My father owns Ironwear."

I motioned vaguely toward the furniture and took a seat in my chair. "Why'd you want me to believe you were an employee there?"

"It wasn't intentional. I mean, I am an employee, sort of." He wobbled his head. "It just happened. Things were said. Then I didn't know how to get out of it."

In my world, things don't just happen. For example, when someone tries to kill me, it's intentional. "Listen, Mr. Archer-"

"I didn't want to be Mr. Archer."

I gave him the c.o.c.k-headed expression Harlequin had taught me. "What?"

"Not to you."

"What are you talking about? How did you find me?"

He winced, looking apologetic. "I'm really rich."

I cleared my throat and tugged on my blouse. Ongoing problems with the Super Septic guys and my lack of a convenient washing machine had caused me to take casual Friday to a new low. I was wearing too-short slacks and an ivory sh.e.l.l. The wrinkles in the slacks and the boxy demeanor of the shirt might have pushed it a little past casual and into the vague borders of "ick." "This is very unorthodox, Mr. Archer. I don't believe-"

"See. That's why I just wanted to be Mac."

I gave him a look.

"People treat you different when you're just Mac."

Another look.

"You know, you weren't exactly the Gandhi of honesty either," he said.

I felt a little uncomfortable with that idea, but I kept my voice steady. "A woman would have to either be dangerously optimistic or ridiculously stupid to give her name out at every two-bit bar in California."

"Well, you're not stupid," he said, then hurried to add, "but I'm not, either. I mean, I'm no Einstein, but I'm all right."

"Why are you here?"

He actually blushed-actually, literally, physically blushed. It was kind of endearing. I mean, Officer Tavis hadn't colored while talking about multiple partners, and I was quite sure Rivera had no blood vessels in his face whatsoever. "I just... I found you interesting."

"Interesting."

"I was hoping you'd go out with me." It was blunt and quick and a little painful.

"Are you serious?"

He winced, face twitching a little. "Ouch?"