With Private Eyes Part 14

"Romantic compatibility is not based on liking the same foods."

"I'll bet Neil isn't watching the game right now."

No, he wouldn't be. But Ethan probably was. They'd argued about it. When Claudia had said that the other team's new wide receiver would give the Patriots a hard time, he'd insisted the man was overhyped and too new to be dependable. Pigheaded man.

Was he was watching the game alone, or with some of his many cousins? Or a woman?

None of my business, she told herself firmly. "I am not in the mood for black," she announced, and hung up the black dress and retrieved the dark blue one. It was a long sheath with a mandarin collar, appliqued at the hem and one hip with yellow flowers, and slit to within an inch of decency on one side.

A sudden roar from the television had her tossing the dress on the bed and racing for the living room. The announcer was hoa.r.s.e and the crowd was on their feet. Dammit, what had happened?

Thank heavens for instant replay. The football soared up, arced down-and landed in the wide receiver's hands. He streaked for the goal line.

"Yes!" Claudia yelled, and pumped her fist in the air.

Stacy wandered out of the bedroom, the bag of chips in one hand, and gave Claudia an odd look. "I know you're a lot more up on football than I am, but aren't you cheering for the wrong team?"

"I'm not exactly cheering for them. I've got a bet on."

"You bet against the Patriots?" She clapped a hand to her chest. "Call 911. We have an emergency here."

"I wouldn't do that! I bet on the point spread. Ethan seems to think anyone with a uterus instead of gonads can't understand football. He practically patted me on the head and told me to go knit something when I offered an opinion on the other team's new running back."

Stacy snickered. "You offer opinions the way the Red Queen does-'off with his head!' Why were you arguing football with Ethan, anyway? I thought the only thing you had in common was the investigation. No personal relationship at all. At least that's what you've been claiming."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes." Claudia's eyes drifted back to the set. They were setting up for the field goal. "We were talking sports, not holding a deep, intimate conversation. The man used to play college ball. It's only natural the subject would come up."

"Uh-huh. Well, to direct your mind to a subject of much less importance than football, is anything happening with the investigation?"

"We tracked down another of Norblusky's drinking buddies today, but he wasn't much help." So far they knew a whole lot of places that Ed Norblusky wasn't. "But it's only been a few days. And tomorrow we talk to his sister. She might know something."

"Why would she tell you if she does?"

"Ethan's good at getting people to talk." She frowned at the TV. The kicker was in place.

"You've been known to loosen a few lips, too. Out of sheer fear, if charm fails."

"We're a pretty good team. I got to play the bad cop today. I-d.a.m.n!" The ball sailed up, pretty as could be, right between the goalposts.

"You wanted them to get the touchdown, but not the field goal?"

"I don't want them to win. And it messes up the point spread." Absently Claudia sat on the couch. She held out a hand for the bag of chips. Stacy pa.s.sed it to her, and she dug out one and crunched down, her eyes glued to the set.

"Just what did you bet?"

Her smile snuck out, a trifle smug. "Enough to make it interesting."

"Oh, really? He can't afford to bet enough to make it interesting to you."

"Don't be silly. Money isn't interesting."

"Claudia! You didn't!"

She laughed. "I bet gloating rights, Stacy, not s.e.xual favors. A full day's gloating rights for the winner. Did you really think I'd bet my body?"

"I think you want that man."

Well, yes. But she had it under control. She dug into the bag for another chip. "What did you do with the salsa?"

"It's in the bedroom. Have you forgotten about Neil, or are you planning to entertain him in your undies?"

Claudia yelped and dashed for the bedroom.

Stacy followed. She'd retrieved the chips and resumed her place on the bed, sitting cross-legged and watching Claudia with her owl eyes as she carefully dampened a chip in the spicy dip. "Tell me something. Why are you going out with a man you can completely forget from one moment to the next?"

Claudia had plenty of answers for that question. Good answers, too. She considered several of them as she slipped the blue dress over her head and zipped it up.

Neil was a genuinely nice man. He was gentle and cultured and they did, too, have things in common. She'd met him when she was setting up a visiting-nurse program for housebound AIDS patients on the south side. Neil ran a hospice in the area. He possessed such compa.s.sion, such a commitment to helping others ... and no fire whatsoever. At least not with her.

If she could just get him to show a little pa.s.sion, she thought for the hundredth time. If he'd just stop leaving it up to her how fast and how far their relationship went...

She could get him into bed. She knew that. But, dammit, she didn't want it to be all her idea. That had been her mistake in the past-going after a man before she knew for sure the feelings were mutual. And she'd rather stay home tonight and watch the game and eat chips and salsa with Stacy than go out with Neil, which didn't auger well for the success of her plan.

Especially since she couldn't watch it with the person she was not going to think about again tonight.

"'Dia? Was the question that hard to answer?"

Claudia grimaced and stepped into her shoes. "I guess I'm going out with him because I said I would."

Stacy nodded, accepting that. "But why Monday night? You knew the Patriots were playing."

"Neil's been out of town. He just got back." And she'd felt guilty. She'd put him off twice before he left for the weekend, caught up in the excitement of playing detective. "Tell me something. Why are we friends? You and I don't have anything more in common than Neil and I do."

"Sure we do. Mrs. Murphy and third grade. Camp Qaxita . Shane Hillbright."

"You won the toss, but you didn't marry him."

"My taste evolved beyond dimples. Besides, I think he turned out to be gay. And then there was Johnny."

Claudia smiled reminiscently. "Seventh grade. Your first boyfriend. My first fund-raising drive."

"You made me help. The director of the National Red Cross sent you a personal letter of thanks." She smiled. " London for our twenty-first birthdays."

"Remember climbing to the top of St. Paul's?"

"I try not to. My thigh muscles still quiver in reproach if I think about it. How about soph.o.m.ore English and Emily d.i.c.kinson?"

"'Hope is the thing with feathers...' I can't remember the rest." She paused. "Pizza with anchovies."