called to say Jack had gone missing, I hadn’t been picking up my phone messages thanks to my credit cards, Edik’s spending habits, and the way every debt collector in the Midwest and beyond had me on speed dial.
Sylvia had gotten to Abilene before I did, and she moved herself lock, stock, and barrel into the larger of the RV’s two not-so-large-to-begin-with bedrooms. My own room (it had actually started life as a storage area) was on the other side of the bathroom and I hurried in there to finish undressing. Done in record time, I tossed my stockings to Phil and set my stilettos on the floor. When he finally packed up his gear and headed out, I sped to the front of the RV.
“I need a cigarette,” I said, more to myself than to Nick. “Bad.”
“You don’t smoke.”
Since this was a little detail I’d completely forgotten in the heat of the moment, his comment brought me up short. “How would you know?”
His smile wasn’t as genuine as it was quick. “My ex was a smoker. Believe me, I can recognize the smell a mile away.”
“An ex, huh?” Hey, he’d opened himself up to the question. Which meant he shouldn’t have ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood to care. Dead body + scared out of my wits + blood all over me = one heck of a nicotine craving.
Too bad I remembered I’d left my purse—and the pack of cigarettes in it—back at the Palace.
I grumbled a curse, but hey, I was not about to be beaten. Not when I couldn’t wait to get a cigarette in my fingers and a long, delicious drag of smoke into my lungs.
I rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen and when I didn’t find a stray pack there, I started in on the vanity in the bathroom.
No luck there, either, and I raced into my bedroom.
I squashed myself between my single bed and the wall and looked under the bed, so I didn’t so much see Nick follow me into the room as I felt his stony presence. “I don’t smell like smoke because I quit,” I said, loud enough so he could hear me. I crawled out from under the bed and flopped my head against the mattress. Even though I’m short, there wasn’t a lot of room for my legs; I had to bend my knees to fit. “And damn, but I got rid of every cigarette in the place.”
“Isn’t that good news?”
“You obviously never smoked.” I pushed off from the floor and hotfooted it back into the kitchen. I’d seen a bag of Chips Ahoy! there a couple days before, and hey, any port in a storm. I moved Sylvia’s color-coded, arranged-in-alphabetical-order bags of dried fruit to find it—tossed the bag of cookies on the table, plopped down, and dug in.
Okay, so chocolate isn’t nearly as good as nicotine when it comes to relieving stress.
But it comes in a close second.
By the time I’d polished off four cookies, my heartbeat had ratcheted down to something close to normal. The stiffness in my shoulders dissolved. I sank back against the bench.
“I thought you said you felt like you were going to throw up.”
I’d been so busy chomping my way to nirvana, I’d nearly forgotten Nick was there. Now, I glanced up to see that he was watching me carefully.
It was the first I realized I had crumbs on my chin.
I wiped them away and grabbed another three cookies before I pushed the package across the table toward him. “Want some?”
“Some answers.”
The next cookie halfway to my mouth, I froze. “You came to the wrong place. I don’t even know the questions.”
“No, but you will soon enough. The cops are sure to talk to you. You’re going to hear plenty of questions then.”
“Is that all that’s bothering you? What I’m going to tell the cops?” I made quick work of that cookie and popped another one into my mouth. “I can’t tell them any more than I already told them. I opened the door of the RV and Roberto—”
“What about the fight you had with Roberto this morning?”
It was no easy thing swallowing a mouthful of cookie, what with my throat suddenly filled with
Sylvia had gotten to Abilene before I did, and she moved herself lock, stock, and barrel into the larger of the RV’s two not-so-large-to-begin-with bedrooms. My own room (it had actually started life as a storage area) was on the other side of the bathroom and I hurried in there to finish undressing. Done in record time, I tossed my stockings to Phil and set my stilettos on the floor. When he finally packed up his gear and headed out, I sped to the front of the RV.
“I need a cigarette,” I said, more to myself than to Nick. “Bad.”
“You don’t smoke.”
Since this was a little detail I’d completely forgotten in the heat of the moment, his comment brought me up short. “How would you know?”
His smile wasn’t as genuine as it was quick. “My ex was a smoker. Believe me, I can recognize the smell a mile away.”
“An ex, huh?” Hey, he’d opened himself up to the question. Which meant he shouldn’t have ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood to care. Dead body + scared out of my wits + blood all over me = one heck of a nicotine craving.
Too bad I remembered I’d left my purse—and the pack of cigarettes in it—back at the Palace.
I grumbled a curse, but hey, I was not about to be beaten. Not when I couldn’t wait to get a cigarette in my fingers and a long, delicious drag of smoke into my lungs.
I rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen and when I didn’t find a stray pack there, I started in on the vanity in the bathroom.
No luck there, either, and I raced into my bedroom.
I squashed myself between my single bed and the wall and looked under the bed, so I didn’t so much see Nick follow me into the room as I felt his stony presence. “I don’t smell like smoke because I quit,” I said, loud enough so he could hear me. I crawled out from under the bed and flopped my head against the mattress. Even though I’m short, there wasn’t a lot of room for my legs; I had to bend my knees to fit. “And damn, but I got rid of every cigarette in the place.”
“Isn’t that good news?”
“You obviously never smoked.” I pushed off from the floor and hotfooted it back into the kitchen. I’d seen a bag of Chips Ahoy! there a couple days before, and hey, any port in a storm. I moved Sylvia’s color-coded, arranged-in-alphabetical-order bags of dried fruit to find it—tossed the bag of cookies on the table, plopped down, and dug in.
Okay, so chocolate isn’t nearly as good as nicotine when it comes to relieving stress.
But it comes in a close second.
By the time I’d polished off four cookies, my heartbeat had ratcheted down to something close to normal. The stiffness in my shoulders dissolved. I sank back against the bench.
“I thought you said you felt like you were going to throw up.”
I’d been so busy chomping my way to nirvana, I’d nearly forgotten Nick was there. Now, I glanced up to see that he was watching me carefully.
It was the first I realized I had crumbs on my chin.
I wiped them away and grabbed another three cookies before I pushed the package across the table toward him. “Want some?”
“Some answers.”
The next cookie halfway to my mouth, I froze. “You came to the wrong place. I don’t even know the questions.”
“No, but you will soon enough. The cops are sure to talk to you. You’re going to hear plenty of questions then.”
“Is that all that’s bothering you? What I’m going to tell the cops?” I made quick work of that cookie and popped another one into my mouth. “I can’t tell them any more than I already told them. I opened the door of the RV and Roberto—”
“What about the fight you had with Roberto this morning?”
It was no easy thing swallowing a mouthful of cookie, what with my throat suddenly filled with
Similar Books
