Raoul's wandering affections, either.
"Ingrid gone," I murmured blissfully as I turned onto the
tree-lined lane that would take us to downtown Verduras. "Damn, I do love you, Wayne."
I saw him blush out of the corner of my eye. But there was a little smile along with the painful blush. I reached over to squeeze his well-muscled thigh before parking in front of Fictional Pleasures, banishing the thought of all the unfinished Jest Gifts paperwork waiting on my desk at home. As well as the crises, waiting to spring. I wasn't letting Wayne do this alone. We were a team.
"Where's suspense?" PMP screamed as we opened the bookstore's door. "Cash or charge. Scree-scraw. I understand."
Ivan came out from behind the sales counter to greet us as we crossed the threshold, hugging Wayne first, and then me, with a grip that came close to squeezing the Whol-ios out of me. I was beginning to feel more like a life raft than a friend. One about to burst.
At least it was warm at Fictional Pleasures today. And quiet, except for PMP. I lifted my eyes to enjoy the play of sunlight on the rows of wooden bookshelves. It kept my gaze from the authors' table, still in place with its stacks of books, and surrounded with crime-scene tape from the night before. Though Shayla's body was mercifully gone.
Ivan had set up a few of the folding chairs near the tea urn, along with a little table holding a tray of pastries. He motioned us to sit.
"I bought them fresh from the health food store's bakery," he assured me. "No white flour, no white sugar, no dairy."
He didn't have to convince me. I could smell the raspberry filling oozing fructose into the ozone. And the rich whole-wheat crust. Whol-ios were just a memory as my bottom touched the familiar slats of teak and I reached toward the tray.
"I thought they might provide a little harmony while we
talked," Ivan said softly, taking his own seat and handing me a cup of herb tea to accompany the pastry.
The carob-almond tea was a perfect contrast to the sweet-and-sour fruit flavor of the raspberry filling. And I could taste almond in the crust too. Vegetarianism at its most decadent. I forgave Ivan for his too-tight hug instantly.
"So ..." Wayne prompted, untouched by gluttony, a lone cup of tea in his hand.
Ivan sighed.
PMP sighed.
I was ready to sigh too, despite the pastries, when Ivan finally leaned forward and began to speak. Quietly.
"Captain Xavier believes Shayla's death was murder," he began. He took a deep breath.
Suddenly the pastry didn't feel so harmonious inside me anymore. I'd guessed that Shayla had been murdered, but hearing it confirmed was still a shock. Or an aftershock, at least. Especially hot from the lips of Captain Cal Xavier.
"How?" asked Wayne.
Ivan sighed again, looking down at the floor.
"Captain Xavier asked me to consider the details confidential," he replied. "I'm not really supposed to share."
Wayne and I waited. I figured it wouldn't be long. Ivan's need to confide was as palpable as the oversweet smell of raspberry.
Ivan sighed again. Then he raised his head to look around him. No one was here but us and the bird.
"Apparently there was some kind of mechanism in the jeweled bracelet," he whispered. "When Shayla closed the clasp, it triggered a series of poisonous injections from the syringes inside."
I remembered the way Shayla's face had pinched when she'd snapped the bracelet closed. And her one word. Kate.
Raspberry jam began oozing its way back up my digestive tract.
"And the captain and I agreed whoever placed it on the authors' table had to have been one of the people present that night—"
"Who has access to syringes?" asked Wayne. Clearly, he'd already figured out that the bracelet was the murder weapon. Mr. Quadrini had been right. Shayla had put on the bracelet, and then she was dead.
Ivan looked down at the floor again. I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were radiating evasion. And something that looked like guilt. What was he
"Ingrid gone," I murmured blissfully as I turned onto the
tree-lined lane that would take us to downtown Verduras. "Damn, I do love you, Wayne."
I saw him blush out of the corner of my eye. But there was a little smile along with the painful blush. I reached over to squeeze his well-muscled thigh before parking in front of Fictional Pleasures, banishing the thought of all the unfinished Jest Gifts paperwork waiting on my desk at home. As well as the crises, waiting to spring. I wasn't letting Wayne do this alone. We were a team.
"Where's suspense?" PMP screamed as we opened the bookstore's door. "Cash or charge. Scree-scraw. I understand."
Ivan came out from behind the sales counter to greet us as we crossed the threshold, hugging Wayne first, and then me, with a grip that came close to squeezing the Whol-ios out of me. I was beginning to feel more like a life raft than a friend. One about to burst.
At least it was warm at Fictional Pleasures today. And quiet, except for PMP. I lifted my eyes to enjoy the play of sunlight on the rows of wooden bookshelves. It kept my gaze from the authors' table, still in place with its stacks of books, and surrounded with crime-scene tape from the night before. Though Shayla's body was mercifully gone.
Ivan had set up a few of the folding chairs near the tea urn, along with a little table holding a tray of pastries. He motioned us to sit.
"I bought them fresh from the health food store's bakery," he assured me. "No white flour, no white sugar, no dairy."
He didn't have to convince me. I could smell the raspberry filling oozing fructose into the ozone. And the rich whole-wheat crust. Whol-ios were just a memory as my bottom touched the familiar slats of teak and I reached toward the tray.
"I thought they might provide a little harmony while we
talked," Ivan said softly, taking his own seat and handing me a cup of herb tea to accompany the pastry.
The carob-almond tea was a perfect contrast to the sweet-and-sour fruit flavor of the raspberry filling. And I could taste almond in the crust too. Vegetarianism at its most decadent. I forgave Ivan for his too-tight hug instantly.
"So ..." Wayne prompted, untouched by gluttony, a lone cup of tea in his hand.
Ivan sighed.
PMP sighed.
I was ready to sigh too, despite the pastries, when Ivan finally leaned forward and began to speak. Quietly.
"Captain Xavier believes Shayla's death was murder," he began. He took a deep breath.
Suddenly the pastry didn't feel so harmonious inside me anymore. I'd guessed that Shayla had been murdered, but hearing it confirmed was still a shock. Or an aftershock, at least. Especially hot from the lips of Captain Cal Xavier.
"How?" asked Wayne.
Ivan sighed again, looking down at the floor.
"Captain Xavier asked me to consider the details confidential," he replied. "I'm not really supposed to share."
Wayne and I waited. I figured it wouldn't be long. Ivan's need to confide was as palpable as the oversweet smell of raspberry.
Ivan sighed again. Then he raised his head to look around him. No one was here but us and the bird.
"Apparently there was some kind of mechanism in the jeweled bracelet," he whispered. "When Shayla closed the clasp, it triggered a series of poisonous injections from the syringes inside."
I remembered the way Shayla's face had pinched when she'd snapped the bracelet closed. And her one word. Kate.
Raspberry jam began oozing its way back up my digestive tract.
"And the captain and I agreed whoever placed it on the authors' table had to have been one of the people present that night—"
"Who has access to syringes?" asked Wayne. Clearly, he'd already figured out that the bracelet was the murder weapon. Mr. Quadrini had been right. Shayla had put on the bracelet, and then she was dead.
Ivan looked down at the floor again. I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were radiating evasion. And something that looked like guilt. What was he
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