Killer Chameleon by Chassie West Page A

and go from there. Come on. I’ve got to get dressed.”
    I grabbed a banana from the counter and followed him into the bedroom. I still wasn’t used to seeing my bed in here, in fact, got a small jolt every time I saw my furniture in this condo. But of all the items that had been moved from my apartment to Duck’s, the bed seemed as if it belonged here the most. It looked at home, the head- and footboard with their unfussy, clean lines. Like Duck, I realized, who had helped me pick it out back in the spring. We had similar tastes, and on the few occasions we’d been in furniture stores, had always gravitated toward the simple and uncluttered—Scandinavian or Shaker or, like the bed, mission style.
    I patted the pillows to say hello, then stretched out on my stomach to watch Duck get dressed, something I love to do. Truth is, I love to watch him do anything, love the way he moves, like a well-toned athlete, smooth, with a masculine grace.
    Funny thing about Dillon Upshur Kennedy. At first glance there’s nothing remarkable about him. He’s your basic black brother, average height and weight, average looks. Round face, skin the color of Hershey’s (with almonds, my favorite), and dark eyes with obscenely long lashes. What gets you is that he always appears to be smiling, something about the curve of his lips, I guess.
    And he has a way of looking at you that gives you the impression he’s glad to see you and whatever you have to say is important to him. He makes you want to be his friend, which probably accounts for how easily he’s managed to get bad guys to confess. Got a hard case who refuses to talk? Call Duck. The local jails are populated with criminals who spilled their guts to him, yet still yell his name and wave whenever they see him there. In spite of the fact that he was instrumental to their being there, they like him. Go figure.
    As for his effect on women, it can be devastating and something I decided I’d just as soon not think about at the moment.
    He disappeared into the walk-in closet and came out with a gray shirt and charcoal slacks on hangers. “There’s plenty of space for your clothes in there,” he said. “In case you missed it, that’s a broad hint.”
    â€œIt was? Duh! I hope you’ve enjoyed all that room to yourself because that’s over. But wait a minute, honey.” My mind had skittered back to the previous subject. “All the women Gracie had working with her on the tree are seniors. You know how dopey I am about old ladies. I’d probably love them even if Nunna hadn’t drummed ‘respect your elders’ into me. No way would I do anything to antagonize one. And frankly, I can’t imagine an old lady making those calls.”
    Duck snorted in derision as he grabbed a pair of black socks from a dresser drawer and perched on the side of the bed to put them on. “Inside every old lady is a young one, babe. You know how I feel about the b-word, but if one of those old biddies was a bitch thirty years ago, chances are she hasn’t changed.”
    I found myself resisting the whole notion. It simply didn’t feel right. “Tell you what,” I said, undoing the buttons on his shirt for him. “Check in with Willard when you have a chance, and I’ll do some fishing around with Gracie Poole, no pun intended.”
    Duck rolled his eyes at that and extended a hand for his shirt. “Deal. Let’s hope that whoever she is, she’s shot her wad. What are you up to today?”
    I hadn’t made my to-do list yet, so I had to wing it. “Pick up our tickets to Hawaii, swing by the Bridal Bower for my wedding outfit, check to see if my laptop’s been repaired, buy a doormat for Janeece, for a start.”
    â€œYou gonna be able to hang around to let Clarissa in?”
    It took me a moment to switch gears, primarily because it was the first time I’d heard her name. I