Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7) by Mary Maxwell Page B

than I need sleep.”

CHAPTER
12
     
     
    An hour after Viveca and I left
Café Fleur, I was curled on the sofa in the living room at home with a chunky
chenille throw over my legs and the dog-eared copy of And Then There Were
None that I found in the Sky High dining room a few days earlier. A glass
of milk and a plate with two chocolate chip cookies sat nearby on the coffee
table—ready, willing and able to comfort me at a moment’s notice.
    It was bliss in a nutshell:
something to read, something to eat and drink, the comfy gray blanket, the
front door locked and the still, dark night on the far side of the windows.
    As I finished the first chapter of
the Agatha Christie classic, my phone chirped somewhere beneath the chenille
coverlet.
    “Excuse me, Miss Christie,” I said,
closing the book. “That’s my cue.”
    When I unearthed the phone and
glanced at the screen, the idyllic late night scenario moved a few miles closer
to perfection. My beloved was calling from Los Angeles.
    “Hey, beautiful,” Zack said. “How’s
your night?”
    “Better now. How are you?”
    “Exhausted and ready to crash. We
started this morning at five and literally just got back to the hotel.”
    “Is the shoot going well?”
    “As well as you can expect. The
creative director for the ad agency decided to flip the script about an hour
after we started today. That sent everyone into orbit.”
    “Including you?”
    He didn’t say anything.
    “Are you doing okay?”
    “It’s fine,” Zack answered. “Goes
with the territory. I’ve worked with the guy before, so I know what to expect.
It was a lot harder on the rest of the crew; they’re Chet Hardy newbies, so I
saw a few tears, a couple of heated arguments and the aftermath of a craft
services food fight.”
    “Sounds pretty crazy.”
    He laughed. “ Was pretty
crazy. But hearing your voice is making me feel a whole lot better.”
    “Happy to oblige, handsome.”
    “Thanks, babe. I know it’s late,
but I really wanted to check in and wish you sweet dreams.”
    “That’s so exactly how I like to
end the day.” I closed my eyes and pictured his face: dimpled chin, ice blue
eyes, tapered nose, short jet-black hair. “I can’t wait until you’re home
again.”
    “Ditto that,” he said. “How was
your day? I wanted to call when I got your text earlier, but we were at dinner
with the clients. What’s the latest on the fire?”
    “Trent and his crew from the
Crescent Creek PD are working on it.”
    “How’s Ira doing?”
    “So-so. I guess someone thumped him
on the head pretty hard before they lit the blaze. Luckily, the first responders
on the scene pulled him to safety in time.”
    Zack whistled. “Sounds like it was
a close call, huh?”
    “Completely,” I agreed. “But Trent
told me that Ira wasn’t too badly injured and he’s got great insurance. From
the buzz I heard around town, he’ll have more than enough to rebuild and get
right back to business as soon as possible.”
    “He’s tenacious,” Zack said.
    “Whoa, tiger! That’s a pretty big
word for me this late at night.”
    He laughed; the melodious and husky
sound sent tendrils of warmth to my core.
    “I miss you,” he said, nearly
whispering. “I may never take a weeklong assignment again.”
    “I miss you, too.”
    We let the tender moment linger,
riding the gentle waves of affection for a few silent moments.
    “What are you wearing?” Zack asked
as I opened my eyes and reached for the glass of milk.
    I glanced down at my wrinkled, tattered
Ghostbusters T-shirt. It was one of my favorite things to sleep in, as roomy
and soft as any flannel nightgown. There was a stain of indeterminate origin on
one sleeve and the thread along the bottom seemed to be unraveling even as we
spoke.
    “A pink lace negligee,” I said,
doing my best to sound sultry. “With a little bedazzling along the cleavage and
a keyhole cutout that leaves very little to the imagination.”
    Zack laughed again. “Broncos