killer.)
“So tell me, Willy,” I cooed, “were you and Gray good friends? Had you known each other long?”
“Not very,” he said, standing slumped in the middle of the room, shoulders sagging toward the floor. “Gray moved into the building two years ago, but we never became close friends. He was so busy going to acting school, freelancing as a model, and bussing tables at Stewart’s Cafeteria, that he didn’t have time for me. Then after he became an understudy, I hardly saw him at all. I longed for a deeper, more intimate bond, but I knew it would never happen. He was a young, strapping, gorgeous Greek god, and I was a flabby old frog. And there isn’t a kiss in the world that could turn me into a prince.”
Willy flopped down in a chair across the room and covered his face with his hands. He looked so wretched and pathetic, I felt drawn to comfort him in some way. Pat him on the back. Massage his sloping shoulders. Uplift his sunken ego with heaps of flattery. But such gestures were out of the question, of course. Willy’s unrequited passion for Gray might have been the motive for the murder! How could I, in good conscience, try to bolster the self-image of a possible slasher? (And besides—as much as it discomfits me to disclose it—he really did look like a frog.)
“ Oy vey !” Abby cried out, jumping up from the couch again. “It’s hot as fire in here! If I don’t get some air, I’m gonna die! I need some lunch, too. C’mon, Paige, let’s go. Flannagan said it was okay for us to leave.”
I was hot, but I wasn’t hungry. The bloody scene next door had murdered my appetite. And there were still tons of questions I wanted to ask Willy. “Gosh, I don’t know, Ab,” I said, piercing her with a pointed stare. “I think I’d like to stay for a while and—”
“Yeah, what’s your hurry?” Willy broke in, wringing his hands again. He stood up and walked over to Abby, a pleading look in his protruding eyes. “I’ll fix you a nice lunch,” he said. “I made a lovely batch of chicken salad this morning. And a pitcher of iced tea. With fresh mint.” He clearly didn’t want us to leave.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Abby said, ignoring both Willy’s and my respective appeals. “No offense, pal, but we’ve got to blast off before Flannagan comes back. Otherwise we’ll get stuck here for the rest of the day.”
Abby’s warning hit home. Suddenly I was in a hurry to blast off, too. I felt uneasy about leaving Willy to face the intolerant—possibly abusive—authorities alone, but I couldn’t afford to get caught up in Flannagan’s afternoon inquisition. I simply couldn’t spare the time. I had my own investigation to conduct.
Chapter 6
ABBY AND I WALKED HOME IN TOTAL silence and as fast as we possibly could. The blood on our knees, shins, and shoes had dried, but the crusty streaks were still very much in evidence—both to the people on the street and to our own horrified senses. We couldn’t wait to shower and change our clothes.
“Come over as soon as you’re finished,” Abby said, as we each opened the door to our own apartment and stepped inside. “We’ll go get something to eat.”
“Okay,” I said, quickly shutting my door and locking it, hoping to keep the demons at bay. It was a wasted effort. The demons crawled in under the door, followed me upstairs to the bathroom, and sat on the edge of the bathtub while I tore off my gory, sweaty clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Then the nasty little devils got into the shower with me and haunted me with horrible visions as I scrubbed Gray’s blood off my legs and watched it swirl in a bright red whirlpool down the drain.
Poor Gray, poor Gray, poor Gray, I repeated to myself like a mantra. Poor, poor Gray. Last night he was on top of the world; today he’s gone from the world altogether. Is there any more fickle fate, I wondered, than to be dealt the lowest blow at the moment of your highest
“So tell me, Willy,” I cooed, “were you and Gray good friends? Had you known each other long?”
“Not very,” he said, standing slumped in the middle of the room, shoulders sagging toward the floor. “Gray moved into the building two years ago, but we never became close friends. He was so busy going to acting school, freelancing as a model, and bussing tables at Stewart’s Cafeteria, that he didn’t have time for me. Then after he became an understudy, I hardly saw him at all. I longed for a deeper, more intimate bond, but I knew it would never happen. He was a young, strapping, gorgeous Greek god, and I was a flabby old frog. And there isn’t a kiss in the world that could turn me into a prince.”
Willy flopped down in a chair across the room and covered his face with his hands. He looked so wretched and pathetic, I felt drawn to comfort him in some way. Pat him on the back. Massage his sloping shoulders. Uplift his sunken ego with heaps of flattery. But such gestures were out of the question, of course. Willy’s unrequited passion for Gray might have been the motive for the murder! How could I, in good conscience, try to bolster the self-image of a possible slasher? (And besides—as much as it discomfits me to disclose it—he really did look like a frog.)
“ Oy vey !” Abby cried out, jumping up from the couch again. “It’s hot as fire in here! If I don’t get some air, I’m gonna die! I need some lunch, too. C’mon, Paige, let’s go. Flannagan said it was okay for us to leave.”
I was hot, but I wasn’t hungry. The bloody scene next door had murdered my appetite. And there were still tons of questions I wanted to ask Willy. “Gosh, I don’t know, Ab,” I said, piercing her with a pointed stare. “I think I’d like to stay for a while and—”
“Yeah, what’s your hurry?” Willy broke in, wringing his hands again. He stood up and walked over to Abby, a pleading look in his protruding eyes. “I’ll fix you a nice lunch,” he said. “I made a lovely batch of chicken salad this morning. And a pitcher of iced tea. With fresh mint.” He clearly didn’t want us to leave.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Abby said, ignoring both Willy’s and my respective appeals. “No offense, pal, but we’ve got to blast off before Flannagan comes back. Otherwise we’ll get stuck here for the rest of the day.”
Abby’s warning hit home. Suddenly I was in a hurry to blast off, too. I felt uneasy about leaving Willy to face the intolerant—possibly abusive—authorities alone, but I couldn’t afford to get caught up in Flannagan’s afternoon inquisition. I simply couldn’t spare the time. I had my own investigation to conduct.
Chapter 6
ABBY AND I WALKED HOME IN TOTAL silence and as fast as we possibly could. The blood on our knees, shins, and shoes had dried, but the crusty streaks were still very much in evidence—both to the people on the street and to our own horrified senses. We couldn’t wait to shower and change our clothes.
“Come over as soon as you’re finished,” Abby said, as we each opened the door to our own apartment and stepped inside. “We’ll go get something to eat.”
“Okay,” I said, quickly shutting my door and locking it, hoping to keep the demons at bay. It was a wasted effort. The demons crawled in under the door, followed me upstairs to the bathroom, and sat on the edge of the bathtub while I tore off my gory, sweaty clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Then the nasty little devils got into the shower with me and haunted me with horrible visions as I scrubbed Gray’s blood off my legs and watched it swirl in a bright red whirlpool down the drain.
Poor Gray, poor Gray, poor Gray, I repeated to myself like a mantra. Poor, poor Gray. Last night he was on top of the world; today he’s gone from the world altogether. Is there any more fickle fate, I wondered, than to be dealt the lowest blow at the moment of your highest
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