An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide (9 page)

“Are you sure you're
not
in the market?” my mother asked drily.

I grinned at her, and after a moment she smiled reluctantly.

Despite the flare-up with Emma, it was a pleasant visit. We sat in the large, shady backyard and drank lemonade and talked. Or they talked. Mostly I listened. And admittedly, I dozed off a couple of times as Lauren and Natalie discussed their romantic woes.

Fortunately no one asked my opinion, because I believed Lauren couldn't unload her cheating, corporate-clone spouse fast enough, and Natalie's on-and-off boyfriend, Warren was a waste of space. Not that my track record was enviable, though with the exception of Mel, I didn't think I had ever kidded myself that my relationships were going to last forever.

“Guy called here last night,” Lisa said, jolting me out of a somnolent contemplation of bees buzzing the purple clematis climbing up the redwood pergola. “Did he get hold of you?”

“Yes.”

Three pairs of eyes watched and waited.

An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

39

“What?”

Natalie said to the others, “I told you.”

I asked shortly, “What did you tell them?”

“That it's over with Guy.”

I closed my eyes, raised my face to the sun. “You worry about your own love life,” I said finally.

Not exactly a crushing rejoinder. Surprisingly, they left it alone.

After a time, Emma came out to join us on the patio, and everyone carefully ignored the fact that her eyes and nose were pink. Bill arrived home, and cocktails were served—though none for me. I was looking forward to the following week, when I'd finally be allowed a glass of wine again. Not that I needed to be drunk to be around my family, but it didn't hurt to take the edge off.

The only awkward time was when Lisa popped out with, “Darling, the house in Porter Ranch is still sitting empty.”

“I thought you were putting it on the market?” I said.

“This is a dreadful time to try and sell a house.”

“Okay.”

My bemusement must have been clear. She pushed a fraction harder. “Have you given any more thought to what we discussed?”

“What did we discuss?” I asked cautiously.

“You moving into the Porter Ranch house.”

I peered more closely at her. “That was like…two years ago.”

She said brightly, “Then you've had plenty of time to think about it. The house is perfect for you. It's quiet and private, and it has the swimming pool, which would be so good for you now. The doc—”

“It's sort of big for one, don't you think?”

“It won't
always
be one.” She was giving me that maternal look that always raised the hair on the back of my neck.

“That's true. I do have a cat now.”

She laughed her silvery laugh, and I knew I'd better not encourage her.

“I appreciate the thought. I can't afford a new house
and
a bookstore renovation.”

To my horror, Bill looked up out of his paper and said, “You can have the house, Adrien.

Your mother and I already discussed it. It would put Lisa's mind at ease.”

I made a sound that generally precedes having a doctor inspect your tonsils and managed feebly, “It's too far from the bookstore.”

“Darling, you don't need to live over the bookstore.”

“No, but I
like
living over the bookstore.”

“But living over the bookstore is hardly conducive to developing a healthier lifestyle and more-sensible work habits, which is what the doctors warned you
has
to happen, or you're going to be right back where you were.”

I said to the others, “Is this better than reality TV or what?”

40

Josh Lanyon

Emma made a squeaky sound that was probably a laugh swallowed in the nick of time.

“Adrien, you need to take this seriously.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” I assured her.

Her face tightened. “That's hardly amusing, under the circumstances.”

“If it has a pool, why can't
we
move there?” Emma inquired.

“
There
,” I said, pointing at her. “Excellent idea.”

“Oh, Adrien.” Lisa abandoned the discussion.

Another round of cocktails was served, and plans for dinner got under way. I felt that peculiar, inevitable restlessness again.

To Lisa's displeasure—and my surprise—Lauren asked if I wanted to go home. I hardened my heart against Lisa's and Emma's obvious disappointment and admitted I did. It wasn't merely the fatigue, although it continued to worry me how tired I was all the time. I had a strange sense of missing something, of being in the wrong place—no matter where I was.

I said my good-byes, and Lauren drove me back to Pasadena. “Thanks for the intervention,” I said when we were on our way.

She brushed it off. “I know how it is when you need quiet to think things out.”

I remembered her impending divorce. She probably did know. For all that Lauren seemed to agree with the other womenfolk that she was doing the right thing, I got the feeling she was in a lot of pain.

We reached the bookstore. I thanked Lauren again, lifted a hand in farewell, and let myself into the big, empty building.

It was warm and very still inside. The heady scent of old books floated with the dust motes in the fading light. Old and used books have a particular scent—very different from new books.

That evening it was a mix of old leather, worn cloth, crumbling paper, and wood polish. It smelled like home. I couldn't imagine willingly leaving Cloak and Dagger ever. Maybe they could stick
me
under the floorboards when I was done.

I walked over to the plastic wall dividing the bookstore from the other half of the building.

There was no sign that the cops had been there during the day. No sign anyone had. Perhaps that was good news.

I went upstairs and unlocked my flat. It was too warm and stuffy upstairs, a bit too redolent of cat. I opened the windows to catch whatever evening breeze there was.

What had been the rush to get here again? Everything was exactly as I'd left it. As it would always be.

I sat down on the sofa, and Tomkins leaped onto the cushion beside me, rubbing his face against my arm.

“Miss me?”

Apparently so. Well, there was no accounting for taste; I'd be the first to admit that.

I dealt with the litter box, fed the cat, decided I'd opt for a snack later, considered having a drink, reconsidered, and returned to the sofa, where I stared at the ceiling for a time.

What the hell was my problem?

If I'd wanted company, why hadn't I stayed at Lisa's?

An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

41

I listened to the distant street sounds as this part of town began to roll up the sidewalks for the evening. I listened to the building settling in for the long evening, stretching out wooden joints, cracking its knuckles.

“Oh, what the hell,” I said.

Tomkins briefly abandoned his pursuit of an ailing fly to throw me a curious look as I rose and went to the phone.

“He's probably not even home,” I told him.

Tomkins offered no opinion. He sat down to watch, as though my dialing a phone was one of the most fascinating things he'd ever witnessed in his brief life.

The phone rang on the other end.

Once.

Twice.

I closed my eyes, trying to decide if I was going to leave a message.

“Riordan.”

I opened my eyes. Funny how the sound of his voice could still make my heart speed up.

You'd have thought I'd be over it by now. You'd have thought wrong.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” One syllable, but his voice warmed perceptibly. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.” I wondered how long it would be before that statement was true.

“Yeah?”

I didn't think there was any telltale note in my voice, yet his single questioning word held instant and complete discernment. Sometimes I thought Jake, ironically, knew me better than about anyone on the planet.

“Not really,” I admitted. “Did you hear about yesterday?”

“The skeleton in the wall? I heard.”

You could take the boy out of the police force, but you couldn't take the police force out of the boy.

“We had another break-in too. That's why I'm calling.”

His voice didn't cool exactly, though it lost warmth. “Yes?”

“How's the PI biz?”

He said colorlessly, “I got my first case yesterday. A woman wants me to follow her ex.”

“He's already her ex?”

“Yeah.”

No wonder his voice sounded flat. “Are you going to take it?”

“Yes.” And clearly it was not up for discussion.

“Do you think you'd have time for another case?”

He sounded almost wary as he asked, “What case? Who's the client?”

“Me,” I said. “I want to hire you.”

42

Josh Lanyon

Chapter Five

Since Jake's key no longer worked following rekeying the building, I had to go downstairs to the side entrance to let him in. I opened the door.

He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. The dying rays of the sun gilded his close-cropped blond hair. His hazel eyes seemed lighter than usual in his tanned face. There was something else different about him; I told myself it was the Thai food. He held up a brown paper sack of takeout from Saladong Song.

I quoted, “To know things in the same way a duck does.”

“That's what I always say.”

“It's a Thai proverb. I've never understood what it means.”

“Maybe it'll become clear after dinner.”

I turned and led the way upstairs, conscious of Jake behind me on the staircase, the quiet, measured tread of his feet. He'd been here the night before last, so I wasn't sure why it felt like a lifetime.

We went inside the flat. He still remembered where everything was in the kitchen. I considered that while he got out plates and silverware. Was it a commentary on him or me? I wasn't sure.

“What made you think I hadn't eaten dinner?” I inquired, folding my arms and leaning back against the counter.

“Nothing. I was going by the fact I hadn't eaten yet.” His eyes met mine, and I could feel my mouth twitching into a smile. He never ate tom yum goong soup.

All at once, for the first time in weeks, I was starving. I got him a beer out of the fridge and a bottle of mineral water for myself.

We carried our plates into the living room and settled side by side on the couch.

“When did you get the cat?” Jake asked, observing Tomkins, who was eyeing him distrustfully from beneath the chair by the window.

“It's kind of a long story,” I said vaguely. “He got mauled by a dog. I'm not keeping him, though. He's only staying here until he's healed. After that he goes back to the alley.”

“Uh-huh. Did you name him?”

“Tomkins. John Tomkins.” I felt it necessary to explain. “I had to name him for the vet. He was a pirate.”

“Only you would have a pirate for a vet.”

I laughed, tried not to wince at the pull of sutures and wires. “Hey, he's great with the tropical fish. Anyway, if I
wanted
a pet—which I don't—it would be a dog.”

An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

43

Jake said seriously, “You can't have a dog without a yard. Unless you want one of those earmuffs with feet.”

“No. I'd want a real dog.”

That reminded me of Emma and Adagio. I filled Jake in on the domestic drama chez Dauten, and he said, “If you want me to drive you out to the breeder one afternoon, let me know.

My current caseload allows for flexibility.”

He sounded sardonic. I wondered how he was doing financially. I'd yet to hear the details of his resignation from the force. And then there was his impending divorce—assuming that was still on. Would he have to sell his house?

I opened my mouth to ask a lot of questions that were probably none of my business, but the phone rang. I put down my bowl and went to answer it.

“Holy moly. It is the same phone number,” Mel remarked. “You have no idea the memories…”

He sounded mildly shaken—which matched my feeling on hearing his voice so unexpectedly. Not that it should have been entirely unexpected; he'd said he would call. Unusual that I'd forgotten.

“Hi.” I was acutely conscious of Jake listening on the sofa a few feet away. “How's your dad doing?”

“Excellent. He came through surgery with flying colors.” He filled in the details—as though I hadn't had enough heart surgery lately—and I listened politely, watching out of the corner of my eye as Jake calmly ate his supper.

“Which is probably more than you wanted to know.” Mel concluded at last. “How are
you
feeling?”

“Fine. Better every day.”

“Are you up for tomorrow night?”

I felt a flicker of amusement, which I firmly squelched. In my peripheral vision Jake lifted the beer bottle to his mouth, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed. It would probably do me a world of good to go out with someone else, now that I thought about it.

“Okay. It sounds like fun, actually. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I think of you more than you might realize.”

I had no answer to that. I wasn't even sure I wanted to hear it. I was pretty sure Mel was suffering some kind of
Back to the Future
emotional retrograde on this visit home.

“What time?” I asked neutrally.

We worked out the details, and I hung up, returning to the sofa and my now-cool soup. The silence seemed newly awkward.

Jake said, “So what exactly is it you want me to do for you?”

I opened my mouth, but the vision that suddenly flooded my mind seemed to short-circuit my speech center.

Jake whispering against my face, “
I missed you
.” His kisses—for a guy who sometimes had all the subtlety of a blunt instrument, Jake's kisses—the intimate exploration of tongue, the tease of teeth, the melting, unexpected softness of his lips…