Her jaw fell open long enough for her friends to realize I wasn’t lying. It was thoughtful of her really, to confirm everything I’d just said like that. I’d have to send her a thank-you card later.
“Are you okay?” I asked her when her face turned a lovely shade of scarlet.
“I do not have herpes,” she said from between clenched teeth. Her gaze bounced among her friends self-consciously. “And I know why you’re here. You may as well give up.”
Okay, that threw me. Why was I here? Oh, right. “I work here. My dad owns this bar. My office is right up there.” I pointed to the balcony that overlooked the restaurant. “Why are you here?”
She scoffed. “Like you don’t know.”
Damn. She threw me again. What the hell was I missing? I scanned the room, searching for clues, ’cause that’s how PIs rolled.
Nothing. But I could hardly let her know that.
“Okay, well, it’s been fun. Keep it in your pants, ladies.” I smiled and wiggled my fingers, walking away with as much dignity as I could muster. I hated being out of the loop. Being out of the loop was like being the only kid on the playground without an Xbox.
I took the stairs two at a time and locked my office door behind me, my mind still reeling at what I’d just done. Not with Jessica, but with Rocket and Blue. I sat behind my desk, still shaking, and covered my face with my hands, trying to force myself to calm.
How would I fix this? How would I fix my relationship with Rocket and Blue? I’d only just met Blue, and now she saw me as a bully, a monster. And just why the hell was Jess here anyway? It galled me. As immature as that was, it galled me to no end.
I powered on my iMac and checked the Bunn for coffee. There was just enough left for one cup, so I popped it in the microwave, added all the fixings, then went to work. I needed answers. First off, who owned that building? If it weren’t a Saturday night, I could prance down to the courthouse and find out, but maybe there would be something online about it. I did search after search. Nothing, though I did find a couple of very cool sites that talked about how haunted the asylum was. It talked about how people had seen a glowing light in their cameras or found an object in a different spot than where they’d left it. If they only knew.
My main worry where Rocket was concerned was what if the company that bought it demolished the asylum as well? Where would Rocket go? My walls wouldn’t hold up to the abuse that was Rocket Man and all his knowledge. I needed to find out what their plans were. If demolition was in Rocket’s foreseeable future, I’d have to figure out where to move him to. But I’d cross that suspension bridge when I came to it.
When I came up with nothing, I sat there sipping coffee and wondering about everything. Nicolette the undead. The departed women in my apartment. The fact that Kim Millar was most likely an arsonist and the additional fact that Reyes Farrow would not be happy when I turned in his sister. There had to be another way.
In the back of my mind, one other fact poked and prodded. Trying to worry about other things besides the fact that Reyes had only days to live was like trying not to look at the elephant in the room. He could die. He was slated to die. I took a deep breath and made a decision. When the time came, I would do whatever it took to stop that from happening. He was not going to die. Not on my watch.
Since there was nothing I could do about the Reyes thing for now, having no idea whom I would ask about such a thing, I focused on Kim. Her situation was the only one I had a snowball’s chance of improving. But how?
After two full hours of commiserating, I exited my offices through the front door and took the outside stairs. Knowing my luck, Jessica and her cohorts would still be in there. In the loop. Exactly where I wasn’t. Nor was I in the mood to be reminded of that fact.
I walked around the bar to my apartment building behind it and trudged up the two flights of stairs there. Dead Duff headed me off at the top. His round glasses and backwards baseball cap made me smile despite everything.
“Hey, Ch-Charley.”
“Hey, you. How’s PP?” I asked, inquiring about Mrs. Allen’s psychotic poodle, Prince Phillip.
He scowled, then caught himself. “PP’s fine. He’s not the p-problem.”
“Really? Who is?”
“It’s Mrs. Allen. I’m not sure she’s very s-stable.”
“Ya think? She believes her poodle is royalty. Seriously. How stable can she be?”
“That’s true. I decided to m-move.”
The sticky note on my door read Ready for round two? I pulled my lower lip in through my teeth, took the note down, and held it to my mouth. After a quick glance at Reyes’s door, I said, “That sounds logical.”
“I might move here,” he said, pointing to Cookie’s apartment.
“Oh.” That surprised me. “Well, okay, but only if you’ll spy on Cook for me.”
“Cook? Cookie? Your f-friend from the other night?”
“The very one. I’ve been a little worried about her. What do you know about women’s fashion?”
“Not much, but I g-guess I could take a look. Unless, you know, unless you have a spare room or s-something.”
Oh, my god. Was he asking to move in with me? Figures the first guy who wants to move in with me ever would be dead. “Actually, I’m full up for the moment.” I opened the door and did a Vanna to demonstrate just how full up I was. He winced when he saw the horde. I was just grateful they were staying put in my apartment and not venturing out all over God’s green earth. I’d never be able to round them all up.