“I still smell like that basin,” Neil said upon closing the door to the hotel room.
“A bit, yeah,” I replied. I shed my coat and scarf, changed into my glasses, and cast my bag aside. “You might want to get one of those little pine trees for your car.”
Neil gave me side-eye before hanging his winter clothing in the closet. “Can I use your shower?”
“Sure.” I sat down on the bed. “Do you still carry a change of clothes in your car?”
Neil held up a small bag he’d brought inside with him. “Always.” He went into the bathroom and shut the door. The shower turned on a moment later.
From the day he’d gotten that swanky BMW, Neil had always kept a change of clothes in the trunk. Apparently you could only work so long at a job that dealt with as much human excrement, fluids, and remains as Neil’s before you justneededa spare change of socks and maybe a fresh shirt to get you through the rest of the workday.
I stood again, walked to the duffel still beside the desk from that morning, and bent down to paw through the contents. I pulled free one of Calvin’s ties in my quest for wherever I’d shoved my pajamas. I smoothed the silky material and slowly rose. There were a few creases from being carelessly shoved into the bag. God. It’d been so long since I’d worn a tie, I didn’t really take care of them the way I should.
Would I wear one at our wedding?
Would I even have—
The bathroom door opened to my right.
“Is it silk?”
I startled and looked up. Neil stood in the doorway—jeans, no shirt, wet hair. I glanced down at the fabric I was still trying to rub the wrinkles from. “Oh. Yeah. It’s Calvin’s.”
He took a spare hanger from the closet, walked toward me, and took the tie. He brought it into the bathroom, hung it on the back of the door, then exited. “The steam from the shower should fix it.”
“Thanks.”
Neil shrugged and sat down on the opposite bed. He ruffled his hair with one hand.
“I mean, for—a lot,” I stated. “What you said to my dad. And—other stuff.”
“I don’t like you speechless. It makes me uncomfortable.”
I laughed. “Asshole.”
“There you go.” I felt Neil watching me as I returned to rummaging through the duffel bag before finding my pajamas shoved into the outer pocket. “How’s your face?”
“It’s been better. I was hit with a table.” I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it aside.
“Jesus Christ.” Neil stood. “What happened to your shoulder?”
I put a hand on the bruise and suppressed a wince. “I had to open the door somehow.” With a bit of a struggle, I pulled the T-shirt over my head.
“Quinn says you confirmed the identity of the victim delivered to you as Daniel Howard.” Neil pulled the covers back on his bed and let me finish stripping without an audience. “And that Frank is dead.”
“Frank’s hands were delivered to Daniel’s apartment. They’re decomposing in a box on his kitchen table.”
Neil shook his head. “Cleaning up after your adventuring is going to require cashing in every favor I’ve been saving for a decade.” He sat. “And I might still owe a hand job afterward.”
“You’re good for those.”
He grunted. “What else?”
I walked across the room and went into the still-warm, damp bathroom. I explained what I’d gleaned from my afternoon of breaking and entering as I washed up and removed my red-tinted contacts. From confirming Frank’s identity via his college ring, to my gladiator battle with cheap furniture against Jason, and all of the disheveled student’s damning evidence against Angela London and my Brooklynite buddy Rossi. I even begrudgingly mentioned my call to Marc Winter.
“Calvin’s brother didnotdo this,” Neil called from his bed. “I’m in full agreement with Quinn on that.”
“Yeah. He probably didn’t,” I agreed. I turned off the lights and walked carefully through the dark. “But I also don’t think Angela killed anyone.” I set my glasses on the nightstand and climbed into my bed.
