“Yeah. Frick and Frack told me about it.”
“What was it?”
“The gay Miss Marple.”
Neil choked. He thumped on his chest a few times before he started laughing. Like,reallylaughing. He’d always had a nice laugh, and looked so much younger without the perpetual scowl on his face, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out while Neil was practically doubled over at my expense.
“Stop it.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it is.” Neil put a hand over his eyes, but the attempt to collect himself was short-lived and he broke into another fit of giggles. “The gay Miss Marple.”
“I am not Miss Marple. She was partially based on Christie’sgrandmother.”
“Aren’t you, like, eighty too?”
“And she knitted cardigans.”
Neil raised an eyebrow and pointed. “What’s that you’re wearing?”
“Fashion, Neil.”
“Looks like a cardigan to me.”
“It was a hundred and fifty bucks at Macy’s. And, for the record, Miss Marple was a thornback.”
“I thought she was a spinster.”
“Too old,” I answered.
“Thornback sounds metal as hell.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t know why they didn’t go with Hercule—”
“Because no one can pronounce his name,” Neil interrupted.
“That’s not my problem. He’s a brilliant detective who has dramatic denouements—”
“And you’re a nuisance in frumpy sweaters. Miss Marple it is.”
“I’m leaving.” I grabbed my messenger bag, coat, and started for the door.
“Miss Marple, wait!”
“Can it,” I called over my shoulder.
He was still laughing. “We need your busybody gossip!”
I yanked open the door, turned, and said, loud enough that the entire restaurant might as well have been part of our discussion, “Maybe you’ll be worth gossiping about if you ever get back to doing the horizontal refreshment.”
“Horizontal refreshment?”
“Goodbye, Neil.”
“See you next week, Miss Marple.”
