“You call me handsome.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Oh.”
Calvin sat up, peeled the condom off with a grimace, and then made his way to the bathroom. “Want to join me?” he called.
“I’m still in recovery mode.”
Calvin chuckled, and then his voice was lost to the hiss and beat of the shower. I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because I came to in the midst of Calvin speaking from the open doorway, naked and toweling his hair. “—From the same collection?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Do you think the two weapons are from the same collection?” he repeated before stepping back into the bathroom. Calvin hung the towel and emerged with my book on Victorian flatware, holding it up as if to make his question all the more clear.
“Uhm, maybe.” I sat up and rubbed one eye. “It’s hard to say without having seen the knife used to kill Sandra.”
Calvin eyed the book cover with what appeared to be mild interest.
“And by the way,partner, I’ve crossed paths with two people I think you should know about. They might be of interest to the investigation.”
“Is one of them Brad Habel?”
“Brad…Habel?”
“Sandra Habel’s husband and business partner. We have a BOLO out for him,” Calvin concluded.
CHAPTER TEN
I had completely overlooked the possibility of a Brad in Sandra’s life. I’m not sure why I didn’t ask myself earlier about the probability of a relationship—the spouse was always the first person cops wanted to talk to, after all. Maybe it was because Brad hadn’t been interviewed, let alone mentioned, in the same article that Marie had been quoted in. And the fact that Marie hadn’t spoken to the reporter about Brad Habel made me wonder how happy of a marriage the two might have had. Were they still together? Estranged? Whatever their status, Brad was apparently a legal co-owner of Readings by Madam Sandra, and I found that very interesting.
Interesting in a suspicious way, I mean.
After showering and changing for the umpteenth time today—although unavoidable, given the lube situation I’d had going on—I grabbed my discarded loafers from the floor andHistory of Victorian Flatwarefrom the rumpled bed, and started downstairs. Calvin appeared to be taking that whole “let’s act like a team” thing to heart. He’d said he needed to get back to the precinct, but that I should come along so I could study the crime-scene photographs of both the knife and hone up close.
And if that didn’t say true love, I didn’t know what would.
Calvin picked up my notebook from the coffee table when I reached the living room. “God… your handwriting.”
“Hey.”
He turned the page to face me and tapped a word. “What’s this say?”
I took a few steps closer, squinted, then said, “Nothing. It’s a squiggle.”
Calvin looked at the page again. “What about Rose?” he asked after another moment of deciphering. “Is this one of your people of interest?”
“Yup.”
“And who is she?”
I hopped foot-to-foot as I dragged the loafers on. “A business rival. Works at Midtown Mediums.”
“How does Rose relate to the Yelp reviews you mentioned?”
“She was the one leaving them,” I replied. “Under Rosie D. I’ll spare you the drawn-out explanation, but I managed to connect that username to Rose at this competing shop with some good old internet sleu—inquiring.”
Calvin raised his gaze, his brow arched as he stared at me. “Max helped you, didn’t he?”
