I waved back.
“Hope you can do something with what’s in that envelope,” he said. The doors closed.
“Maybe I can,” I said.
I opened the envelope. There was a map of Union, Connecticut, inside. Someone—presumably Swinging Dick—had circled an area on the outskirts of town in red ink and had written out an address beside the circle. Very old school. Swinging Dick didn’t want to leave a digital trail, which was smart. Especially since the destination was only about an hour away. Just an hour away,I told myself.And you’ve got nothing to lose.
I slipped back into my loft and closed the door behind me. I walked into the kitchen, the envelope cool between my fingers. Spike, Melanie Joan, and Tony hadn’t moved since I left. God, they were depressing. I’d seen happier faces at wakes.
“Who was that?” Melanie Joan said.
“Just…a business delivery.” My gaze flitted from her face, to Tony’s, to Spike’s. Rosie trotted across the room and started lapping at her water bowl. At least someone in this house seemed rested and content.
“Do you guys think it’s still worth it?” I said. “Finding Book Babe?”
Melanie Joan turned to Tony. “Do we?”
Tony shook his head.
I disagreed. But I decided to keep that to myself for now. Tony stood up. “We should head back, Melanie Joan,” he said.
She started to stand, but I stopped her. “Why don’t you stay here with Spike and me?” I said.
“Really?”
“You can shower, take a nap. I’ll make you breakfast.”
She gave Tony a beseeching look.
“I don’t know…” Tony said.
“If you’re worried about angry Leila Donnelly fans, she’s probably safer here than at the hotel,” I said.
“You might be right,” he said.
“I think she is,” Spike said. “They were all over us when we left the studio, but we managed to lose them.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” Tony asked me.
“Of course not. I suggested it,” I said. “Anyway, you should get back to your hotel room.” I looked him up and down. “Change your clothes.”
Tony nodded. He wasn’t going to fight me on that. “I’ll give you a call later,” he said.
Once he was gone, I went back into the kitchen. I refilled Spike’s and Melanie Joan’s coffee cups and set the envelope on the table.
“What in God’s name are you smiling about?” Spike said.
I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling. “How would you two like to take a little road trip?” I said.
Twenty-seven
Spike was one of the fastest and most reckless drivers I knew, yet he’d never gotten a ticket. I asked him about that as we crossed the Connecticut border and I noticed that he was doing seventy in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone.
“What can I tell you?” Spike said. “I know how to sweet-talk a man in uniform.”
“Me, too,” said Melanie Joan. “And for what it’s worth, Spike, I think you’re a virtuoso behind the wheel.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Melanie Joan was wearing her enormous sunglasses, so I couldn’t read her face. But her jaw was tight, and she was clutching the armrest with both hands. Still, she refused to complain—or to say anything to Spike that wasn’t excruciatingly complimentary. She’d beenkissing his ass ever since he started talking to her again, which made the ride to Union more annoying than I’d anticipated.
