Rory’s eyebrows flew up. “He did?”
“Said he came by just before closing last night and ended up whisking you off for a wholesome boys’ night out.”Wholesome.Rory tried to keep the guilt off his face as Mrs. Brodigan clasped her hands in delight. “It’s about time you made some friends. Where did he take you?”
To a Harlem juice joint to try my first illegal hooch. “Upper East Side. Upper, upper east.”
“Did you have a nice time?”
Got zozzled till I blacked out so I really couldn’t say.“Yeah, uh. Great.”
“What did you do?”
Came on to him like the desperate, sex-starved tart I am. “Talked.”
“Now that sounds lovely. Half the ladies in Manhattan are mad with jealousy, I’m sure.”
Rory wrinkled his nose.
“Don’t make that face at me,” said Mrs. Brodigan. “I was a married woman once. I still have eyes and that Arthur Kenzie is a looker.”
“Mrs. B.”
“I’m not taking it back, dearie. He’s divine.”
Rory scowled, but she wasn’t wrong. “Did he say anything about the ring?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “He said that was why he dropped by last night, to pick it up. Said he’s got to sort a few things out before we discuss the job.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“Who knows anything when it comes to Mr. Kenzie,” he muttered.
She patted his arm. “I’m sure it will all come clear in time. Come look at this clock Mrs. Bianchi just brought. I think you’ll like this one; it’s from Milan.”
Back to work, then. As he stepped out from the office, he glanced at the wooden cuckoo clock on the cash register counter; the counter where he’d opened the ring box last night, the counter where he’d dropped his glasses—
His glasses.
His hand flew to his frames. Hell, he’d forgotten all about his broken glasses, he’d have to get them fixed—
Except his fingers found the earpiece fully attached. He’d forgotten all about his broken glasses because somehow, someone had fixed them for him.
Only a couple more customers came in during the afternoon, and soon enough Rory was back to his boarding house, climbing the cramped, threadbare steps to the third floor. The good feeling had stuck around all day, and as he walked down the narrow hallway, he actually thought about grabbing some warmer clothes, if he had any, and maybe going back out. Maybe try a new deli or something for dinner instead of opening a tin in his room.
He was so deep in the unfamiliar pleasure of making personal plans that he’d only registered his key had turned too easily in the lock when his door was thrown open, a strong hand closed around his wrist, and he was tugged right into his own room.
“Good evening.”
Aw,shit.
“I assume you planned to avoid me forever?”
“Worth a shot.” Rory went for the open door.
But the bigger Kenzie leaned against it, closing it with his weight and barring it with his broad shoulders like a portcullis. “Good luck with that.”
Rory scowled and sat on the bed, on top of the bright quilt, a handmade gift from Mrs. Brodigan and the only thing in the room that wasn’t gray and dirty and ugly. Well, at least until Kenzie had shown up. He was wearing a gray pinstripe vest and a blue tie the same shade as his eyes, which popped like jewels against that shiny black hair.
