“Were you going to tell me they found another body or…?” Russo began as he sank back into his own chair.
“I tried. You sent me to voicemail,” I pointed out.
“Never heard the phone ring. You should’ve called back.”
I sat, glancing at the empty plate and wineglass in front of me. Russo had already ordered a bottle of wine and filled my glass. I wasn’t a huge red wine drinker. Red wine tended to give me headaches, which is why I typically preferred fruity cocktails or beer, but he’d already poured it, so I guessed I’d drink some.
I felt suddenly nervous, for no good reason, and glanced around my place setting for a menu, something—anything—to look at besides Russo’s intense blue stare. Russo picked up his wineglass for a toast.
“To you, kid. For being a pain in my ass. Cheers.”
I laughed a little, unsure if Russo was kidding or not, butthen he flashed me a winning smile. I clinked my glass to his, and then took a sip. The wine was so dry, my mouth instantly lost all moisture, but Russo seemed to savor the wine, so I did, too. My people-pleasing mode, normally dusty and dormant, came to full attention when Russo was around. I didn’t know why. I guess my weakness was testosterone-forward authority figures. I gulped water to try to rehydrate my mouth again while Russo watched me carefully.
“So, let’s talk about all the bodies,” Russo said. His eyes never left my face.
“They’ve been dropping like flies since you left,” I said. “Also, the Canceled Killer is losing a step. He left a lemon that’s not a Sorrento at the scene.”
Russo raised an eyebrow. “What…”
Before Russo could finish his question, the server arrived at our table, wearing a tight scoop-neck black tee and wide-legged pants, her strawberry-blond hair up in a twist.
“Ah, I see your friend has arrived,” said the waitress, almost sounding disappointed. I wondered how long Russo had been here and just what they’d talked about before I arrived. Was she hoping to use one of those two glasses herself? Possibly. She blinked back her resentment as Russo flashed her a rare smile.
“I’m Marjorie, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” she said to me, except she was looking at Russo. “Can I get anything for you?”
“Uh… a menu?” I asked.
She frowned at me, as if I’d asked her for a kidney. She glanced at Russo as if asking his permission, and he just gave a little nod.
“I’ll be back with that then, and your appetizer will be right out,” she promised Russo.
“Thank you,” Russo said, giving her an approving nod and then focusing his attention back on me.
“Appetizer?” I asked.
“You’ll love it,” he promised me. He took another drink from the garnet-colored liquid in his glass. “Isn’t this wine amazing?”
I took another sip. My mouth puckered beneath the dryness. “Um, yeah. Great.”
“So the lemon—not a Sorrento? How do you know?” Russo prodded.
“No leaf. And a store sticker on it. Different from the one he normally leaves. He was hasty. Also, the crime scene didn’t feel right for the mayor.”
“Huh,” Russo grunted, taking another sip of wine. “And this Gordon guy?”
“Classic canceled victim. Listeria, the whole bit.” He made sense. Stokes didn’t.
“Right. You want to tell me why you’re running around playing Nancy Drew when I told you to stay with your sister or brother?” Russo’s blue eyes flashed me an accusatory look.
“I wasn’t alone,” I offered.
Russo’s eyes narrowed. “Right. Let me guess. Best friend’s brother.”
“You were the one who left me to my own devices,” I pointed out.
Russo raised an eyebrow. “You know why I couldn’t bring you along.”
“I know,” I said and sighed, fiddling with the stem of my wineglass. “What did you find out?”
