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Paul stood up and glanced at his watch. “Okay, but keep in touch and let me know what’s going on. I’ll get back here this evening as quickly as possible.”
His forehead creased into a frown and there was a sudden emotion in his eyes that I couldn’t read.
“Paul, where are you going after work?”
He kissed me on the lips. “There is something I have to take care of, but nothing for you to worry about. Now, get up and come lock up after me.”
I couldn’t go back to sleep, so six in the morning found me unpacking boxes and hanging my suits, dresses, pants, and blouses in Keith’s bedroom closet, which only contained empty hangers. My shoes and boots lined up nicely on the floor of it with plenty of room to spare. It found me packing away my nightgowns, panties, bras, slips, jeans, and sweaters in the nine drawers of a beautiful white, mirror-topped dresser that faced the king-sized bed. Perfume, makeup, nail polish, jewelry box, and the manicure set now dwelled on the top of the dresser. My CD player and two dozen CDs went on the floor beside the bed because there was no other surface to place them on. I left the boxes of books downstairs on the living room floor.
Since the bedroom and kitchen were the only furnished rooms in the entire house, I didn’t have a lot of options.
Where should I put the giant piggy bank? Videotapes? Teddy bear? Hair scrunchies? Board games? Top shelf of the closet! The blow dryer and curling iron went up there, too, and it was over.
Keith showed up shortly after nine with orange juice and donuts.
We set up shop at the kitchen table. The crisp morning daylight streamed in through the bay windows and illuminated our tense faces. I was supposed to be at my desk right now, taking calls from agents and writers. When I looked at Keith, eating breakfast and secure in his job, it made me angry and scared. What kind of work would I find when this was all over?
I fastened my gaze on him. “Well, has your detective turned up anything useful?”
Even though my tone was nasty, Keith’s expression did not change when he answered. “There have been some revelations.”
“Like?”
“Joe Long doesn’t like you.”
My brain struggled to seize and accept the notion as Keith licked jelly from the inside of a donut—his features unreadable.
I finally managed to squeak out a meek-sounding “Why not?”
He wiped his hands on a napkin. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I don’t have any idea.”
“Jealousy, perhaps?”
“I can’t think of any reason for Joe to be jealous of me. We were both senior editors at our firms. I may have earned a little more than he does, but not enough for him to hate me for it.”
“Did you have more power than he does?”
I had to snicker. “Everyone in the Black Pack has more power than Joe does. Why is he singling me out for his bitterness?”
I had spoken the truth. Joe was simply Black window dressing at the place where he worked and his opinion didn’t count for much.
Keith checked his notes. “Would you describe Joe Long as a mentally stable person?”
“Yes. I’ve only seen him get angry once in the five years I’ve known him. Why do you ask?”
He ignored my question. “Tell me about it.”
I told him about the night Dallas told us that Victor had been coming out of Victoria’s Secret and might have made a new “love connection.”
“Joe went nuts,” I concluded. “Maybe they were both in love with the same woman or something.”
“I’ll have one of my private investigators look into it.”
“Why is that important?”
Keith said, “Right now, everything is important.”
