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Chapter Seventeen
Knox
“Have you seen Wallace?” I asked Monroe. I’d been reluctant to bother him. When I’d come in through the back earlier, I’d spied him in the living room, two laptops open, piles of paper everywhere, deep in concentration. So, I’d headed upstairs to greet Wallace instead, but the cat was nowhere to be found.
“He’s kind of hard to miss.” Monroe looked up from his computer, his seldom-seen reading glasses perched on his nose, giving him a professorial air. And ordinarily, I’d be down with playing hot professor and naughty TA, but right then, I was more concerned with finding my cat. Playtime could wait. Monroe frowned, head tilting. “Actually, no, I haven’t. Shooed him out of our bedroom earlier this morning, so I could shut the door, but I haven’t seen him since then.”
Our. I was thrilled at that casual use of the word. I couldn’t help but smile, though I was still concerned about the cat. The weeks were flying by, and I’d take our as long as I could. However, my smile faded as I calculated the hours between morning and five o’whatever now.
“Heck. I put out food before I went to work, and it’s still uneaten, which is not like Wallace, and I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Here. I’ll help.” Leaving his glasses on a stack of papers, Monroe stood. “Where have you checked?”
“You don’t have to get up. You look deep in work.” I gave a halfhearted protest because I really was grateful for the help. “I haven’t done a deep search yet. I can do that now on my own.”
“Nah. I’m happy to take a break. I was reviewing my notes for Holden’s podcast. Trying to look over everything with fresh eyes, see if I’m missing something in plain sight.”
“Thanks.” I led the way from the living room to the smaller front sitting room where Wallace sometimes liked to lay in the sunny front window seat, but the room sat empty, frozen in time with its older furnishings, vintage books, and rose wallpaper. “When do you record?”
“Tomorrow. We had to push the time once already because Holden got called to consult on an urgent case.”
“He’s in demand.” I laughed on my way to the dining room. No Wallace flaunting the no-cats-on-table rule. “Guess that’s what happens when you write the literal textbook.”
I had some friends who had taken classes from Holden, and apparently, he was an amazing professor. Bigger schools kept trying to poach him, but he stayed on in Safe Harbor.
“Yep.” Monroe stepped into the kitchen, glancing around. “Wallace? Here, kitty-kitty.”
His use of kitty-kitty had me grinning despite my worries. And for a brief moment, I entertained a fantasy where Monroe might go the professor route. Stay here, find a place at the college like Holden. “You ever think about going into teaching like Holden?”
“Nah. I’m too restless for much time behind a lectern. I like getting up to my armpits in facts and evidence on a case. That’s why I keep going over the details surrounding Worth’s mother’s disappearance. There has to be something I’m missing.”
“Want to talk it through with me later?” I kept my offer light, covering any disappointment with an easy smile. “I’m a good sounding board.”
“You really are.” The fondness in his gaze went a long way toward making me feel better. After peeking behind the curtains, he bent to look under the breakfast nook table. “Yeah, after we find the cat, we can search out some food, and I’ll run through the sticking points with you.”
“Awesome.” The kitchen and breakfast nook yielded no cat, so I headed for the back stairs. “I saw my dad at Blessed Bean. He mentioned you’re doing an amazing job with the cold cases. Said you’ve been a huge help, especially with him busy more.”
“Well, I’m trying. How is Jessica this week?”
“She’s okay. Tired. Like with the triplets, the doctors are worried about preterm labor, so Dad is trying to do stuff around the house to allow her more rest.”
“That’s good. And he’s a good guy.” Monroe stopped at the second-floor landing. Frowning, he let out a frustrated sigh, as if my dad being a decent person was a problem. And maybe it was. I got where Monroe was coming from—sneaking around was no fun for either of us.
“He is. And he said you’ve been wrapping a record number of things.” I deliberately backed away from reminders about what we were doing with this secret fling of ours.
“Well, a lot of that is advancement in forensics.” Shrugging, Monroe methodically opened the row of built-in cupboards in the second-floor hall. “But yes, it’s always fun to close things.”
“You could do that full-time. Be a detective.” If not a professor with Holden, maybe there was a chance Monroe could…
“Yep, that’s the plan in San Francisco.” Boom. There went any spark of hope. “Speaking of—”
