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They stopped in the parlor to round up their own friends and were halfway to the kitchen when the lights came on. A loud cheer rose in the dining room, and Naya whooped in response.
“Thank goodness,” Maisy said, switching off her flashlight. “This place was getting creepier by the second.”
“And colder,” Sasha noted.
Pounding sounded at the front door, and Bodhi hurried to unlock it. Hank and Carl rushed in with a swirl of snow and slammed the door behind them.
“You fixed it,” Aroostine said, smiling.
Carl and Hank exchanged a look.
“I half expected we’d go check it and find that someone had cut the wires on the cable to the house,” Hank confessed. “But it was just a lot of snow and ice wedged into the conduit from the transfer switch mounted near the meter box.”
“The PVC pipe was packed with ice. Cleared that away, and bam, power!” Carl added.
“Those are all words,” Daniel observed.
“I don’t need to understand it,” Naya laughed. “We’ve got light and heat, and that’s good enough for me.”
“This makes dinner prep infinitely easier,” Leo said.
“Let’s keep it simple, though,” Sasha suggested.
“Keep it simple? This is our anniversary party,” he protested.
“And tomorrow’s our actual anniversary,” she reminded him. “What if we just fix something to give ourselves sustenance and energy? Fuel up, figure out who killed Rex Stoddard, and put all of this behind us.”
“I like the way she thinks,” Hank said. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out the scanner. “We were listening to this while we worked. No major updates, but I’ll fill you in while we get dinner going.”
Naya fussed over Carl, warmed his hands in hers, and hung up his coat. Then they all moved out to the kitchen en masse.
Aroostine started banging around in the cabinets. “We could do spaghetti,” she suggested.
“ Or PB&Js,” Maisy called from the pantry.
“People, I hear you don’t want a gourmet meal, but can we please shoot just a bit higher? Think of something more elevated than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or pasta?”
Naya shook her head. “What do you have in mind, flyboy?”
Sasha grinned at the nickname Naya had bestowed upon Connelly more than a dozen years earlier, when he was still with the U.S. Marshal Service.
Connelly opened the fridge and peered inside. “Given the circumstances, I’m sure Hatty and John won’t mind if we help ourselves to anything we want.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind even if there were no circumstances,” Bodhi assured him.
“So, why don’t I put together a giant charcuterie board?”
“Meat and cheese? What’s Bodhi supposed to do—watch?” Sasha countered.
“Give me some credit. There are several varieties of olives in here, some roasted red peppers. I can do a tapas platter for the vegan and anyone else who’s feeling Mediterranean.” He called to Maisy in the butler’s pantry. “Let me know if you find chickpeas or cannellini beans in there. I’ll whip up some hummus.”
“What are cannellini beans?” Maisy asked Sasha out of the side of her mouth.
Sasha shot her a ‘you can’t seriously be askingme’ look.
Chris leaned over. “They’re white beans.”
“Thank you. Why couldn’t he just say that?”
