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“I’ve called 911, so keep your shorts on,” said Miss Min briskly, which seemed hardly fair to poor Rupert.
I looked around Beau’s big shoulders. It looked like whoever had it in for Heavenly Lights had stepped up their attacks on the club.
* * *
The police came shortlyafter the ambulance took Rupert away, and we had to cancel that night’s show.
Then the police had to investigate everyone who was there. Miss Min and I went first. They didn’t seem to have the slightest suspicion it was us.
“That wasn’t very thorough,” Miss Min said indignantly. “You aren’t really putting the screws to us.”
“Did either of you shoot Rupert Bartholomew-Buxton?” the kindly policeman assigned to us asked.
“Why no,” Miss Min sputtered.
I dragged her quickly out of the room before she could get us into any further trouble.
Shit. I didn’t have the foggiest clue who could have it out for a timid little rabbit like Rupert Bartholomew-Buxton. Some obscure feud at the stamp collecting convention? A dispute over a particularly rare and prized stamp? I would have to ask him later.
I didn’t see Beau in the hallway or my office or the dressing room, so I told Miss Min to be cautious and headed back to my hotel room. It could have been a random person who shot Rupert, but I didn’t think so. It had to all be connected to the threats against Heavenly Lights.
* * *
I enteredmy hotel room and it was as bare as a flasher’s ass. My suitcases were gone. My toiletries were gone. My stack of books was gone. Even my dirty clothes hamper was gone.
I ripped my cellphone from my bag.
He answered on the first ring.
“Beau de la Fontaine,” I said. “Where is myshit?”
“Don’t you mean our shit?” he asked. “Because when we’re married what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.”
“We’re not married, Beau!” I yelped.
“It’s too dangerous, El,” he said. “Not after Rupert was shot. I can’t let you be in that hotel room by yourself. You can drive your car over here or I’ll come and get you.”
I huffily pushed the disconnect button on him and for a second I contemplated going across town, finding another hotel, and staying there for the night.
But I knew Beau, and I was pretty sure all that meant was that I’d just get woken up in the middle of the night by him breaking into my window or some other insane shit.
So I took one last look at my impersonal hotel room and got back in my car and drove to my obsessed stalker’s apartment.
29
ELOWYN
Idon’t know if it was the loud, insistent ringing of my cellphone, or Beau bending over my forehead to take my temperature, that woke me up.
But they were both pissing me off.
I knocked Beau’s hand away.
“Get off of me you psycho!” I said. “Stop trying to track my daily temperature.”
I rolled over and picked up my phone to hear Rupert Bartholomew-Buxton’s squeaky rabbit voice, raised in a yip of panic.
“They’re protesting Heavenly Lights!” he cried. “I can’t even get into the building there’s so many of them. We are going to be shut down for sure now!”
