Not One Clue (27 page)

I felt the blush rise to my cheeks. “Nothing. Why?”

“Nothing! I’ve been trying to call you since nine o’clock last night.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I must have put my phone …” I didn’t let my gaze skim to the pile of cushions under which Rivera had hidden it. “… on vibrate. Where’s Solberg?”

“I left him at the inn with his parents. You—” She stopped, scowled. “Are you baking cookies?”

“Yeah. Well, making dough.” My cookies rarely see the inside of an oven. Why waste the electricity when dough is the ambrosia of the gods? I gave the ambrosia a good stir.

“I—”

“Are you making cookies at six in the morning after you’ve been burglarized?”

“Oh.” Maybe it was a little surprising that I had forgotten that little tidbit of information. “I just … I was kind of …”

She gave me a narrow, assessing glance. “When did Rivera leave?”

“What?”

“Rivera.” It was the only word she repeated. The blush had moved down to my clavicle. “What makes you think—”

“You’re humming.”

“Am not.”

“‘Feliz Navidad.’”

“I am not.”

She stared at me a minute longer. “He got naked!” she said.

I stirred the dough again. “Did not,” I said, but she had seated herself by the table. I could feel her staring at me.

“Tell me about it.”

“Listen, Laney, I don’t know what you think happened, but—”

“Was he worth the irritation?”

I opened my mouth to deny everything, but I was dying to tell her. “Holy cow!” I said, and launched into the tale.

28

Sex is all right, but it’s damned hard to compete with a fresh-brewed cup of coffee.

—
Grandma Brady, whose
memory might be slipping
a little

I
saw two clients the next morning, an unhappy sex addict and a happy asexual guy who was sure he should be miserable.

Rivera called that afternoon. I knew I should have been tired, but it was holiday heaven in my head. I was humming “Welcome Christmas” by the Whoville Whos when Shirley buzzed to say Rivera was on line one.

“How you doing?” he asked, voice all low and rumbly in that way that makes my brain cells go limp.

“Quite well,” I said, and smiled as I settled back in my chair. “How about you?”

“I can’t get you out of my mind.”

“The city of Los Angeles deserves your full attention.”

“Then you shouldn’t sit on the counter wearing nothing but a shoe.”

I laughed. The sound was funny. Like a sex machine running on all cylinders. We bantered a little, then said our good-byes.

B
y the time I pulled up to my curb that evening, the high had worn off a little. When I saw the interior of my house I stopped and blinked. It was clean like it had never been clean before. As I stepped into the living room, I realized that even the air sparkled.

“Laney?” I said.

She stepped out of the kitchen wearing an apron over her cutoffs and looking like June Cleaver with good hair. “You’re home early,” she said.

“Last client didn’t show. I thought you had meetings all day.”

“I canceled them. Did you know you have two vacuum cleaners?”

“Weren’t you supposed to meet with …” I searched my memory banks for the name she had given me but it was gone. “God or somebody?”

“My director. I told her the house was messy and I couldn’t make it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Your upstairs carpet is blue.”

“You blew off your director to clean my—” I paused. “Blue?”

“Who knew, huh?”

“It’s always been brown.”

“I rented a steam cleaner.”

“Laney,” I said, shielding my eyes from the glare of the counter and dropping my purse onto a chair. “You didn’t have to clean all this.”

“I know, but the Department of Health can be so nasty if they get involved.”

I made a face.

She laughed. “My natural-health recipe box is missing.”

“Are you serious? The rosewood one that Foxy made for you?”

“Yup.”

“With the Green Goo recipe?”

“Yes.”

“And the Brain Brightener recipe?”

“Maybe they realized they’ve been killing themselves with their high-sucrose diet and decided to make a change.”

“A health-conscious burglar?”

She shrugged, letting that unlikely delusion shatter. “Or maybe they were hoping for electronics and settled for an etched wood box.”

“You think they wanted my computer?”

“Apparently not after they saw it,” she said. “Because it’s still here.”

“Well, at least we know the guy was value-conscious.” I plopped down in the nearest chair. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. I’m so sorry we forgot to arm your security system.”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry about your recipes.”

“Really?”

“No,” I said, and suppressed a shudder at the memory of green potable slop. “But I’m sorry I’m not sorry.”

She sighed. “I think I remember most of the recipes. I’ll miss my jean jacket more.”

“They took your jacket, too?”

“It’s gone.”

“Maybe you forgot it somewhere.” She shook her head. “I shoved it into my bag on the way home from the flower shop the other night. It’s not there.”

“Weird,” I said.

Our gazes met. Hers was atypically solemn. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Mac.”

I shook my head. “There’s no reason to assume this has anything to do with you.”

“They only took two items,” she said. “They’re both mine.”

“You have better stuff than I do. Besides, we don’t know they didn’t take more. It could take weeks before we realize what’s missing.”

“Besides the bushel of dirt that had been ground into your carpet.”

“And the mushrooms that were growing beside the toilet. You didn’t get rid of those, did you?”

She smiled, but the expression was tight.

“You think this has something to do with the letters,” I said.

She shrugged. Her brows dipped toward her evergreen eyes. “How many crazies can be out there?”

“This
is
L.A. Even you can’t count that high.”

“I should move out.”

“You planning to bail on me when things get dicey?”

She caught my eye. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too. Do you have any idea how many houses are randomly burglarized in L.A. each year?”

“I can’t count that high?”

“That’s right,” I said. “And you hardly live in any of them.”

“They didn’t take your stereo.”

“Maybe they didn’t need a twenty-year-old turntable.”

“You said they dusted for prints?”

“So I’m told.”

“Did they find anything?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She nodded, then silently scrunched up her face and covered it with her palm.

“Laney?” I said, moving toward her.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and waved me away. “I know. I think I’m losing my mind.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She gave me a watery glance. “I just … there’s so much. I should be running lines for the Gabriel movie. And that’s on top of the wedding. Flowers, music, seating. Did I tell you the swans are molting?”

Swans? I gave her a look. “Why are you worried about fowl?”

“Jeen’s mom thought we should have swans.”

“Are you marrying his mom, too?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I just … I just want to be married.”

I stifled my wince and didn’t mention the fact that evidence
was
, in fact, quite good that she may have lost her mind if that was the case. “To Solberg, right?”

She gave me a look.

“Right,” I said. “Of course.”

“But I want to make Jeen happy.”

“Happy!” I said, and swallowed a chuckle. “You’re the Amazon Queen. You can’t help but make him happy.”

“That’s just the thing. I’m
not
the Amazon Queen, Mac. I’m not any of the things people think I am.”

“Solberg’s not people,” I said. She gave me a scowl, so I hurried on. “Of course you’re not some half-naked jungle girl, Elaine. You’re better than that. You’re Brainy Laney Butterfield, the smartest, sweetest, most beautiful woman in the world. I’m sure Solberg would be tickled pink if you stood up in front of a justice of the peace wearing a gunnysack and eating a radish.”

“I don’t like radishes,” she said, and pressed her knuckles against her mouth.

“Laney!” I said, and took her hand. “What is it?”

“My life’s a mess. And now I’ve made your life a mess, too.”

“What are you talking about? My life has always been a mess.”

“No, it—”

“Oh, don’t even lie!” I said. “My upstairs carpet is
blue. Blue!
”

She laughed a little and I smiled, feeling better. “You’re getting married soon,” I said. “For better or worse. Swans or no swans.”

She nodded, then winced a little. “But what about you?”

I looked at her askance. “What about me what?”

“We’ve been a pair for so long. And I always thought you’d get married first.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, I thought you’d find the right guy and live happily ever after so I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

“Happily ever—”

“Well, you know, grouchily ever after, or whatever. I just thought you’d be … settled.”

“Settled.”

“And now not only are you unsettled, you’ve got some nut job breaking into your cute little house.”

I glanced around. “It is kind of cute, isn’t it? When you can see the floor. Blue,” I mused.

“Get over it.”

I shook my head. “Are you saying you’re worried about me?”

“Of course I’m worried about you.” Tears welled in her eyes again. “You’re the best person I know.”

I stared at her an instant, then glanced over my shoulder before turning back to her. “Me?”

“You know it’s true.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. I … Oh crap,” she said, and rubbed her eyes with her right hand. It was the harshest language I had heard exit Laney’s mouth in years. “And now I can’t even tell when you’re kidding.”

“You’re just tired. Lots of people don’t think I’m funny when they’re tired.”

“Or any other time.

“I’ve hired you a bodyguard.”

It took a moment for me to realize what she said, at which time I canted my head and asked for clarification.

“I can’t stand knowing you’re in danger, Mac. I can’t. I mean, I have a thousand things going on in my head and I can’t—”

“You hired a bodyguard?”

She took a deep, calming breath. “Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes.”

“When you’re the star.”

“I’m not a star, Mac. I’m just a … Just a woman on my fourteenth minute of fame.”

“Laney, you’re one in a million. You’ve been a star since the day you were born. Since the second you were conceived. Since—”

“Please accept a bodyguard.”

I stood there staring at her, mouth open. “I had sex for the first time in years,” I said.

“I realize—”

I held up my hand. “In fact, I had sex for the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth time in years. You think I want that to stop now?”

“He doesn’t have to accompany you into the bedroom.”

“Did I say we did it in the bedroom?”

She stared at me for a minute, then, “Ick?” she said.

“I hope you used some heavy-duty cleaner on the kitchen counter.”

“Baking soda,” she said. “It’s environmentally friendly.”

“You might want to dine in your room from now on, then,” I said, and she laughed. I squeezed her hand. “I don’t want a bodyguard, Laney.”

“I ordered a really cute one.”

“Is that the word you used when you called the agency?”

“Yes. I said I wanted a cute buff one.”

“Seriously?”

“I really am losing my mind, aren’t I?”

“It’s possible.”

She blew out her breath. “That’s unfortunate. I’m kind of famous, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She sighed. “What are we going to do?”

I stared at her. “We’re going to figure out who broke into my cute little house.”

“Any ideas how?”

“We’re going to use our brains.”

“Wow,” she said.

29

Love your enemies. In case your friends turn out to be dumb shits.

—
Donald Archer, whose
friends are kind of…

W
e went through every piece of mail she had, evaluated every word, considered every comma. By four in the morning I felt as if my eyes had been sandblasted and my mind fried in extra-virgin olive oil.

I flopped back onto Laney’s bed and covered my face with my hand. “I hate people. I literally cannot tell you how much I hate people.”

“How quickly the bliss of sex fades.”

“Not like chocolate,” I said.

“That stuff’ll stay on your hips forever. Unless you drink enough of my Cellulite Chaser.”

“Oh, dear God,” I said, and covered my head with a pillow. “Please, please, please don’t make me think about your all-natural, made-from-clay-and-nothing-else recipes that …” I paused, removed the pillow, stared at her.

“What?” Her expression had gone serious, expectant.