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wanted me settled with a man, any man.
No, that wasn’t fair. Eddie had made his distaste for Boris Nevsky quite plain right from the first date. And before that there was Wayne, the hot-looking videographer. Eddie had him pegged for the self-centered type within ten minutes. It took me two weeks.
Holt Walker had been another matter. Smitten, I’d kept Holt to myself, away from Eddie and his opinions. And then my handsome and successful suitor had turned out to be a particularly unsavory sort of criminal. I sure can pick ’em.
I was still getting over Holt, in more ways than one. Maybe that was the real reason I was hanging back with Aaron. That and the fact that all he really wanted now was some juicy quotes about a murdered corpse. I dumped my jacket on a chair and did what I always do when I’m tangled up inside my own brain: I poured a glass of cheap white wine and, ignoring the message light on my phone, I called Lily.
“Hey, you caught me just coming in,” she said. “I took the boys to their friend Dylan’s for a campout.”
“A campout? Lily, it’s raining again, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Calm down, Honorary Aunt. They’re in Dylan’s basement. Kids have no nerve endings, they can sleep on concrete and love it. Now, what on earth happened to that Montoya person last night? She’s the TV star, right, the gypsy?”
“She was.” I gulped some wine and gave her my tired little routine about not discussing the details.
“I get it,” she said. “But you must be in shock. You want some company?”
“No, that’s all right…. Actually, yes, I would like company. If you don’t mind having dinner with Aaron Gold?”
“Aha, the cute reporter. Cute guys always welcome. Don’t you want him all to yourself?”
“No,” I said. “No, tonight I definitely do not want Aaron all to myself.”
Chapter Eight
DINNER STARTED OUT AWKWARD AS HELL. STANDING IN MY living room, faced with a trio instead of a duet, Aaron masked his surprise with a bland and off-putting courtesy that was worthy of Zorro, and Lily responded in kind. The two of them had heard plenty about each other from me, so I knew there was some sizing up going on as they shook hands and commented on the weather.
Lily looked smashing, in a royal-purple sweater and skirt that set off her statuesque figure and coffee-colored skin. Aaron was less rumpled than usual in yellow dress shirt and spiffy black leather jacket. I wore jade silk and an uncomfortable smile. Despite my second—and third and fifth— thoughts about Aaron, I really wanted these people to like each other.
My two companions did have one thing in common: both of them assumed I was upset by what I’d witnessed and persisted in treating me with kid-glove kindness. If Aaron was going to tackle me for an interview, it wouldn’t be tonight.
“I made reservations at Toscana,” he said as we walked out to the parking lot. The rain was thinning again, to the sloping mist so typical of Seattle. “I hope that suits you, Lily?”
“Sounds wonderful, Aaron,” she replied graciously, but then frowned at the sight of his vintage Volkswagen Bug, recently acquired third-hand from someone at the Sentinel. It was banana-yellow, with appropriate brown spots of rust. “Umm, how about if I drive?”
I was just as glad—at least Lily’s Volvo had some legroom—but that left the brave caballero scrunched in the backseat with her sons’ toys and soccer gear. Hardly the way to start a romantic evening. Serves you right for conspiring with Eddie, I thought, but without much spirit. Then, as we drove to the University District making the smallest of small talk, I stopped thinking about Aaron and thought about whether I was truly as upset as he and Lily believed me to be.
Certainly I felt sad for Mercedes, and revolted by the horrible way that I’d found her. But as more time passed, there was also plain old vulgar curiosity. Who, of all the masked revelers at the Aquarium last night, had gone home with blood on his hands? And did those same hands try to drown Corinne, or was she fantasizing? Was the killer’s motive as deep and murky as Elliott Bay, or as simple and sharp as the glint off a diamond ring?
The Italian bistro Aaron had chosen was dim and intimate, perfect for lovers but a bit much for new acquaintances. We had our choice of tables on a Sunday evening, so we