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to the parking lot. His footsteps rapped hollowly on the fog-dampened planks. The low gray sky was getting lighter, paling the porch lights of the other houseboats. One of my neighbors, stepping out to pick up her newspaper, called out a cheery good morning. I smiled mechanically and kept going, trying to keep up with Aaron.
“I can’t let you leave without explaining.”
“So explain.” He shot me a sidelong glance, but he didn’t slow down. “Start with the pineapple. The pineapple fascinates me.”
“Aaron, be serious! I mean, not too serious.” I was beginning to sound like Zack. “It’s not a serious situation, is it?”
“You tell me.” He unlocked his yellow Bug and threw his carry-on into the miniscule trunk.
“Back in the kitchen you were joking about it.”
“What was I supposed to do, play the jealous lover in front of the Buckmasters?”
“Buckmeisters. Look, Aaron, last night I was helping Zack sort out a… a personal problem. He was happy about solving it, and grateful, and so he hugged me. And this morning he just showed up. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’m supposed to feel better because you’re not sleeping with him just like you’re not sleeping with me?” He slammed the trunk lid with a violence that made me jump. “You tell me you need some space, then you fill the space up with Zack Hartmann. Who’s next, your Russian guy? What kind of high-school bullshit is this?”
“Don’t talk to me that way!”
“Well, don’t treat me this way.” Aaron’s deep brown eyes looked suddenly vulnerable, and I might have apologized if he hadn’t pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The morning air was dead still, and as he exhaled, the smoke made a little cloud between us. “Carnegie, I can’t talk about this now. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Why Portland, anyway? Is it a job offer?”
He frowned. “Maybe. Mostly I’m going down to do some research for a series on mass transit. I better go.”
“Well, could you call me later?” I’ll miss you. I want you here. I didn’t say it, though. Too high-schoolish. “We were going to sort out that list of people in black costumes—”
“Sure, I’ll call you,” he said from behind the smoke, “but let’s forget all this amateur detective crap. Stay out of it. Leave it to the cops.”
“You said yourself you were starting to believe Corinne.”
He shrugged. “How do I know she’s not playing games, too?”
“What do you mean, too? I’m not playing games, not with you and not about Mercedes! I need you to identify some of the Sentinel people, and—”
“So ask Zack,” he said flatly. “It’ll give you something to do while you’re not having sex.”
That tore it. I turned around and marched back inside. I was trembling, more from anger than cold, and I wanted hot coffee. Or a drink. Inside, Betty was bustling around my kitchen putting away the jam and cream cheese, her pert black curls bouncing as she went.
“Carnegie, there you are!” said Buck. “Mother and I have to run, but we had some ideas about place cards—”
“Monday,” I snapped, and then softened my tone. “We’ll talk about place cards at the cake tasting on Monday, all right? Thanks for breakfast. Betty, I’ll finish that, really.”
“All done, dear. Except for the pineapple. I wasn’t sure where to put it.”
“Just leave it there. It, ah, makes a nice centerpiece.”
“So it does!” She beamed at me. “Isn’t she just clever, Father? I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
And they beamed their way out the door. Zack, still sitting at the kitchen table, waved good-bye and reached for another cinnamon roll.
“Zack, have you got some free time today?”
“Sure! All day, if you want.”
“That’s great. Let’s go up to the office and look over the guest list from the party.”
I’d finished my latte, so I reheated the cappuccino in the microwave. But only because it was too early for wine.
Chapter Nineteen
“CARNEGIE?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to finish your pizza?”
“Help yourself.” I slid the Pagliacci’s box across my desk without taking my eyes from the list I was scribbling. After making a final notation, I looked up. “How can you eat that?”
“It’s good!” Zack protested, his mouth full.
“No, I mean how can you eat pepperoni on top of all those cinnamon rolls?”
He shrugged. “That was, like, hours ago.”
Not all that many hours, really, but we’d made a lot of progress. After explaining my original and now discarded theory about Skull—Zack had heard about the purse-snatching incident—I laid out my current plan. Mercedes was killed after eleven