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eye. “I’m going to get myself some lunch. You two want anything?”
We declined, and he left us alone. I wouldn’t have said no to a hug then, a gentle one, but Aaron perched on one corner of my desk and resumed his normal impertinent air. “So. You really hammered Hammering Man.”
“How did you know—?”
“You’re on the local news, Slim. The Made in Heaven logo showed up nice and clear.”
“Oh, no.”
“They say all publicity is good publicity, but don’t you think you went too far this time?”
“Never mind that,” I told him sternly. “Are you going to let the stylist fix up that eye for tonight?”
“I already said I would. You never listen to me, that’s something I’ve noticed about you. But we’ll work on it. Meanwhile, aren’t you going to thank me for exposing the real killer?”
I frowned. “I still can’t quite believe that Zack is the real killer.”
“You mean Tyrone. Maybe you just can’t believe you were so blinded by flattery.”
“Flattery!”
“Come on,” he said, folding his arms and cocking his head smugly. “Tell me it wasn’t flattering to have a younger man following you around like a pet puppy. The whole thing was getting ludicrous.”
“What’s ludicrous is your being jealous of Zack!”
“Jealous? Is that what you think? This isn’t some soap opera, Stretch. The guy murdered two people.”
“We don’t know that for sure. What about Lester Foy? I still think he was Dracula. Corinne saw him in the Market the morning of Angela’s death, and then he came to the houseboat to get me—”
“Foy came here because you asked him to, remember? And Corinne only thinks she saw him in the Market. And even if she did, so what? He’s just a petty thief. But Zack—I mean, Tyrone—he could easily have found out where Angela lived—”
“Actually, he knew,” I admitted. “He was there with me.”
“What did I tell you?” Aaron stood up and began pacing along the picture windows, thinking hard, talking as much to himself as to me. Beyond him, I could see another rain squall moving across the lake, drawing a gray veil over the opposite shore. “Zack knew you were trying to figure out Mercedes’ murder, so he hung around here acting innocent and helpful. But it was just to keep an eye on you, in case you were starting to suspect him. And you fell for the whole thing.”
“There was nothing to fall for!” I rose, stung into anger by his condescending tone. “If he was trying to act so innocent, why would he tell me about shoving Mercedes?”
He whipped around to stare at me. “Shoving her? What are you talking about?”
Too late I realized what I’d said. Well, it was going to come out anyway in my statement to Graham. I looked down, twisting my hands together. Might as well face the music.
“That night at the Salish Lodge, Zack told me he had pushed Mercedes into the water at the shorebird exhibit. He got angry, because she was flirting with him, leading him on, and then she laughed in his face.” I looked up defiantly. “Why would he tell me that if he actually murdered her? He was afraid she had drowned after he left her there, and he was so relieved when I told him—”
“Are you crazy?” Aaron grabbed me by the arms, his eyes wide and furious. “Zack confessed and you didn’t go to the police? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“He didn’t confess! You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t!” he shouted. “You play around with a homicide case like it’s one of your little weddings—”
“Stop it!” I was shouting now as well. My head was throbbing, and I was sickeningly aware that Aaron might be right. But that didn’t justify his sneering at my livelihood. “Just leave me alone, would you? Stop pestering me when I’m trying to work.”
“Pestering you? You think I’m just here to—”
The phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Hey, it’s Juice. So how’s this? We do a mess of half-depth sheet cakes, cut ’em in circles, and use a poured chocolate glaze to cover them so it won’t take a lot of hand work. Then we pipe song titles around the centers.”
“Song titles?” I repeated stupidly.
Aaron watched me for a moment, his face perfectly impassive, and then left, closing the outside door behind him with exaggerated care. I closed my eyes.
“Yeah, so they’re like forty-fives, get it?” said Juice’s voice in my ear. “Records, EMP, rock and roll? You can put ’em on all the tables. And we’ll do