The Gentlemen's Hour Page 0,73
police put you at the murder scene,” she says.
“It wasn’t a murder scene when I was there,” Boone says. “It was more of a porno scene.”
“Right,” she says. “And you were never in the house.”
“Right,” Boone says. “Look, I’m really sorry. I thought of calling you when they first picked me up, but calling a lawyer would have looked bad, and then I got all torqued and then going to see Nichols—”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Of course,” she says. “Look, can I get you something? Coffee, a drink, something to eat?”
Dave the Love God is a false god, Boone thinks. A mere wooden idol, a Wizard of Oz. He knows nothing of women. At least, not this woman. “You know, I am a little hungry.”
“Right.”
She gets up and walks into the kitchen. He follows and looks over her shoulder as she opens the refrigerator, which is virtually empty.
“Let me see,” she says, “I have yogurt . . . and . . . some more yogurt . . . and . . . Oh! Cottage cheese.”
“How about just some coffee?” he asks.
“Good, right,” she says. “Except that I don’t have any, actually. I have tea. A very nice herbal tea I get at this special shop down on Island. Imported from Sichuan.”
Drinking herbal tea is like sucking dew off a lawn, Boone thinks. Which he has done, after a Mai Tai Tuesday at The Sundowner, but it doesn’t sound so good when you’re not horribly drunk and desperately dehydrated. Besides, herbal tea is one small step removed from yoga, leg warmers, and spa treatments. Boone says, “Maybe just some water.”
She gets him a glass of water and then says, “Crackers! I have crackers.”
Petra had hosted a little predinner wine and hors d’oeuvres thing a few weeks ago and had some crackers left over. She searches the cabinets and finds the box, then looks for an appropriate plate on which to set them.
“The box is just fine,” Boone says.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
She hands him the box and sits down on the counter. He stands beside her and they eat crackers and drink water as Petra starts breaking down Boone’s situation. Boone was at the house but not in the house, but at what point in time? And has the medical examiner established a time of death? Obviously, that would be key.
Boone’s listening but not really listening. He’s not all that concerned with being a “person of interest” in the Schering murder anymore, as he’s been willingly bumped off that platform by Dan Nichols. He looks at the little crumbs that cling to the corner of Petra’s mouth, which, with her tousled hair, give her a very attractive air of imperfection. And the robe has slipped a little on her left shoulder, revealing the spaghetti-thin strap of something blue and silky and . . .
How do you kiss someone with crackers in your mouth? Is it “how,” he wonders, or “should,” as he casually takes a drink of water and tries to swish it around his mouth nonchalantly to clear it of the cracker yuck.
Petra’s going on about . . . something . . . when Boone leans over, brushes a crumb off her lips with his finger, and then kisses her. If she’s surprised, she’s pleasantly surprised, because her lips do that fluttery, butterfly-wing thing and she brings her hands to the back of his neck and pulls him in a little closer.
Her lips are freaking incredible, Boone thinks, so soft and surprisingly full, and the kiss lasts a long time before he breaks it off to kiss her neck, where her skin is so white and delicate it seems almost fragile, and he likes it when she turns her head a little to open more of her neck to him.
Her perfume is unreal. Sunny was never a perfume girl. She was more of a sun-salt-and-air-are-nature’s-perfume girl (which certainly worked, salt and sun being aphrodisiacal to him), but Petra is definitely a girlie-girl, with the negligee and the perfume, and he finds he likes it, really likes it as he works his way down her neck and then back up and then gently nudges a strand of her black hair out of the way and kisses her ear.
“If you do that,” she says, “I can’t stop you.”
“I don’t want you to stop me,” he says.
“Good. Neither do I.”
So he keeps kissing her ear, and she starts to kiss his neck, and Boone feels like he’s happily drowning in her perfume and she doesn’t stop him when he