Left to Murder (Adele Sharp #5) - Blake Pierce Page 0,3
upper lip, which, after a moment, he licked away and gave a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I hope you enjoyed it,” she said, softly. While his was nearly empty, her own glass was nearly untouched. “I really do need to be closing, though. It’s policy.”
“Dear Amelia,” said Gabriel, “I fully understand. It is important to stick to one’s policies. I must ask you one other thing. Have you ever thought about the afterlife? Have you at least considered it?”
Her stomach dropped, and now for the first time, she allowed the emotion to cross her face in a creased frown.
He acknowledged her expression, curious, and smiled in return. “You really are quite pretty when you frown, you know that? Well, have you considered the afterlife?”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean? That’s a very strange question.”
She shivered, beginning to push back from the table. Perhaps it was simply an American thing. She often heard they would ask very personal questions, even of strangers. The French didn’t particularly like that sort of intrusion. Emotions and the like were all well and good, but certainly not among complete strangers, not even gorgeous ones. Then again, he had said she was pretty. But such words were beginning to lose their spell, and she was now past uncomfortable.
“I have, Amelia, see?” he said, softly. “The great painter Albrecht Durer completed the piece about the key and the pit, you know. In it, he depicted the only way to the beyond. Have you read Revelation? Or have you considered the Norse end? So many theories, so many thoughts. The best ones, though, if you ask me,” he said, prattling on as if she were still interested and not scared, “they’re the ones, in my humble estimation, that speak of an eternal life. A continuation of this thing. Infinite health. No more sickness or sadness. Can you imagine?”
She crossed her arms now. Of course, the one good-looking man who ever paid her attention was just trying to peddle his faith. She didn’t say it out loud, but she thought it. Who came into a wine studio after hours, with a young woman, and began speaking to them about the afterlife?
She pushed away from the table, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly, “I’m not interested. Whatever church you’re a part of, sorry. I really do need you to leave now.”
The man looked up at her, and his eyes were still twinkling with mirth. If anything in her countenance threw him off, he didn’t show it. He dipped his head in quiet acquiescence. Then he reached into his physician’s bag and withdrew his two black gloves. He pulled them on delicately, like a jockey before a horse race. Once they were on his hands, he retrieved the glass he had been drinking from, his fingers pressed against it, and then he tossed the contents of the wine off to the side.
She nearly shouted, watching the splatter against the grain wood of the floor.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she snapped, angry now. It didn’t matter how good-looking someone was, there was no sense in wasting wine, nor in staining the floor.
He didn’t reply right away, but instead placed the glass in his small bag.
“Hang on,” she protested, “you can’t take that.”
“Oh,” he said, “how about if I just buy it from you?” He tried to zip the bag, but it didn’t fully close over the stem of the glass. Now, the physician’s bag was open, wider, and she stared in at the contents. Her heart nearly escaped her chest. A cold, freezing sensation spread over her spine and up toward the base of her skull.
There was rope, and duct tape, and an assortment of small knives seemingly bound together by a thin strap. She spotted other instruments she had no name for, some with small hooks and others with probing needles. She spotted an IV bag and rubber hosing.
She felt a flicker of fear, and then it came flooding into her chest all at once, dropping to her stomach like the sudden hot swish of whiskey, spinning toward her belly. She quickly looked away, hoping the man hadn’t spotted her attention.
She dipped her head in what she hoped would be perceived as a polite nod, rather than a terrified adjustment.
“Apologies,” she said. “I must powder my nose.”
The man just looked at her and gestured gallantly toward the back. “Do what you must,” he said. “I’ll be leaving soon as it is. I don’t want to intrude.”