Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,118
they have—they don’t know how to come talk to you, because they think you don’t want them to, and they’ve been raised to respect when a girl doesn’t want them around.”
I took that advice for what it was worth. “Sorry, Amaryllis. You’re not exactly the expert on smooth-sailing romance.”
She frowned in equal parts annoyance and embarrassment. “Well. Things sometimes work out for the best in spite of our best efforts to screw them up.”
The crowd was getting to be too much for me. Because you know who has a lot of ghost baggage hanging around them? People who spend time in courthouses. “Let’s get out of here.”
We grabbed our things and headed out to the hall. Winter involves a lot more stuff in Chicago than it does in Texas. Coats, hats, scarves, gloves. I don’t even own half that gear.
A couple of reporters waved recorders at me, asking questions, but I’d gotten good at ignoring them, and Amy had always been good at spin-doctoring the weird parts of Goodnight life without actually lying. She’d helped both Taylor and me prepare our testimony, because we didn’t want to lie and we couldn’t tell the weird parts. Not even the Goodnight charm could handle faux demigods, real mummies, and spirit dinosaurs.
Agent Taylor was down the hall, talking to the judge, who’d ditched his robe for shirtsleeves in the overheated courthouse. He waved me over, and I approached warily, worried we’d been caught out in the spin-doctoring, but it seemed His Honor was just being nice.
“I wanted to thank you for your help with this case, young lady.” The judge held out his hand and shook mine heartily when I took it. “It sounded like Carson got tangled up in things way beyond his control.”
“We both did,” I said, the rote response.
The judge started rolling down his sleeves. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Thank you again, Agent Taylor. And you, Miss Goodnight.”
An unexpected glimpse of black distracted me, and Taylor had to nudge me to respond. “You’re welcome, Your Honor.”
The judge went back to his chambers, or wherever, and Taylor and I began strolling down the hall, to where Amy waited. “What bee got in your bonnet?” he asked.
“What bee in my … What are you, ninety?” I glanced over my shoulder, but the judge had disappeared. “He had a tattoo on his arm.”
“Well, yeah. Lots of people have tattoos, Daisy. Don’t get weird.”
I snorted. “Too late. So, when can I start working murders again?”
“Anytime. I’m back on duty, and you’re cleared of everything. In fact, that was why I was talking to the judge. To make sure there are no surprises here in Illinois. You’re good to go, Jailbait.”
“In two more weeks, you’ll have to stop calling me that, Jack.”
“In two more weeks, I’ll still be too old for you.”
I stared at him, stunned that he’d actually said it. Okay, he’d said it before, which was how the whole jailbait thing started. But this time, he said it like he was reminding both of us. And I wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but it did. I liked knowing it was safe to have a crush on him. But maybe not too safe.
With a careless shrug, I started walking again. “It doesn’t matter. We could never date anyway. Doesn’t the FBI have rules against partners dating? Even if I am just an unpaid consultant.”
“I’d certainly never want to date Gerard, so I never asked.”
We reached Amy, who was pretending to check her text messages, or maybe really was reading them, but also keeping an eye down the hall, where Carson was talking to his lawyer and his aunt.
Talking to them, and sliding glances my way.
“When he breaks free of them,” said Amy from the corner of her mouth, “go over there. Have pity on the guy and let him say what he has to say.”
I didn’t have to go over. When Carson wrapped up his conversation, he headed toward me. I looked around for an escape route, but Amy grabbed my arm and made me stay until Carson reached us.
He nodded to Taylor and to Amy. Then to me he said, “Hey, Daisy.”
“Hi, um, is it Chris? Christopher?”
“It’s still Carson.”
“So you’re going for the one-name celebrity thing?”
He frowned. “I was going for the ‘come over and see how you’re doing’ thing.”
“Oh.” I folded my arms and wished I knew what to do with my hands other than flap them around nervously while I talked. “Sorry.”