Zoe bit her lip. “You want to open a restaurant with Mallory?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Where will you get the money?”
“She just inherited some money from her grandmother. And I thought I might take a loan.”
“It sounds really risky.”
“Said the woman who chases serial killers for a living. Look, you’re cutting it too small. Let me just show you for a second.”
“I am holding a very sharp knife, and this is not the moment to tell me how to cut vegetables,” Zoe said, slamming the knife just a hair’s breadth away from her own finger.
“Okay.”
“How much do you need?”
“We need to figure it out, but it’ll probably be between thirty and forty thousand.”
“I’ll loan you the money.”
Andrea snorted. “With what? Your government salary?”
Zoe turned to face her. “Harry Barry’s publisher is willing to pay me for the exclusive rights to my story.” She’d told Harry she wouldn’t do it in a million years, and he’d responded in that infuriating smug tone of his that he’d give her some time to think it over. “It’ll be enough for your share of the restaurant.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“You’re not taking it. It’s a loan. It’s not like I have anything to do with it.”
“Oh, Zoe.” Andrea’s voice cracked. She lunged at Zoe and hugged her fiercely.
“But I’m eating there for free whenever I show up,” Zoe said, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around her sister.
“Okay.”
“And you don’t get to tell me how to cut vegetables.”
“In your dreams.”
They held each other for a few seconds, until a knock on the door made them pull away.
“They’re here,” Zoe said, wiping her eyes.
She went over to the door, Andrea following behind. She opened the door just as Tatum was about to knock again. Marvin stood by his side, Christine Mancuso behind them.
“We brought wine,” Tatum said, then frowned, looking at her and Andrea. “Are you two okay?”
“We were cutting onions,” Andrea said, sniffing. “Give me that bottle.”
CHAPTER 81
Andrea had made a tray of cheese and fruit that she served as an appetizer until the lasagna would be ready. The five of them sat in the living room drinking wine, mostly listening to Marvin talk. The old man had an uncanny ability to hold everyone’s attention.
“We were discussing it in my book club just last night,” he was saying, turning to face Mancuso. “Did you ever go to a book club?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” she answered, smiling.
“You should come to my book club—you’d love it. You’d fit right in.” He frowned slightly. “You’re a bit young; most of the women there are forty or fifty. But I think they’ll like you.”
“How old do you think I am?” Mancuso asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t like to guess a lady’s age, but in your case I’ll make an exception. Thirty? No, hang on . . . twenty-nine.”
Mancuso glanced at Tatum. “I like your grandfather.”
“Everybody does.” Tatum sighed.
Zoe felt strange. She was too focused on herself, on her posture, her behavior. Trying to look as if she was part of the conversation but doing her best not to say anything significant. Was she smiling too much? She placed her palm on her knee, but it seemed artificial, and she took it off. Then she tried to lean casually back, but the couch was somehow all wrong.
She never cared about what people thought. But inviting them over made her too conscious of everything. It was unnerving.
“Do you think we should tell Marvin that Christine is married?” Andrea asked her in a low voice.
“I don’t think it would matter either way,” Zoe answered.
She lost the thread of the conversation for a few seconds, trying to sit straight. When she tuned back in, Marvin was explaining to the chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit how you really caught a killer.
“It’s all about the eyes,” he said. “Gotta look them in the eyes.”
“Really?” Mancuso seemed to be having the time of her life.
“‘Eyes so transparent that through them the soul is seen.’ Gootier said that.”
“It’s Gautier,” Tatum said, rolling his eyes. “And he was talking about women, not murderers.”
“You know, Tatum, when I need French literature lessons, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
Zoe got up. “The lasagna is probably ready. I’ll go get it.”
“I can get it,” Andrea said.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.” Zoe hurried away to the kitchen. Once out of sight, she exhaled and leaned on the counter. She took a moment to steady her nerves.