“No, I’m okay.” I rub my middle, where being caught has caused some major chafing under my shirt, though. He looks like he’s going to start asking more questions, so I decide to flip the tables. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the day?”
It’s Matteo’s turn to smile, though his looks forced too. “I’m not a vampire, I do most of my work during the day.”
“Not lately,” I remind him.
“No, not lately,” he agrees with a sigh. “I’m actually out for some reconnaissance on Ryan’s assailant.” His gaze narrows suddenly, and he looks me up and down as if a light bulb just popped on over his head. “You’re not out here following me, are you? MG, I’ve told you so many times to let me do my job. I don’t like having to worry about you and the case at the same time. You promised—”
“I am definitely not out here following you,” I say with conviction. Take me to a lie detector; I’d pass that. “You tripped over me, remember? And anyhow, if I were following you, I’d be doing a pretty bad job if I knocked you to the ground, right?”
The suspicion abates in his expression, but not fully. That gut of his is telling him I’m up to something, and unfortunately for me, he’s right.
“Ryan’s assailant, though. In this neighborhood?” I look around but don’t have to feign the look of unease. “This is so close to L’s.”
“I thought that too.” Matteo frowns. “Anyhow, I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree. We sort of awkwardly hug—I’m never sure what the protocol is when he’s on the job—and he heads off down the sidewalk.
I instantly turn to the opposite street, only to find it completely devoid of Daniel’s form. Rats. Somewhere in the five minutes I’ve been talking with Matteo, he’s gone, as is my chance to see who lives there. I note the address and make a point to peruse the blazers for a good five more minutes in case Matteo checks my alibi. I contemplate following him but decide against it. I’ve done enough of my own sleuthing for the time being, and it’s netted me a fairly interesting theory. Now I just need to prove that Daniel Kim is involved. Making a show of deciding none of the blazers work for me, I go and unlock my bike, only just now realizing that I’ve been “shopping” for the last ten minutes with my helmet on my head. Brilliant. No wonder Matteo suspected something was up.
I sigh, hop on my bike, and pedal hard for Lawrence’s.
CHAPTER 12
A few streets down, I turn right, Lawrence’s little shop within view.
And just in time too. The threatening humidity starts to morph into more serious mist, and my clothes are absorbing liquid at an alarming rate. I pray I make it to the shop before I’m soaked or struck by lightning. As if in response to my thoughts, a low rumble of thunder rolls through the gray clouds above me. Okay, or both. Thanks, universe.
I screech to a stop on L’s sidewalk and two-step my bike around the back, through the gate to the parking area. It takes me but a moment to secure the bike in my standard place—the gas meter pipe—and try the door. Locked. I spin around, verifying his car is parked by the trash can, then pull out my phone.
Hey L, Let me in.
I type, hugging the building in hopes the small overhang over the door will protect me from the big fat raindrops now falling perilously from the sky.
Came to check on you. I’m out back. Starting to rain.
I wait, staring at my phone for a response. Droplets of cold water threaten to form on the end of my nose while I wait. Finally, three dots appear and my shoulders relax. “Thank God,” I mutter even before the words hang on show up on my screen.
Another rumble of thunder, and the skies open up. Gone are the big raindrops, and in their place a shower of cold rain. Seconds later, I hear the lock of the door rattling.
“Saved by the—” Usually L opens the door and I barge in. It’s our thing. But somehow our typical dance steps are reversed, because instead of stepping aside to allow me in, L steps out onto the concrete pad I’m standing on. I bounce off his muscled chest and ricochet off the brick around the doorframe into the rain.
“Sorry. You okay?” L’s hand shoots out to steady me.
“Yeah, just . . . wet.” I look down at my pants, which are basically soaked through. “Maybe out of the rain would be good?”
Lawrence hesitates a moment, which is either rude or weird. “Come on in; let’s get you dried off. I guess you probably can’t bike in the rain.”
I eye him skeptically as I follow his retreating back into the shop. Given I’ve just arrived, I find it an affront that he’s planning my exit—or noting the lack of it. “Yeah, I guess not,” I agree, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I ditch my helmet just inside the door, shivering as icy rivulets skate down the back of my shirt. “Especially since I came here specifically to check on you. You haven’t answered my texts. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
L pauses just past the little nook of an office and reaches inside the closet door across from the stairs. He produces a pile of white, fluffy towels—usually reserved for drying hair, but in this case, a whole person—and tosses a few my way. “I’m okay. I’ve been really busy today. Just headed out, actually.”
I pause in mopping to glance over his shoulder. The shop is dark and quiet, no hum of lights, no OPEN sign on in the window.
“Oh.” I refocus on L. “Sorry to keep you, then. Can I borrow a T-shirt? I guess I’ll just call an Uber from here and stop by my house.”
“When are you going to get that car of yours fixed?”
“I’m close to being able to afford it,” I answer.
“Why don’t you just look into a newer one?” L asks.
“You and Matteo,” I grouse, reaching down to my shirt, undoing a few buttons in preparation of removing my sodden button-down from my person, when L’s hand snakes out to stop me. “MG, I wouldn’t.”
It’s like he’s grown six heads, and I might as well call him Hydra. “Wouldn’t do what . . . take my completely soaking shirt off in your empty shop?” My question trails off as the sound of feet on the stairs fills the quiet, and L steps away from the doorway. The door that leads to his apartment.
“Ah,” I say, a light bulb going off. “L, you just had to tell me you have company, no problem. I’d have waited until later to stop . . .”
I lean around L with a bit of a grin to see who is coming down the stairs, but my humor—and words—dissipate as Daniel Kim emerges from behind Lawrence. I blink. Twice. This is unexpected in so many ways, I’m at a loss.
“Oh, hey, MG,” he says offhand, like we meet in my best friend’s dark stairwell while my shirt is half-unbuttoned all the time.
“Hey . . . Daniel,” I answer, quickly buttoning my wet shirt again. I shoot Lawrence a look, and he studiously avoids meeting my questioning gaze.
“Raining, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Sure is.” We all stand for a long stretch, listening to the splat splat splat of water dripping from my hem.
“I’m actually headed to the meeting now; is that where you were headed?” Daniel breaks the silence at the same time I grab for L’s arm and ask, “L, can I possibly borrow a T-shirt? Upstairs? Please?”
Daniel laughs. “Oh! Right, you’d probably want to clean up from the rain. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” As if this is no big deal to him. As if my “goods” aren’t fully visible to anyone who looks an inch below my neck. Maybe I’ve gotten a wrong read on Daniel and he likes men. Or maybe he’s really cool, and way better about handling awkward situations than I am.
“How about you go get dried off; I’ll wait down here, and you can let me know if you need a lift?”
“That sounds good,” I agree, dragging Lawrence up the stairs behind me. We don’t talk until we’re at the top of the stairs in his little apartment bedroom.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Daniel? As in the Daniel I work with, Daniel? You and Ryan sure are keeping it in the family.” I realize the moment
the words are out of my mouth that they sound judgmental, and I bite my lip as I watch L’s expression shutter.
“It’s not like that,” he says.
“I know, I’m sorry. It just caught me by surprise that he was here, you know?”
I finish peeling off my shirt and reach for the tee he’s holding out. I pull it over my head and instantly feel less prickly. “Sorry, L, that came out wrong. It’s not my business. You can see whomever you want, obviously.” And I’m dying to know what he was doing before he was here. I will not ask, I will not . . . “Did, ah, did he say where he was before he stopped here? By chance?” I should just go to jail, I’m a chronic meddler.
L looks completely baffled. “No, the office, I would assume? Or the dance studio? Why?” His tone says he thinks I’m being rude and nosy. Which I am.
Abort, abort. My theory isn’t even formed enough to share with L. “Oh, uh, just wondering, since we have a meeting and I didn’t see his car. But enough about that. I’m here because of you.” I step over to him and offer a small hug. “I’m just worried about you. I saw the news, thought you might need a friend, came to check on you. Honestly. I didn’t mean to crash your party.”
“It’s not a party, it’s a business meeting. Consultation, really. And you weren’t interrupting,” Lawrence insists again, though he returns my squeeze before stepping away. “I think you left a pair of shorts here this summer; I’ll go look in my closet.”
Lawrence is gone a few moments but returns carrying not shorts but a fluffy skirt. Think, Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City.
“Seriously?” I ask him. “No shorts?”
“This is at least a wrap-around, and won’t leave your . . . er . . . assets exposed?” He waggles his perfectly penciled eyebrows.
I grab it with a grumble, shimmy out of my soaked, salmon-colored pedal pushers, and wrap the skirt around myself. “Well?” I ask, presenting myself to Lawrence.
“Fabulous,” he says without batting an eye. “Work, girl.”
“Liar,” I deadpan. “But at least I’m warmer.” I slip my soaked flats back on and sigh. “Where are you headed off to?” I tactfully avoid asking any more about Daniel’s presence.
“Down to the dance studio, actually.” L shuffles his feet. “I’m taking a class to help with my performing.”
“Oh! That’s great!”
“And thanks for stopping by,” Lawrence reaches out and hugs me again. “Helena Bottomcarter was one of Cleopatra’s family, but it doesn’t mean we didn’t know each other. The news has been hard today.”
I gather that Helena was Louis’s stage name and nod. “Yeah, I know you all are a close community. Let me know if I can do anything.”
He gives an empty laugh. “Keep drugs off the streets?”
“I’m trying,” I say, meaning it. I am doing my part. Or more than my part, given I just followed a coworker out of pure curiosity and plan on attending a secret soiree to meet the Golden Arrow. Lawrence doesn’t even know that I attended Cleopatra’s party, or that I may have seen the drugs that killed Louis. This doesn’t seem to be the time to come clean, given we both have places to be and the Golden Arrow himself may be downstairs.
“Sorry I didn’t check in earlier; you should have texted.”
“I know you’ve been busy, I didn’t want to bother you,” L answers, and my heart sinks a little. Here was one of my BFFs, who has been hurting, and I’d not been there for him. Complete friend fail.
“I’m here now, and in fine form.” I wave at myself. “I’ll throw over my meeting if you want to sit and talk.”
“Nah,” Lawrence answers, turning for the stairs. “I really do appreciate it, though. Maybe soon. Right now, I think dancing might clear my head. Plus, I want to drop off the flyers Daniel brought. I’ve been meaning to call about seeing if you want to help with costumes.”
“If I want to help with costumes; L, do you know who you’re talking to? It doesn’t even matter what it is, I’m there.” I take the printed sheet he swipes off his banister and holds out to me. Man, I must really be putting out the “I’m too busy for you” vibe if L hasn’t been able to ask me about something that involves costumes. It’s a staunch reminder that my friends’ lives were happening with or without me.
I read through the flyer as we descend the stairs back to the shop. “Drag-cula Spooktactular. Halloween parade and party,” I read out loud, then fall silent, my eyes scanning the rest of the page as we make our way downstairs and through the door at the bottom. “L, this sounds like so much fun.”
Beyond fun. It’s a talent call for queens of all ages who want to be involved creating and running a float for West Hollywood’s Halloween Carnaval Parade, to be followed by a huge pageant, revue, and drag-themed bash for the rest of the night. I can’t imagine anything more up my alley.
“Seriously,” I say, grabbing his arm as we reach the bottom. “This is a genius idea. You just let me know how you want me to help, and I’ll be there. Promise. How did you come up with this?” The flyer mentions sponsors; this wasn’t just something thrown together on a whim.
L preens with the praise. “Daniel has been helping me come up with some new ideas for how to push my businesses. It’s been really amazing. He’s been really amazing. I want to top whatever stunt Cleopatra has going on and help other queens in the process.” He motions to Daniel, who waves self-consciously.
It takes everything in me to stop short of crowing about my suspicions of Daniel. Getting in with Lawrence. Conveniently working with me. Volunteering for drag events. Seemed like a perfect setup for the Golden Arrow to me.
“No need to thank me; I’m enjoying my foray into new worlds,” Daniel says with an “aw shucks” motion. “My dancers are loving having a new and fun place to perform, and I get to share business ideas with another talented entrepreneur. It’s win-win-win.”
L smiles at Daniel like he owns the sun.
“I didn’t realize you were an entrepreneur,” I say by way of inserting myself back into the conversation. Or a vigilante hero.
“I own the dance studio,” Daniel answers, again like this is NBD, and checks his watch. “Speaking of, you’d better get going if you’re going to make class, L. Give my regards to Harrison.”
“Harrison?” I ask, but my attention is pulled from L’s face to his front door where something white flaps in the glass.
“Harrison is my business partner, and he teaches all the hip-hop classes,” Daniel answers, peering around my shoulder.
“L, your mail is going to get soaked.” I motion to the front of the store.
“I’ll go grab it,” L says, pulling on a jacket. He eyes me. “Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to call you a car?”
“If it’s acceptable to you, I’m happy to drive you to the meeting.” This, from Daniel.
I dither only a moment. Another rumble of thunder from outside decides it for me. Plus, this might give me time to pry, and him time enough to slip up. I need proof before I go to Matteo with my suspicion. “Yeah, a ride would be nice. But, um, do you think we can swing by my house? It’s not far from here, and, well . . . .” I motion to the skirt and tee.
“No problem. I’ll just go grab my keys.” He heads to the back office, and I speed-walk to the front.
By this time, L has returned from outside, his jacket spattered with droplets.
“L, what’s wrong?”
Lawrence stares at the paper in his hands like he’s holding a baby viper.
I shuffle around behind L, since he’s obviously not going to show me on his own. I see what has him rattled—I know these pages. One more glance confirms it; we’re staring at pages from the Casey Senior journal.
Immediately, my gaze flies to Daniel. No. Possible. Way. I almost don’t care that this is too much to be coincidence, and my brain fixates on the immediate concern. The journal. It’s here, manna from heaven for my mystery-obsessed soul.
“Is this all there was?” I ask, grasping the back of the s
hort sheaf of white paper and feeling for a black paper cover. There’s nothing. These are just copies.
“I don’t know, I guess so. Unless more blew away?”
“How long have they been here?” I’m almost manic now. Had the Golden Arrow been here? Right here under our noses? While I was here?
Lawrence and I sprint for the front door at the same time and create a jam in the jamb that would have been comical in a movie but is incredibly painful in real life.
The street is empty. Empty of people, empty of blowing pages, empty of lurking vigilantes.
We retreat into the store and pore over the two photocopied pages. I definitely recognize the hand and vaguely remember seeing them in the journal, but the pages are . . . boring. There’s a scribbled note in one corner and a few doodles of gadgets on another. Some sort of throwing star, a gun that shoots arrows like a crossbow. There’s nothing meaty—no big Hooded Falcon scenes. No finished panels, even. This is a page of straight-up doodles and personal jots. Why on earth would they have arrived on L’s doorstep? The Golden Arrow is losing his touch, or I’m losing mine.
“Why now, why these?” I demand as if Lawrence isn’t just as surprised as me.
“I—I don’t know. Stop shaking my arm, dammit; I can hardly see what we’re looking at,” Lawrence whispers. We’re huddled around the front door, and Daniel is already making his way to the front of the store.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Oh yeah, you know. The usual,” I say brightly, not sure what the usual is.
“People pitching me for money,” Lawrence answers, blithely. I see him start to fold the paper, then think better of it. I’d call the way he tucks the pages under a stack of papers on the front counter loving or tender. L’s rattled about the pages arriving, but as I cast a critical glance over him, he’s also overjoyed that they’ve shown up. Something about these pages—or maybe that it’s any piece of the journal at all—is important to him.
I think back to our conversations about his previous journal—the one stolen out of his home, the one that was his last gift from Casey Senior before he died. L mourned the loss of the journal, his only connection with a man who gave him a start in life. It’s easy to see that its return in any form—the only existing half of it still being in police custody—means the world to him. I’m instantly heartbroken for L and what he’s had to endure for this case. Sure, he caught a killer, but he lost the only keepsake he ever had of the man who took him in off the streets.
The Queen Con (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 2) Page 12