The sounds of scuffle—Obi Wan disarming the ruffian threatening Luke—return us to reality, and we turn to regard the screen. Matteo’s hand falls off my knee, and he sits back, intentionally putting distance between our bodies. I don’t blame him. My own chest is rising and falling faster than sitting on a couch warrants. That was some sort of intense moment, and I know we need to focus on why we’re here, not give in to my urges to make out on the couch.
“So do you guys do this every weekend?” It’s a casual question for Matteo to ask, but I sense he’s going somewhere with this, like he just read my thoughts. Are we that in tune?
Kyle grabs a pillow off the couch, presses pause on the remote, and leans against the coffee table, Nina snuggling under one arm. “Nah. Once or twice a year.”
“It seems like there’s so much I need to learn,” Matteo says, eyes still glued to the TV. “What did you watch last weekend? I need to start keeping a list.” Matteo not only has an ulterior motive, but he’s a skilled professional when it comes to gaining information and feeling out alibis.
Kyle laughs. “We’ll get you squared away. We actually didn’t watch anything last weekend. Nina had her fifteen-year high school reunion, and I took work along for the hotel.”
“It was so romantic,” Nina intoned, not batting an eye.
Matteo muffles a laugh with a cough. “I bet. Was the hotel nice, at least?”
“Holiday Inns aren’t too bad. Good Wi-Fi.”
Nina ignores him. “We were in San Diego. The weather was awful, though. Kyle actually left the party really early and drove back up here because he worried about moving his artwork around in the rain.”
Only I see Matteo’s attention snap to Kyle. Because I can read him now too, I know he’s wondering if Kyle was up in LA in enough time to get to the warehouse district. But has he seen Kyle? The guy couldn’t wrestle a squirrel. He’s shorter than me, wiry, and about as nonthreatening as Trogdor. Not to mention that I found out about the sword fighting, which shoots my theory to hell.
“It’s my job to care about my art,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes. “Now quiet. This part is so great.”
“Maybe you were late for a sword fighting lesson?” I ask sweetly, batting my eyes at Kyle.
“No—wait. How did you? Nina, did you tell her?” Kyle eyes Nina with mock horror.
“I asked her to make you and Simon costumes, so relax.” Nina rolls her eyes, shoves a chip in her mouth, and turns back to the TV.
“It’s no big deal,” I say, “but it sure puts my mind at ease about why I found cardboard tubes under my desk the other day. But what do you need duct tape for? I assumed it was something kinky. Now I’m assuming it’s something dorky.” I hope Matteo’s picking up my intentional mention of the clues.
Simon’s face has turned red now too. “The duct tape holds our cardboard armor on. I didn’t realize you saw that stuff.”
“Cardboard . . . armor?” Matteo looks between Simon and me, completely baffled.
I make a show of turning to Matteo. “You see, it turns out that Kyle and Simon are learning to sword fight and make ropes and draw pictures like medieval times. It’s called role-playing.”
Matteo turns to Kyle, comprehension dawning on his face. “You said an old lady hit you. Is this actually what happened to your arm?”
Kyle chugs the rest of his beer in what I take as a ploy to look more manly. “Sword fighting. Yeah.”
Simon cackles with glee. “It really was an old lady. Kyle got his ass handed to him.”
“Hey, man, you have to partner with her next week, so shut up.” Kyle tosses the empty can onto the coffee table.
“So you guys have been fake sword fighting with old ladies.” Matteo looks part gleeful and part disappointed. Exactly my feeling. No lead on the Golden Arrow, but a damn fine story.
Simon scoffs, acting offended. “Sword fighting is hard. And we do other stuff too. We’re learning to write with quill and ink, illuminations, stuff like that. There are guilds and crafts, and it’s all very historically accurate. Scientific, even.”
This doesn’t mean that Kyle or Simon can’t be the Golden Arrow; it just makes it less likely. I’m relieved but bummed. I never wanted Kyle or Simon to be the vigilante, but here we are back at square one. At a dead end with no promising leads.
“Can we go back to watching the movies, please?” Kyle shoots Nina another dirty look and presses play just in time for my favorite scene: Han in the cantina.
I usually roll my eyes about the alien-Muppet costumes, but this time is better because I get to watch Matteo recognize young Harrison Ford. And again, I get the distinct impression that he’s truly enjoying this, even if he’s also finding a way to question each of the couples about their past few weekends. When he gets up to use the restroom after the first movie, I wonder if it’s to make notes.
“You guys are cute together.” By the accent, I assume it’s Tej’s wife behind me. She went to the door to grab pizza between films.
I smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ve seen you before at work functions and at the office Christmas party, and you always seemed so reserved. Focused on work. I don’t know you well, but I can tell you’re different around him.”
She may not know me well, but she’s hit the nail on the head, and that freaks me out. I am different around Matteo. Where I’m usually too busy to take time away from furthering my career, Matteo is a breath of fresh air in my life I didn’t even know I needed. Something to turn me on my head and give me a fresh perspective. I always tell myself how happy I am with my party of one, but tonight I’ve glimpsed a version of me that would hang out for movie marathons with coworkers. He’s opened my eyes to some of what I’ve been missing to uphold my persona at work. I’d never have come except for Matteo, and I realize just how lonely a party of one can be sometimes. How can one person affect me so much in a matter of a week?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I seize the opportunity to escape. “I’m sorry. I have to go grab this.” I hold the phone to my ear even though I received a text message, say “Hello?” loudly enough to be heard, and step out the front door.
The text from Matteo is short:
Come upstairs.
I wait a few moments for effect, then head back inside, shooting a quick glance to the kitchen, where the pizza is quickly disappearing. No one will miss me.
I find Matteo in a bedroom upstairs standing at a closet. He’s not just taking notes; he’s snooping.
“Isn’t this illegal?” I hiss, poking my head back out the door to make sure no one followed me upstairs.
“I got lost on my way to the bathroom. Come look at this.”
I stand beside him and peer into the closet. Costumes of all types line the wall. Including a Hooded Falcon, complete with hooded cape. I chew my lip. “We go to a lot of conventions. It’s a part of the job.”
“There you guys are. The second movie is starting,” Nina’s voice comes from the doorway, and I jump about a mile high.
“Oh, um, we were just . . .”
Nina gives me a bawdy wink. “It’s fine. I see you’ve discovered our costume closet. We just got that Hooded Falcon one last week off eBay. I thought it would be fun for Kyle to go as the Falcon for the anniversary gala, although I’m going to have to do some sizing work. Maybe you could help with that, MG. Right now Kyle would trip and fall on his face, the cape is so long. Are we going to get to see you in costume, Matteo?”
I shoot Matteo a look. “Oh, I, um, I’ve already invited my friend Lawrence.” I haven’t even thought about inviting Matteo to my work party. Silly me, as I didn’t have a fake boyfriend two weeks ago when I invited Lawrence.
“Maybe I’ll just have to change her mind about that. I look dashing in a cape, or so I imagine.” Matteo plays the ever-doting boyfriend and pulls me against his chest. My heart does somersaults. I bet he does look dashing in a cape.
“Second movie is starting!” Kyle yells from the living room.
> “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to miss anything.” Matteo grabs my arm, and we follow Nina downstairs where we settle back onto the couch. I end up leaning against the armrest, my feet across Matteo’s lap. It’s cozy, and some of my ruffled feathers settle. I’m fairly certain Kyle isn’t the Golden Arrow. He and Simon never seem particularly up for fighting crime in the real world. They’re more fit for the Dork Squad than the Justice League. The case remains a mystery. My gaze returns to Matteo.
Watching the second movie is just as endearing as the first, even as I mull over the case in my head. And my fake boyfriend. I’m a little afraid he’s taken my heart by surprise and not just my mind.
CHAPTER 15
I bang my head slowly on the desk in hopes of reawakening all my carefully cultivated brain cells. Ever since the work party this weekend, my mind has been a gooey mess of crime stories gone wrong, developing L’s costume for Comic-Con, and hot cop fantasies instead of focusing on the circus of deadlines parading through my week. I still haven’t started my Hero Girls pages, and the rough outlines are due to Andy by Wednesday. I’m still fiddling with the ending for my Hooded Falcon pages—those are headed to the printer for a test run on Friday, come hell or high water. And speaking of, I still haven’t said a word to Andy, even though it’s 2:00 p.m. on Monday and we’ve been in the office all day together. My mind feels stuck, swirling, and I blame it all on Matteo. So what if I like him? More than like him. No biggie, just solve something the DEA and LAPD can’t crack; then I can ask him out. There’s no reason for this creative stagnation and romantic angsting. Especially since I’ve heard zero from Matteo since I dropped him off at his house after the party. He’s obviously not pining personally or professionally. No updates on the clues. No updates on the warehouse. Nada.
I’ve been drowning my woes in sewing sequins . . . something that normally drives me batty but has been like a life raft for my fingers, which have been itching to pick up the phone.
“Yo, MG. You all right?” This from Simon, who has removed his headphones and can hear me banging my head.
Show no weakness. Give no quarter. “Yep.” I continue to bang my forehead.
He pauses. “You don’t look okay.”
“You’ve obviously never seen creative genius at work.” I sit up and slap my palm to the desk, sick of my own mental waffling. Would Buffy just sit home and wait for a vampire to show up? No, ma’am. She’d strap on her favorite halter and go patrolling. It’s time for stomping boots. I’m going to get my work done. Then I’m calling Matteo to ask for an update. Yes, calling.
As if summoned by my thought, my phone buzzes, and Lawrence’s face pops up on my screen. One of the only people I ever answer for; God help me if I ever take a call from my mother again. I forgo formalities because he’s my bestie and I know why he’s calling. “Sorry I didn’t deliver those costumes last night. I ended up restitching that cummerbund. Twice. I’ll get everything to you Friday before the show, I promise.”
Silence greets my words.
“L? Did you pocket dial me?”
“Did you come to my house last night?”
“I—what? No. I didn’t get a chance to drop off the costumes. Why?” A chill of foreboding makes its way down my spine.
“I don’t know. I think someone was in the shop. It’s very strange. A few things are moved, but all the money is here.”
My mind goes back to my room, where I felt the exact same sensation. My stuff had been moved, but nothing taken. Surely this couldn’t have anything to do with the case? That would be ridiculous. Yet . . .
I probably should come clean to Lawrence. Tell him about the case, about Matteo. About how I told the police about Lawrence’s journal. Could Matteo be the one who broke into Lawrence’s? Can cops even do that? Or maybe the dirty cop is responsible. Or . . . the Golden Arrow. My paranoia’s amping up because it seems like I am at the center of this somehow. That the Golden Arrow is watching me and those I love. Watching the case. Watching but waiting for . . . what? Better to ask Matteo first then talk to Lawrence.
Time to throw some shade, even though it kills me to do it. Stall tactic. “Do you think you’re being paranoid?” I don’t; Lawrence is probably spot-on. But what if Lawrence ends up like that hanging dummy? I need to talk to Matteo, stat.
“Maybe.” Lawrence doesn’t sound convinced.
“I’ll see you tonight, right? We can talk more about it then. Just . . . make sure to double-lock your door. Maybe it was some homeless person who got in and took a nap on your couch again.” I force my voice to be bright and cheery.
I hang up just as a text message comes through. As if called by my bat signal, Matteo’s name appears.
Scheduled interview with your boss at the station. Can you be here around 3 to watch on closed circuit? You might have to prompt comic book questions if it’s needed.
I punch my affirmative reply and straighten my shoulders. I’m Janeway. Captain of my own destiny. I have things to do, friends to save, and gold lamé hot pants to finish before the show tonight. That thought lifts my doom and gloom a smidgen. Sometimes glitter and men in drag are exactly what a girl needs to be set right again.
And sometimes all it takes to make your day is seeing your jerk of a boss in an interrogation room at the police department. The satisfaction I feel watching him nervously sip the water on the table makes up for a lot of the grief he’s given me over the years. I’m heady with power as I realize I can have Matteo ask him anything I want. I fight the urge to do a villain laugh. I will use my powers for good, but I’m going to watch him sweat first.
Literally. Casey Junior is a big-boned man, and I can see beads of sweat forming at his receding hairline. He keeps his head buzzed to hide his balding, but the dark stubble forms a wicked widow’s peak. Otherwise he looks comfortable in his navy suit and brown shoes. Always together. Always the boss. Even when he’s nervous.
“Thanks for agreeing to speak with us,” I hear Matteo’s voice before I see him on the compact TV screen. He tucks his tie as he slides into the chair across from Edward Casey Junior.
I’m in the next room but could be watching this anywhere. Rideout is supposed to be watching with me to pass along any questions I have, but so far I haven’t seen him. Not that I’m too bothered by it. We already had a small powwow and decided Matteo would question Casey alone, unless he thought he needed a “bad cop” to play against.
Casey gives Matteo a winning smile despite his moisture. “Anything for the LAPD. Though I can’t think why you would need to interview me, I’m happy to give my time.” Add “always the politician” to his list of attributes.
“Well, we have a fascinating case on our hands that seems to be something in the way of your expertise. We could think of no one better to ask advice from.”
“Oh. Ask away.” Casey Junior’s shoulders relax instantaneously. His face gains color. Matteo’s methods are spot-on; even I know that a relaxed suspect shares more information. Let him think we’re on his side then wham-o. Got your nose.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the news about this Golden Arrow?” I can see only part of Matteo’s face—the camera is aimed mostly at Casey—but by the set of Matteo’s shoulders, he’s watching Casey as closely as I am for any hint that he knows more than he should.
Casey barely covers up a snort of derision. “That lunatic probably makes your job hard to do these days. Damn shame, but it’s driving up Genius business, so I can’t complain. How can I help?”
“Well, we think the Golden Arrow may be taking on the persona of one of your superheroes. We’re hoping you can shed light on why they may have picked this particular comic book.”
“I’ll do what I can, of course, but there’s no point in trying to figure out why someone who is mentally unbalanced does whatever they do. They could have picked any superhero.”
“We think there’s more to it than that. That’s where you come in. The vigilante has been busting drug dealers and re-creating panels fro
m one of the last Hooded Falcon issues your father published before he died. Do you know if your father wrote about any real crimes at all? We’re looking for a connection between this drug ring and the comics your father wrote.”
This question stops Casey dead in his tracks. He swallows noisily and sits back, jovial manner gone. “I, uh, that’s an interesting question to ask. Certainly he was inspired by real events. Constantly poring over the newspaper for inspiration. But what does that have to do with what you’re investigating?”
The warning light in my head flashes. There’s something more here.
“Here’s the thing: the media isn’t reporting this because we haven’t released the information, but there was a note at the first scene that indicated a connection to Genius Comics. At the most recent warehouse bust, there was a white rabbit spray-painted both at the scene of the crime and on a suspect. We’re trying to determine if there’s a real White Rabbit out there, and you are one of the only people who would be able to help us with that, Mr. Casey.”
Dead silence. I didn’t expect Matteo to take this tack at all. It raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He hasn’t asked about a costume or an alibi. He’s gone in with my suspicions and gone in swinging, presenting them like fact and not wild speculation. Calculated, professional, to the point. This is Detective Kildaire in all his glory, traces of “my” Matteo gone.
“I . . . You’re sure?” He doesn’t seem surprised. His ashen face looks closer to terrified.
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 14