“I love—” Every single thing about you. Even the oddities and cavalier approach to death. Especially the cavalier approach to death. Also these feelings are impossible. We only just met. “—how you taste.”
“Like steak and confidence,” she declared, and then giggled as he huffed laughter against her neck.
“Ava.” He slipped his hands under her shirt, up her back, cupped the smooth warm flesh of her shoulder blades. “I have to tell you something about myself.”
“Are you the killer?”
“No.”
“The vandal?”
“No. I don’t know why anyone vandalizes. So inefficient.”
“Planning to kill, fold, spindle, or maim me?”
“Never.”
“Do you have a secret family in Canada?”
“Not anymore.”
“Don’t care, then. More kissing, please.”
He obliged, to their mutual delight.
Forty-Two
THE LIST
Bottle Tom’s kisses somehow, market to public, make fortune
Moisturizer [sigh]
Corner Becka like a rat and wring a confession out of her
Or clear her
More kissing
She’d just finished shrugging into her sleuthing outfit (tan shorts, red sleeveless blouse, black flats, frizz going every which way because argh humidity) when she heard a brisk knock.
Excellent! And right on time, which came as no surprise. She darted across the room and checked the peephole. Nothing.
Disappointing.
She looked again.
Nope.
So she opened the door and craned her neck to check the—
“Are you trying to be the sacrificial lamb?”
“Ack!”
Tom frowned and shouldered his way past her into the room. “I cannot believe you opened the door.”
“It’s kind of necessary, since I don’t actually live here and need to periodically emerge for moisturizer and airport runs and sleuthing. And you said you’d be right back!”
He’d spent the night, at his insistence; she’d let him talk her into it. Something-something danger, something-something not taking any chances with her safety, etcetera. They had another smoking snogging session, then slept apart, her in the king-size in the bedroom, him on the foldout in the small sitting room. She’d regaled him with more Hazelden/airline mishaps; he’d talked about his work, his pride in and worry for Hannah, his friendship with Abe. They’d commiserated over dead loved ones. Probably no one’s ideal of a first date—if that’s what it was—but it worked for them.
Tom, meanwhile, was still standing with his arms folded across his chest, frowning. “Even if the killer is not affiliated with Becka, he’s fixated on you, Ava. What you just did is incredibly reckless.”
She opened her hand, showed him what was in it, hit the fulcrum lever, and with a flick of her wrist, the blade snapped out.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Gravity knife with a 3.25-inch blade. Titanium?”
“Yeah.”
The frown eased but didn’t disappear. “I still think you took a risk.”
“Tom. Honey. I’m a pilot. That doesn’t mean I’m reckless, but it doesn’t mean I’m risk-averse, either. It’s literally my job to manage risks in order to keep my crew and passengers safe. And if you think I’m going to hide behind locked hotel room doors—or in the air—until the killer is stomped, then you don’t know me at all.” She paused. “Which, given that it’s been a week, wouldn’t be a mark against you. But either way, that’s where it stands. Speech over.”
“I liked it when you called me honey.”
“Good to know, honey-bunny.”
He snorted, then sobered. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you. Again.”
“You’re looking out for me. I’ve got nothing to complain about. Well, at this particular moment in time, at least. And where’s my kiss? Look, I’ll put the knife away so a smooch is slightly less dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I minded danger,” he murmured, stepping close and giving her a kiss that managed to be chaste and delicious at the same time. “Also, when we know each other better, I would not be averse to you relieving me of my virginity.”
“Well, I’m here to hel—what?”
He drew back. “You hadn’t guessed?”
“Are you kidding?” The word kept reverberating in her brain, turning it into
virginity virginity virginity does not compute virginity virginity BUT ALL THE HOTNESS THO!!!!
a clanging echo chamber. “Have you seen you? Have you kissed you?”
“No. And no. Obviously.”
“Have you—” She gestured to his face, his shoulders, his legs, all of him, every bit of him, each and every yummy part of him. “—seen all this? I wouldn’t have guessed in a hundred years.”
“I have some experience,” he said candidly. “But I identify as demisexual.”
“Okay. However you’re comfortable. It’s all fine.”*
He sighed and employed the family mind-reading trick. “Which does not mean I am attracted to demons.”
“I wasn’t thinking that!”
His hands settled on her shoulders. “It means I’m only aroused by someone I have an emotional connection with. And making such connections was always difficult for me, so I put my focus elsewhere. Work had been my priority until Hannah was born; now my priorities are my family and my work. So finding a partner under those circumstances is … difficult.”
“I can see that, sure. So you’ve dated, and you’ve liked some women enough to try a few things, but no one’s ever completely, uh, devirginized you?”
“Good God. Please tell me you don’t think that’s the technical term.”
And then. The eureka moment: “That’s why you’re such a good kisser! It’s your go-to move. And when your focus isn’t on going all the way, you can get really good at the other stuff.”
“So this … situation … poses no difficulty for you?”
“Are you kidding?” One shock was following another, except, for a nice change, they were good shocks. “First, I’m flattered that you’re willing to share yourself with me, emotionally and physically. So incredibly flattered. To an insane level, the flattery. Second, I get to be the first person to do any number of delicious things to you? It’s like winning sexual lotto!”
He burst out laughing. “I’m relieved you’re pleased. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever been so pleased about my condition.”
“Ew, never call it that again. You don’t have the mumps, for God’s sake. So now that that’s out of the way, what’s next?”
“In what way?”
“In the nonsexual way, you virginal perv.”
“Already I regret confiding in you. But yes. Absolutely. Except.” He gave her another long, sweet kiss, and they were both just a bit out of breath when it was done. “There.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been depriving the world of you.”
He snorted. “As you would say, ‘aw, that’s sweet.’ Meanwhile, I’m having trouble believing you’re real. You really—ouch.”
“See?” She pinched him again. “Real. Need more proof?”
“No. I’m relieved—ouch!”
“Yeah, this whole Ava-and-Tom team-up is definitely going to be a mixed blessing for you.”
“Intriguing and frightening. Perfect.”
She was about to retort when her phone vibrated; she reached for her phone and nearly dropped it when she saw who was calling.
“Dennis! Fucking finally.”
“Excellent.”
Forty-Three
Except it wasn’t Dennis, and it wasn’t excellent.
“What did you do?” Xenia shrilled in her ear at such a pitch, Ava abandoned the idea of putting her phone on speaker.
“Xenia? What are you talking about? Are you okay? Where’s Dennis?”
“I’m asking you, bitch!”
“I know!”
“You—well, that would explain why he hasn’t called me back. Xenia, I haven’t seen him since I drove him to the funeral home to scope the vandal damage. God’s truth, not a peep—no texts or calls or messages.”
“Liar,” she hissed.
“I was starting to get worried.”
“Liar.”
With an effort, she ignored the redundancy. Come on. Dennis’s cell doesn’t just make calls; it has a thesaurus. Just like yours. Dissembler. Falsifier. Deceiver. Mix it up a little! “But if you haven’t seen him and he didn’t take his phone—wait, how did you get it?”
“The funeral home called. He left it there.”
“Wait, just now? Or it’s been there for a couple of days?”
“How should I know?” she shrilled.
“Xenia, I think it’s time to call the cops.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, actually.” Beat. “Wouldn’t you?”
“So you can play the victim again.”
“I have never—”
“All anyone at Dani’s funeral could talk about was how hard this was on you.”
“Xenia, you weren’t even at Danielle’s funeral.” Wait, was Xenia mad because Dennis was missing, because Ava had been calling Dennis, because Dennis might have been murdered, because Danielle was murdered, or because people felt sorry for Ava and the Monahans? “And trust me, I wasn’t the focus.”
Sure, the mourners and the kids at school had thrown a lot of sympathy her way. Which was hardly out of line—she and Danielle had been best friends. They did everything together, shared everything, even the same job. Everyone knew that, from Dennis all the way down to people who barely knew them, like what’s-his-name, the funeral home scion.
“Xenia, check with his family to make sure they haven’t heard from him—”
“They haven’t! They’re beside themselves!”
“Then call the police. And don’t go through Missing Persons, call—” She blinked. Tom was holding up his phone so she could read from the screen. “Detective Gary Springer in Major Crimes, 651-266-5500, and tell him Dennis has been missing for four days. Then we—hello?” She stared at the phone, then looked up at Tom. “Silly bitch hung up on me. It’s like an epidemic. An epidemic of poor phone etiquette. Started by me,” she admitted.
“So then: Dennis is apparently a missing person or a person of interest. Or both.”
“She said the funeral home called. And I’ll tell you what, if she doesn’t call the cops within the hour, I’m going to.” Ava stood there and thought, but nothing clarified. “Y’know, I haven’t been to a funeral home in almost five days. I might be going into funeral home withdrawal.”
“We can fix that.”
Forty-Four
Tom pulled up to the funeral home and shut off the engine. When Ava didn’t immediately look up, he tapped her knee. “Ava.”
She started, then immediately dropped her phone back in her purse. “What? I wasn’t googling ‘demisexual.’”
“You are the worst liar. God forbid you have another engine fail and have to inform your passengers. ‘Nobody fret and both engines are definitely functioning, just don’t look out any of the port windows.’”
“Ha! You know that’s happened to me, and it all worked out fine. Besides, most planes fly just fine with one engine. It’s just that engineers are big fans of redundancy, and thank goodness. I’ve never said ‘one of our engines is dead, completely dead, so buckle up, l’il hombres, you’re now one of the flying dead!’”
“Good God.”
“There are things even I wouldn’t say. But I’ve said ‘one of the engines is indicating improperly.’ And we landed just fine. Honestly, it was just another day. Besides all the paperwork. There’s so much paperwork if even the tiniest detail—”
“No one in their right mind would consider engine failure a tiny detail. What other emergencies have you dealt with?”
“You really want to hear?”
“Of course I do. How often have you listened to one of my macabre murder stories?”
“Yeah, but those are fun. Horrible, but fun.”
“Exactly.”
“Remember when I told you I’d seen people have heart attacks on planes twice, once when I was captain? Well, the other time was a year before I made captain. We had an engine fail and a heart attack on board. Unrelated, but I was wondering if we were gonna be in the middle of a Michael Crichton–style cascade of events. Jurassic Park on a Plane or something just as nightmarish.”
“So a millions-to-one event has happened to you in the air … twice.”
“It’s not the mechanical malfunctions that are rare, just the medical emergencies. Ugh, I said ‘just,’ like medical emergencies are no biggie. Anyway, Captain Vang did the ‘engine indicating improperly’ speech and we were cleared for an emergency landing. In Daytona, ugh.”
“Clearly the worst part of the ordeal.”
“Tell me. So Captain Vang’s got it all under control, which is exactly what I would have expected because he was awesome—he’s retired now, and if anyone earned a peaceful retirement, it’s him. He got in touch with ground medical services, and we knew there’d be an ambulance waiting when we touched down. So he asked me to go back in case the flight attendants needed another pair of hands—this was before we flew with defib machines, so CPR was manual. And as you probably know, that’s quite a workout.
“So I go back and I relieve one of the flight attendants for a couple of minutes, and this poor little kid is crying because her dad’s going into cardiac arrest right in front of her, and nobody can calm her down, so I did what I always do—”
“Took refuge in inappropriate humor?”
“Gosh, however did you guess? Anyway, the guy actually comes around, we give him oxygen, he’s coherent enough to give his kid a thumbs-up, I talk to her for a couple more minutes and explained that we had the best medical care all lined up for him and he’d be whisked to the hospital—in Daytona, but you know what they say about beggars and choosers—and then I went back to the cockpit to give Vang a sitrep and we landed and the guy turned out fine. And his kid, this adorable little strawberry blonde, just gloms onto me when we’re all finally on the tarmac and starts asking what classes you have to take to be a pilot, and I eventually peeled her off me and helped her and her mom into the car the airline provided for them, and away they went.”
“Remarkable.”
“It was a busy morning,” she agreed. “And I guess we’d better get back to ours.”
They got out of Tom’s van and headed into the funeral home, their idea to kill time while setting up the Becka intervention (“We think you might be in league with a killer, and it’s affected our lives in the following ways…”). They might not get any closer to finding Dennis, but it was better than waiting around for the next awful thing to be set in motion.
* * *
“Hello again, Ava.”
Blinking in the sudden gloom—damn, it was sunny outside—Ava didn’t immediately place him until he came closer.
“Hi, Pete. This—” She started to introduce Tom, who was inexplicably facedown on the carpet before she could finish with “… is my lover, or he will be when I devirginize him.”
Taser, she thought, staring. Pete was holding a dull black electroshock weapon little bigger than his hand, from which he’d fired two electrodes and their conductors. Both were now trapped beneath Tom, who had gone over like he’d fallen off a cliff. He was waiting for me. But he didn’t count on Tom. And, out loud: “Oh, shit.”
“Well put,” Pete agreed.
Forty-Five
“Wh-wh-why-what-wh-”
“Articulate as ever,” Pete said with a thin smile. “Just like when we were in high school.”
“We weren’t in school together, you cock!”
/> “Yes, we were!” This in a high-pitched scream that was almost as shocking as watching Tom succumb to fifty thousand volts. She didn’t dare look down at him; she needed to keep her focus to fill the time.
Meanwhile, Pete had visibly calmed himself. “We were. For two years. I graduated at the end of your sophomore year. You didn’t remember me then, just like you didn’t remember me at the nursing home or last week or probably next week, if you were still alive next week.”
Past tense. Aw, c’mon, spoiler alert! “So it’s my fault you’re…” Boring? Forgettable? Uninteresting? Inconsequential? The human equivalent of dryer lint? “… introverted?”
“Ah, yes, the new feel-good term for shy people. Sure. Introverted.”
“Pete—why?”
His narrow face twisted, and she could see he wanted to shout at her again. When he spoke, his voice was noticeably strained. “Don’t do that. You know. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Pete: I promise; I’m clueless. Ask anyone. You and I weren’t close and you barely knew Danielle. You haven’t even seen me for a decade. Besides, you were so calm at the memorial. Remember? There’s—there was nothing there.”
“Wrong,” he said coldly, and she had a flashback to the word written in Danielle’s ashes.
“Jesus, you trashed the funeral home, too,” she realized. “But why?”
“No, I just finished trashing it.”
“Wait, what?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be Dani,” he muttered, and she made a note to get her hearing checked, because she was having trouble following him. It’s probably not your ears, her inner self soothed. It’s him, because he’s crazy.
“What are you saying?”
“It was supposed to be you!”
For the first time, she noticed how wretched he looked. The dapper guy in the pricey clothes who lived a nice life abroad was gone. Now he was in faded jeans and an old T-shirt, sneakers, no socks. Ironically, seeing him slouching around in what had essentially been his high school uniform helped a memory click home.
“Is this because of the nursing home?”
“You know it is! Stop pretending otherwise.”
Truth, Lies, and Second Dates Page 19