Some of the lines around his face and shoulders weakened and his expression grew less somber. A thick, dark brow arched. "Where was Brady? Why was he not there to protect you?"
"He was on a different call. I guess now would be a good time to remind you that I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don't need Brady Jackson following me around for protection."
"Except you, apparently, faced death, and this stranger, this Dave, had to step in and save you." He swept across the room to the windows and gazed out. "Where is he? I want to talk to him."
"How are you going to talk to Dave? May I remind you that you are—" I waved my hand at him, "you know, vapor?"
His scowl returned. "Not Dave. You're intentionally acting like a dimwit to avoid the real truth here—that my descendant is not watching out for you. It was the one thing I've asked of him. I need to talk to him."
"No, you don't need to talk to him. Stop being such a mother hen or, I guess, in your case, rooster."
"Now you're calling me a chicken as well. I can tell you that if I'd been out there—" He pointed at the window, then lowered his hand. His head drooped. He was now in what I lovingly referred to as his melancholy ghost mood. "But I can't be out there. I can't protect you at all."
"Lest you forget, you have protected me inside this house. So you're officially my house protector." I walked closer to him. There were so many times when I badly wanted to place a hand on his arm or shoulder as a show of support. This was one of those times. "Not that I need a protector. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself. This last incident was just one of those one in a million things. It won't happen again."
He lifted his face. Yes, he would have made a great cover for a Regency period romance, I confirmed. "I worry about you in that big, modern world. It's crazy. The human race has gone completely nuts in the past two hundred years."
"You're probably right there. Not that your day was the picture of mental health and stability. Case in point—the man in front of me died in a duel." I moved close enough that I could feel the static air that came along with his image. "Thank you for worrying about me."
He nodded weakly. "I'm still going to talk to him," he said brusquely.
"Argh . . . you are so stubborn." I picked up my cake and headed out of the room. When I glanced back, Edward still lingered, watching me leave.
I smiled at him—but it definitely wasn't a flirty smile. Darn that Lana for always getting in my head.
Death at the Museum
Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery #11
About the Author
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London Lovett is the author of the Port Danby, Starfire and Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery series. She loves getting caught up in a good mystery and baking delicious, new treats!
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