Get a Clue

down the stairs and then crawled fifteen feet away to die.

Unless, of course, it hadn't been the fall that had killed him.

And what about the hole in his chest?

Cooper pulled out a flashlight he'd lifted from the foyer closet and a pair of tweezers he'd gotten from the guest bathroom, and crouched before the body. 'Sorry, buddy,' he murmured, and lifted Edward's shirt, pulling it away from his chest to look at the chest wound.

A small, perfectly round hole. But not, as he'd first thought, a bullet hole. Or at least he didn't think so. The hole was too small, too inconsequential. In fact, he'd have sworn that it had come from a BB gun, given that he'd had many such wounds himself, courtesy of his brother, when they'd been kids.

Which brought up another unsettling point. A BB might hurt like hell-but it wouldn't have killed him, either.

So what had?

***

When Cooper left the cellar, he wasn't too surprised to find the house quiet as a mouse, with no sight of any of the staff. They'd scattered like wild seeds in the wind.

Funny how good they were at disappearing. He just hoped they weren't as good at being criminals.

He came to the main hallway, and heard a faint murmuring, which he followed to the dining room.

The empty dining room. 'Hello?' he called out.

No answer, but he could still hear the voices, faintly but definitely there, coming from… the far wall? Odd, as there was no door there, no closet, nothing but drywall. Putting his ear to it, the voices became recognizable.

Dante and Shelly.

'Shelly, baby, please. Stop crying.'

'I c-can't.' Her voice was more muted than Dante's, as if maybe she had her face pressed to him.

Cooper pulled back and looked around the empty room. Where were they? Leaving the dining room, he strode down the hallway and into the kitchen, which shared the talking wall with the dining room.

The kitchen was also empty.

And yet the soft voices were still audible, coming from… the walk-in pantry.

'I just can't believe it…' came Shelly's voice.

Cooper lifted his hand to knock on the closet door, wanting to alert them to his presence, but Dante spoke again, his voice low and grim.

'He was cruel to you, Shelly. Christ, you feared him and you hated him.'

Cooper's hand lowered.

'But I didn't want him dead!' she cried. 'My God, Dante. I don't want anyone dead.'

'Shh.'

'I won't shh!' Suddenly her voice was no longer muted, as if she'd pulled away. 'This is bad, so bad-'

'Shelly,' Dante said again, softly, so gentle that Cooper had a hard time actually believing it was the tough- looking butler speaking that way. 'Come on, come here.'

The sound of clothes rustling drifted through the door, folic»v ill by a shuddering sigh.

Jesus, Cooper thought, this house saw a lot of action.

'I dreamed of you holding me like this,' Shelly whispered. 'But in my dream it was because you wanted to, not because you were trying to quiet the wigged-out chef.'

'Maybe I do want to be holding you like this.'

'But you haven't.'

'You've only worked here a few months.'

'Long enough.'

'Shelly.' Dante's voice was rough, gravelly. 'I open the front door for a living.'

'So?'

'So you came from a small town. You grew up with money. Hell, you went to that fancy cooking college-'

'What does that matter?'

'Goddammit, I grew up in Watts.'

'I don't care.'

'I was in a gang. I've done things-You know it.'

'You said you left that behind you years ago, when you were still a teenager.'

'I'm still ghetto.'

'No, you're not.'

'Shelly.' Dante let out a disparaging sigh. 'You have people who care about you deeply. I have no one who gives a shit, no one-'

'You have us here. All of us. We all give a… shit.'

'You said shit,' Dante said, sounding both shocked and amused.

'I'll say it again with a bull in front of it if you tell me that our different social backgrounds is what's holding you back from being with me.'

Dante stopped laughing. 'That's what I'm telling you.'

'Then you are a very stupid man, Dante. And not because you open doors for a living.'

'Shelly-'

'Maybe I'm not who you think I am,' she whispered. 'You ever think of that? Maybe I'm less.'

'Or more.'

'Well you won't know unless you look deeper.'

'But-'

'No. Dante, listen to me. I like you. I like you a lot, and idealistic as it sounds, that should be all that matters!'

'It is idealistic.'

'And here I thought you were so brave-'

Her words were suddenly cut off, and if Cooper wasn't mistaken, they were cut off by Dante's mouth-that is, if the slurping, kissing noises coming through the door meant anything.

Cooper resisted thunking his head against the wall, though he knew exactly how Dante felt, as if he'd just been handed a winning lotto ticket. He knew because he'd felt that way last night when Breanne had flung herself into his bed and his arms, and had stayed there all night. He knew because he'd felt it again this morning, and in the library, so he really hated to interrupt. But there was a dead guy downstairs who hadn't died of natural causes and couldn't ask his own questions, and Cooper felt honor bound to get those answers for him.

'Oh, my God,' Shelly gasped, not sounding like she was crying anymore, but breathless for another reason entirely. 'Oh, Dante.'

Dante murmured something back to her in his South American native tongue, and Shelly sighed dreamily. 'That sounds so sexy,' she whispered. 'Say it again.'

Dante obliged her, then let out a rough groan. 'No, don't-' He swore lavishly in Spanish. 'Stop.'

'Stop?' Shelly asked incredulously.

'Not in a closet.' Dante sounded tortured. 'Not with you.'

'Why?'

'Because you're different.'

'Different good?'

Dante's laugh was low. Baffled. 'Yeah, different good. Jesus, Shelly.'