I feel him next to me, watching me as I lean over and throw something away. “You finally getting rid of your mother’s shit?”
Ignoring him would be ideal, but that’s impossible with Dorian Buchanan. “Going through it all.”
“You’ve gotten rid of the boxes. Good.” From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “Having all of that crap in here makes you look like a crazy person.”
Ignore him, Daisy. “Uh-huh” is all I say.
He moves to my desk and sits in my office chair, then wiggles the mouse to wake up my computer. It’s password protected, so he can’t see what I’ve got on my computer. “You gonna show me what you’ve written in the last week?”
No. That’s what I’d like to say, but it won’t fly. Besides, the sooner I show him what I’ve got, the faster he’ll leave. Tossing another magazine into the trash bag, I stand and make my way to the desk. I pause in front of him, waiting for him to give me my chair. He rises but doesn’t go far, which makes me tense.
Typing in my password, I make a mental note to change it again as soon as he leaves. Fortunately, the file is already open. Standing, I let him take the seat again so he can read what I’ve got. I know what’ll happen next. He’ll begin questioning some of my findings. He always does. Always. And 99 percent of the time, he’s wrong. Every once in a while, he’ll catch something I missed, but not very often.
“I’m not sure about this paragraph.”
See?
“Which paragraph?” I ask as I reach for the folder that holds my research.
“This one, about Hemingway’s sister, Ursula.”
“What about her?” I already know what he’s going to say.
“She didn’t kill herself. She died of cancer.”
Yes, she did kill herself, but arguing with my father does no good. Instead, I open my research folder and pull out the information on Ursula. “Here.” I hand it to him. As he reads, I return to my stack.
“I’ll be…,” he mumbles to himself.
“Yep.”
“What about—”
I don’t know what he’s going to question next because there’s a knock on my door. I cringe.
No. Not now.
The last thing I want is my dad to see I’ve made cookies for someone. A man. But when the knock sounds again, I know I’ve got to get it before my father does.
Quickly, I make my way to the door. Peeking out the peephole, I don’t see Gage. It’s the other one. Sighing, I pull the door open and put a fake smile on my face. “Oh, hey.” Like I’m surprised to see him.
“I can’t stop thinking about the cookies,” he says with a smile. It’s a nice smile. Not as nice as Gage’s but still….
“Sure.”
I step into my kitchen to retrieve my plastic container when my dad hisses in my ear, “What the fuck is a cop doing here?”
First of all, even though my dad is a cheat and a liar, he rarely cusses.
“I made them cookies.”
“Why is he here?”
“Oh.” I can’t believe my father doesn’t know. “They’re across the hall, investigating.”
“Investigating what?” He’s still whispering, sort of.
“My neighbor was murdered.”
Dad’s eyes grow round. “And you didn’t bother to call me?”
I raise a brow. “Why would I?”
“Because, Daisy.” He says my name with contempt. Like always. “You know why. You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s fine. Gage says—” Oops. I’m not going there.
“Gage? Who the hell is Gage?”
“I am.”
We both turn to see the one and only Officer Gage Golden in all his police uniformed glory. Except he’s not wearing the same uniform as he did the first night. No. Today he’s in dress pants and shirt with a jacket. He looks nice.
“You just let yourself in?” my dad snaps.
“The door was open. Finch was inside.” Gage shrugs. “Plus, Daisy sounded distressed.”
I did?
“May I ask who you are, sir?” Gage asks.
“No,” my dad says gruffly.
Not wanting this to get out of hand, I say quickly, “This is my father, Dr. Dorian Buchanan.” He prefers I say the entire name. Hell, he prefers everyone say his entire name. The “doctor” part is very important to him.
“Right.” Gage holds his hand out to my father, but Dad doesn’t move. It’s like he’s refusing to shake it.
Doing my best to end this little standoff, I hand the entire container of cookies to Gage. “Here.” It’s sad, really. I love that container, but I can replace it. “Take these.”
Gage reaches out and takes it. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks, Daisy.”
From behind Gage, the other cop says, “Yeah. Thanks, Daisy.”
“You’re welcome.”
I follow them both until they’re out the door. Shutting it behind them, I close my eyes, waiting for what’s to come. I don’t have to wait too long.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Daisy?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say as I turn to face him.
“Inviting strange men in here?” He points downward. “To my apartment?” The sneer on his face is ugly. Almost as ugly as he is in the inside. “I’ve warned you—”
“I know.” I nod. “You’ll stop paying for this place if I can’t abide by your rules.” Which is why I’m moving. As soon as this book is done, I’m out of here.
“That’s right.” He steps closer, lowering his voice as he goes. “I’ve warned you.”
I nod. He has. Many times.
“And yet here you are inviting men into my home.”
“I—” What? I’m not sure what to say in response. “I’m sorry.” Don’t judge. The only reason I said that was to hopefully end this conversation so he’ll leave.
“You should be.” Dad’s voice softens. “You should have told me about your neighbor.”
“It was on the news.”
“You know I don’t watch television.”
No. My dad is one of those snobby people who thinks television is beneath him.
“I’m sure it was in the paper.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Daisy Fay.”
“Sorry.” Not sorry. Please leave.
“I need to go. I’ve got an interview.”
Of course he does.
Moving toward the door, he reaches for the knob, then turns
