I snorted. “Yeah, but I’m not nearly as nice a person as Portia.”
He grinned. “I enjoy your sassy ways.” Then he sobered. “I just worry.”
“I know you do. And I appreciate it, but everything is under control.”
He looked dubious, but didn’t say anything more. I took that as a good sign.
“You could help me, you know.”
“If I can, I will. You know that.”
I did, but I wasn’t used to this “being able to rely on a man” business. Most of my adult life had been spent on my own, and I liked it that way. I hadn’t expected Lucas to throw a monkey wrench into the situation.
He ordered another round, and we chatted about mundane things: our books, deadlines, upcoming travel. He was headed to Phoenix in two weeks for a thriller writers’ convention. I was going to San Diego in the summer for a romance novelists’ conference. We talked about attending a conference in Florida again, but this time together.
As the night stretched on, the whiskey went to my head, despite the addition of marinated olives, hush puppies, and a charcuterie plate. I had no idea if the food was pre-Prohibition, too, but I doubted it. In any case, it was delicious.
I started thinking about ways to free Portia. Maybe if I could get Bat’s focus off Portia and on to someone else...
Yes, that was it.
Lucas interrupted my train of thought. “What is your devious mind planning now?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said tipsily. “But I think it might be time to head home.”
He nodded and paid for dinner and drinks before helping me with my coat. He walked me home but didn’t ask to come in, and I didn’t invite him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to, but I wasn’t quite ready for that. Plus I had plans.
“See you tomorrow, Viola,” he said softly before bending down to kiss me.
It was a thorough kiss. A swoony kiss. I very nearly lost my balance and toppled off the porch. I stood there for a long time watching him as his car disappeared into the night. Then I shook my head. I had plans to see to. What did old Sherlock say?
The game is afoot!
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke rather fuzzy-brained and disoriented. The pale-blue ceiling came swimming into view, the ornate medallion in the middle from which the chandelier hung finally pulling into focus. My head was throbbing slightly, and my mouth felt like cotton wool. I rarely overindulged—moderation and all that—but apparently those cocktails were stronger than I realized.
I wondered if I should have invited Lucas in after all. I’d hate for him to think I wasn’t interested, but I refused to bow to pressure just because of someone else’s time scale. I wasn’t even sure Lucas cared about time scales. We were doing our own thing, and he seemed fine with it. I think.
I groaned. Thinking hurt my brain. I needed coffee. Lots of it. And then I needed to sit my butt at my computer for a couple hours and get some work done before the memorial service...
I froze.
Memories of the night before flooded my mind. Lucas walking me to the front door. Lucas kissing me. Lucas driving away. Me going inside the house...
No, I didn’t go inside. Instead I drove to Detective Battersea’s place and left a note on the windshield of his car. A murder confession.
“Oh, crap.” I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow. I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Why did I think leaving a murder confession on a cop’s car was a good idea? Granted, it was anonymous, but still. He could totally do a handwriting analysis or fingerprint it or something, and he’d figure out it was me.
No, wait. He’d have to have a sample to compare it to, which he didn’t. And my fingerprints would have to be on file, which they weren’t. So, there was no way he could know I did it, right?
Cheryl would know what to do. Maybe.
I staggered from bed, threw on my fuzzy, blue bathrobe, grabbed my phone, and headed to the kitchen. I needed, like, a thousand gallons of coffee—stat! Unfortunately, standing on my back porch was Detective James Battersea. He was wearing the same yellow and blue tie, and he was holding up my note. With a groan, I tightened my bathrobe belt and swung open the door.
“Viola, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I tried to look innocent and no doubt failed miserably.
He tapped the note right on the spot where my website was printed along the bottom. I’d used my author stationary? I had lost my mind.
I closed my eyes and let out a huge sigh. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“Maybe not. If you can explain this. And if you have coffee.”
“I was about to make some. Come on in.”
While Bat sat at my kitchen table and I made coffee for both of us, I explained my thought process regarding the note. “It was stupid. Really stupid,” I admitted. “I literally can’t believe I did it. But at the time...” I trailed off.
“At the time, it seemed reasonable?”
I sighed. “Yeah. It did. I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll never do it again. It’s not like me at all. I was just so worried about Portia, and I thought if you had a reason to look elsewhere...” I shrugged and handed him a large mug of black coffee, then I sat down with my own sweet and light.
“You’re worried for your friend. I get it,” he said, surprisingly sympathetic. “But you’ve got to let the police handle this. Believe it or not, we do know what we’re doing.”
“I know. I’m an idiot.”
“I’m going to let this go this once, as long as you promise not to do it again. And to let me do my job.”
“I promise.” It wasn’t a lie. I would let him do his job, but I had zero intention of leaving
