Coop stuck her tongue out at him. “So does cereal, don’t you agree?”
Livingston groaned. “I’m an owl, Coopie. Do ya have any idea how hard ’tis to eat cereal when ya have to peck at it like a hen peckin’ at her scratch?”
“Why do I always have to make you breakfast?” she groused.
“Because I don’t have opposable thumbs, chippie,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. Trixie, please go shower, and then we’ll talk. I’ll make you some scrambled eggs and toast. I imagine you’re going to need your energy after this outburst.”
She was right. I felt like I’d been run over by a big rig. All my muscles ached and my head hurt. So a shower and two aspirin it would be. I had a coffee date with Susie later this afternoon for a check-in, anyway. I wanted to be sure she was okay.
“Thanks, Coop.”
I gave her hand a quick squeeze before I left the kitchen to go shower, my legs feeling like lead as I went. I hadn’t had an Artur sneak attack in a while, but then, I also hadn’t felt terribly stressed about much either.
Financially, we were really doing well. We had a nice house and a new car and the shop was thriving, as were my relationships, both personal and community.
Still, I wasn’t sure if what he drew had anything to do with Mitzy’s death—the last time he’d possessed me and drawn something, it had nothing to do with anything—but I can tell you, knowing Coop was so upset did stress me out.
And maybe that’s why Artur had made an appearance.
I just wish he could have done it in my sketch pad and not on my daggone dining room wall.
While we ate the lunch he’d promised me, I showed Higgs the pictures we’d taken of what I’d drawn before Coop painted over it to hide my bizarre behavior from Knuckles and Goose, who were bound to see it if we weren’t careful.
“Man, Trix, the detail on this is amazing.”
“Right? And I say that with no conceit. Not an ounce. Artur’s an amazing artist. I just don’t understand what this is. Even if I googled a million hospitals, I could be here for the next millennia trying to match this to whatever he drew. Assuming he was drawing this as a clue. For all I know, it could be nothing more than a whim.”
“You know what I find really curious? That all the letters are abstract, like the actual name of the hospital or the ambulance, but the letters for the ER and the number 2000 are distinct and crisp.”
I looked at the picture again and frowned. “That is curious, but again, how do I know it means anything at all? Maybe it’s just Artur scribbling to scribble.”
He looked at me across our table at this cute little rustic café he’d taken me to, near the hotel we’d almost had dinner at the other night, his eyes sparkling. “Has Artur ever just scribbled, Trix? And if so, why a hospital, of all things?”
“That is very fair. Still, I have no idea how this could possibly tie into Mitzy’s death. Unless maybe she’s been in the hospital because of her allergy. And so what if she has? Did she offend someone there? Someone who came to her meet and greet and killed her because she was so offensive?”
“Well, you did say everyone you’ve come into contact with who knows Mitzy thinks she’s horrible. It’s quite possible.”
I slowly nodded my head. That was also true. I couldn’t find many people who knew her personally and actually liked her. No one had anything nice to say about her.
I also looked up Sally from Mixin’ Vixen, and watched the video where she’d kowtowed to Mitzy about her eyeshadow palette, and it made me cringe. But she was a no-go as far as suspects. She hadn’t arrived in Portland until three hours after the event, due to a flight delay.
Our waitress brought us our lunch, a watercress salad and soup for me, and the closest thing Higgs could get to grease in a place that served healthy food—a grilled brie sandwich on whole wheat with crispy kale chips.
He held up a chip and made a face. “You do know these taste like dirt, don’t you?”
I giggled and rubbed my belly. “But it’s good dirt. Think of how your arteries will thank you when they’re not clogged.”
He popped a chip into his mouth and wrinkled his nose before he said, “Okay, confession time.”
“Are we role-playing here, buddy?” I teased, sipping at my vegetable soup. “Nuns don’t take confession.”
“Always funny,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes. “No, I meant I’m going to confess to you why I brought you to this specific place.”
Cocking my head, I gave him a strange look. “Confess? I thought it was because you were finally getting on the healthy train with me. Toot-toot! Next stop, No Heart Attack Way.”
“Hah! Um, no.” He shook his dark head and toyed with his kale chips. “I brought you here because a little birdie told me…” He cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth. “Okay, it was the bartender at the hotel. He said the other two volunteers who were part of Mitzy’s team come here every day for lunch, while they wait for permission from Tansy to go home.”
My eyes widened and excitement coursed through my veins. “Shut the front door, Higgs! You’re my prince charming, and I don’t even care if you have clogged arteries and turn to stone because you eat so much red meat. I’ll stay by your side until your bitter end by quadruple bypass.”
He chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he looked to the door. “Speak of the devil, they’re right on time,” he whispered, hitching his jaw to the hostess booth
