The Collector
Page 23

“And Ash’s friend Luke. Remember those amazing cupcakes? His bakery.”
“Really? They were—” Her face filled with shock, maybe just a little awe. And years tumbled away and back again. “Luke.”
“Julie. It’s amazing to see you.”
“But . . . I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
“I live here. In New York,” he qualified. “About eight years now.”
“You know each other. They know each other?” Lila asked Ash when neither spoke.
“They used to be married. To each other.”
“They— He’s the— This just gets more . . .”
“Awkward?”
She just shot him a look. “I think we should have that wine now,” she said brightly. “Julie, give me a hand, will you?”
She took her friend’s arm, pulled her firmly away and into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. It’s Luke.”
She looked like the lone survivor of an earthquake, Lila decided. Shaken, dazed and just a little grateful.
“I’ll make them leave. Do you want them to go?”
“No. No, it’s not like that. We were . . . It was years ago. It’s just such a shock to walk in and see him. How do I look?”
“Considering how I look, that’s a mean question. You look fantastic. Tell me what you want me to do, and it’s done.”
“The wine’s a good idea. We’ll be civilized and sophisticated.”
“If that’s on the order, I really need a shower, but we’ll start with wine.” Lila got down glasses. “He’s awfully cute.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Julie smiled. “He always was.”
“Since you’re okay with it, we’ll get this out there, then you have to entertain them while I pull myself together. I just need fifteen minutes.”
“I hate you because I know you can do it in fifteen. Okay. Civilized and sophisticated. Let’s do this.”
Six
It wasn’t so bad. Lila didn’t know about sophisticated—she’d never been very good at that—but it was all pretty civilized.
At least until Ash pushed his break-in theory, and to Lila’s surprise, Julie bought it wholesale.
“Why didn’t I think of that!” Julie swung her attention to Lila. “That makes sense, that fits.”
“You said the teenager fit,” Lila reminded her.
“Because I was grasping. But what silly teenage girl can get through the locks without leaving a sign? The cops did check the locks.”
“And a murderer takes away your Manolos and lipstick? Wouldn’t somebody who’d committed double murder have, I don’t know, different priorities?”
“They’re great shoes, the lipstick is the perfect red—and that perfume isn’t easy to come by. Plus, who says a murderer can’t have sticky-finger impulses? If you can kill two people, stealing is pretty tame. Lila, you need to be careful.”
“I didn’t see anything that helps the police, and a well-heeled, sweet-smelling killer with perfect red lips would’ve figured that out by now.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“I’m sorry.” Lila turned to Ash immediately. “It’s your brother, and I know it’s not a joke. But you don’t have to worry about me. Nobody has to worry about me.”
“If she ever gets a tattoo,” Julie commented, “it’s going to say exactly that.”
“Because it’s true. And even if all this is also true, which is a long, long taffy stretch for me, in a few days I’ll be in a swank apartment on the Upper East Side, with a teacup poodle named Earl Grey.”
“How do you get the jobs?” Luke wondered. “How do people find you?”
“A lot of word of mouth, client recommendations. And the gods of the Internet.”
“You’ve got a website.”
“I suspect even Earl Grey has a website. But no,” she continued, following the line, “you can’t access my location through it. There’s a calendar showing when I’m already booked, but not where. And I never list clients’ names.”
“Your blog,” Julie pointed out.
“I don’t give specific locations, just areas. I never post clients’ names, anywhere. Even the client comments I list only have initials. Listen, here’s what I’d do if I were a murderer wondering if the annoying woman in the complex saw my face, saw enough to identify me. I’d walk up to her on the street one day and ask directions. If she gave them to me without a blink, I’d move along on my murderous ways. If she gasped out, ‘It’s you!’ I’d stab her in the thigh—in the femoral artery with my stiletto—then move along while she bled out. Problem solved either way.
“Is anybody thinking dinner?” she said in a firm change of subject. “I’m thinking dinner. We can order in.”
“We’ll take you out.” Luke’s response flowed smoothly. “There’s an Italian place just a couple blocks from here. Great food, stupendous gelato.”
“Echo Echo.”
He smiled at Julie. “That’s it. I know the owner. I’ll call over, make sure we can get a table. That work for you?” he asked Lila.
“Sure, why not?” It wasn’t like a date, she reasoned. Not like some weird double date with her and the brother of the dead guy and her best friend and her best friend’s ex-husband who didn’t really count. It was just eating.
And eating really well, she discovered over fried calamari and bruschetta brought out as table appetizers. She found it simple enough to keep conversation moving, always a priority for her, by peppering Luke with questions about his bakery.
“Where did you learn to bake? There’s so much to bake.”
“My grandmother initially. Then I picked things up along the way.”
“What happened to law school?” Julie wondered.
“I hated it.”
“Told you.”
“Yeah, you did. I gave it a shot. My parents really wanted either a doctor or a lawyer, and since medical school was worse than law school, I gave it a shot. Worked in an off-campus bakery to help pay the way for the two years I gave it, and liked that a hell of a lot more.”