“Seriously, since when do I find excusesnotto fuck you? Come,” I said and grabbed his hand, walking us toward the bed. I crouched and showed him my most recent preoccupation underneath the bedframe. “See for yourself.”
26
“What is an expensive watch I’ve never owned doing under my bed?” When David reached to bring the watch closer, I slapped his hand.
“Don’t! That’s a Patek Philippe,” I said. “And I’d bet my membership in the Procedural Writers Association of America that it’s the watch Dashing Henry was wearing when he was killed.”
“Elena, I didn’t kill him,” David said.
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “How many times do I need to tell you thatI know.”
“I don’t know how that watch got there, but I’d never seen it before in my life,” David said.
“Ei, I’m on your side. I know you didn’t kill Henry. And the reason I do is not only because you were thoroughly thinking of all the ways to make me scream when the murder took place, but because Iknowyou.”
“But how didthatget here?”
“My theory is, whoever killed Henry wants to pin this on you and they took the opportunity of planting the watch here when you weren’t home.”
“But how did they get here? I haven’t noticed anything missing or out of place... other than the mess you tend to make.”
“Who else has keys to this place?” I said, ignoring his comment about my chaotic tendencies.
“The landlord, I guess. You, obviously. My parents. My sister also has a copy.” He ticked each of us off on his fingers. “I think she may have gotten another spare copy for a cousin who was visiting and stayed here when I was on vacation last summer.”
“During the trip to Greece?” I asked.
“How do you know I went to Greece?” I wasn’t going to answer. I had basically told him I was mad about him. I wasn’t going to admit I had found a way of following his moves and learning whether he traveled solo, with friends, or with company of the romantic type. To my knowledge, it had always been the first two options for the last year. When he saw I wasn’t going to come clean about my knowledge regarding his Greek vacation, he said, “No, the trip to Puerto Rico.”
Between you and me, I extracted the information from a common friend who loves gossip. It wasn’t even that hard to get.
“Anyone else have keys?”
“I sometimes hire a professional crew to clean,” he said sheepishly. I knew he had difficulties admitting he could be a bit bougie himself sometimes. “They’re better at doing the stove and the windows. Oh, and I’ve always kept a spare copy in all the newsrooms I’ve worked in. You know, an emergency key.”
“And you put those emergency keys in locked drawers or something?”
“What would be the point of having an emergency key in a locked drawer?” he asked. “Knowing me, I would have misplaced the key to the drawer.”
“Good point. And those spare keys in newsrooms... Did you ever get them back when you stopped contributing for said outlets?” I suspected I knew the answer to that.
“I don’t think so. I should though. I left my good flannel jacket at theGazetteand still haven’t got it back.”
“So let’s see if I’m clear, because I felt special when you gave me a key to your place, but pretty much half of LA and an out-of-town cousin also have one.”
“You’re the only person I gave a key to who I wanted to visit me in the middle of the night, but I guess you have a point.” He grabbed his T-shirt, the one I was wearing, and tugged at the hem, pulling me toward him.
We needed to stop with the flirtatiousness and start thinking clearly. But I wasn’t sure we were going to manage it.
“Okay, the sexual tension is killing me,” I purred. “And killing you.”
“You got me,” he admitted.
“Let’s get this out of our systems. Let’s have one, maybe two, quick fucks. And then we can think straight. You can tell me about the CCTV, we can decide what to do with that watch, you can start doing some writing, I can come up with a good pitch for my agent. We’re not getting anything done because of this constant need to fuck each other numb.”
You may think it was odd that we were thinking about sex after finding out David was framed for murder. And, in hindsight, it didn’t make much emotional sense. But somehow finally coming clean with David and telling him everything that had happened, and that had kept us apart, had brought us even closer. Ineededto feel the connection you can only find with sex.
“Quick,” David said, and I knew he thought my idea was brilliant even if it was possibly the most irresponsible thing we’d ever done. More irresponsible than the time we broke into UCLA’s Powell Library one night after closing hours because we were high and felt like being surrounded by books.
