Page 92 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“So that leaves us with Phil and Elsie or Mr. Foster, right? And maybe Manniford at the restaurant?” I say.
“Maybe? Yes? I don’t know.” She makes a frustrated sound, letting her head tilt back and closing her eyes.
“And are we assuming that the same person who killed Carmina is the one who killed Stanley Riggs?”
She doesn’t move as she answers. “Yes,” she says. “Although…” Her eyes pop open, and she looks at me. “I guess if someone in Stanley’s house found out about the affair—”
“Someone like his wife, you mean,” I say.
“Yeah.” She nods. “She might have been angry and just…you know.” She mimes bashing someone over the head, a motion that looks half hearted at best coming from her.
I laugh softly, even though there’s nothing funny about death. “You’re cute,” I say without thinking, my gaze tracing the line of her neck, the set of her mouth, the furrow in her brow that tells me she’s thinking hard.
That furrow disappears, though, as her eyes widen and her brows shoot up. She turns more fully in my direction and looks at me for a second, her lips parted in surprise.
“What?” I say, still smiling. “Is it bad taste to tell you that while we’re discussing murder?”
“No,” she says, her eyes flitting over my face. Then she swallows. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”
Crap.
“Yeah?” I manage to get out. The word is only slightly strangled, which I’m going to call a major success.
“Mm-hmm,” she says, her gaze dipping to my lips. “Just…wondering what it would be like.”
It would be amazing. That’s what it would be like. It would be freaking incredible.
I close my eyes, reminding myself of the promise I made: that I won’t kiss her unless she asks me to. So I take a deep breath, release it slowly, and then look back at her. “You tell me where and when, honey, and I’ll be there.”
She continues to stare up at me, and for a moment I think she’s actually going to come sit on the couch next to me; there’s a tension in her body, like she’s about to move.
But then her shoulders fall, and she turns away, fanning her face with her hand.
“I need some fresh air,” she says. “Let’s go outside.”
I nod, rubbing my hand over my mouth so she won’t see my smile.
She feels it. She feels this pull between us. And though she’s clearly not ready to move forward yet—and maybe she won’t be for a long time—I can’t deny that it makes me happy to hear the things she’s been thinking about.
“Where to?” I say as we both stand.
“I need to water my plants,” she says, brushing her hands over her shirt. Her cheeks are faintly pink, an exquisite color. “Let’s do that.”
“Lead the way.”
We trail down the narrow staircase and through the bookshelves, and I follow her all the way back to the kitchen, where she pulls a large watering can out of the storage closet. She fills it in the giant stainless steel sink, and I wait silently, moving only when she walks back out of the kitchen, through the café, and out the front doors.
It’s a perfect spring evening; slightly chilly now that the sun has started to set, a floral-scented breeze playing with our hair. Heidi begins watering her plants in silence, so I follow her lead, not saying anything. She waters flowers and shrubs, various plants I don’t know the names of, and I watch, wondering over and over again how it’s possible for her to be so incredibly beautiful.
Her steps falter after she’s moved from a bunch of pink flowers to a more unruly bunch of purple ones. She blinks, that little furrow appearing in her brow again as her lips tug into a frown. “This…” she begins, trailing off. She looks at the watering can in her hand; she looks at the flowers in the flower bed. Then she lifts the watering can, holding it outward at an odd angle but not actually watering any plants. “This feels…”
“Heidi?” I say, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” She’s being weird. Is she having a stroke or something?
“I think…” she says. Then she turns to look at me, her eyes so wide I can see a clear ring of white around the hazel. “I think Iremember.”
“You remember…what?” I say, still frowning at her.
“Watering my plants.” Her gaze pulls away from me and darts over the front of the shop. Then she nods. “Soren, I really think I watered my plants that evening!”
