She ran her tongue over her lips. “What chemicals did you mix and is it likely that whatever you mixed and blew yourself to smithereens with was so stupid the police might find it suspicious that a smart guy like you would do something like that?”
Clyde became clearly chagrined. “I cut myself on some metal, so I cleaned the wound with some H2O2, more commonly known as hydrogen peroxide. But it wasn’t the kind you buy over the counter. It was highly concentrated—sort of like the kind hairdressers use to bleach hair. Like an ass, because I was, as usual, absorbed in my work, and me, me, me, as Tia used to say, I was trying to dilute it when I knocked the entire bottle over. It collided with some sulfuric acid I was using to clean metal, fell into the Bunsen burner I could have sworn I’d turned off, and exploded. And yes, I can see the police finding it pretty ironic that someone like me with a degree and a rather above-average IQ would do something so goddamned dumb. So sure, they could find it suspicious that I mixed those two chemicals together, because it was damned careless, but I don’t think they’d get very far.”
“Why’s that?”
His impatience became crystal clear in not just his face, but the agitated tension in his stance. “I’ve said this a thousand times, Delaney. What I was researching was absolutely harmless. I wasn’t on to the next cure for cancer, or even the common cold. I was researching a new hypoallergenic coating for jewelry—pretty innocuous. I don’t have a lot of money—or didn’t. I made a decent living, but not sizable enough to kill me over. I have some stocks and bonds, but nothing substantial. No valuable property or jewelry. No inheritance. So if the coroner is holding my body for investigation, there won’t be much to find and certainly nothing suspicious.”
If that was true, Clyde was a strange, strange bird, and she said as much. “You’re a strange bird, Clyde. I don’t get it. I don’t get how you ended up in Hell, but the more you show up in your pink bathrobe in places like the bus and my shower, the more I want to figure out why you did. And don’t think I’m going to take everything you say at face value. We’re going to start picking apart your life like meat off a chicken carcass.”
“Could I have clothes before we do? This whole half-naked and exposed thing has become a lot. Not to mention, my feet are freezing,” he said on a grin, the serious, staid attitude replaced by a boyish smile.
“You wait here. I’ll go get lunch, and then we’ll get those clothes. Do. Not. Move.”
“Roger that.”
“No matter how tempting it might be to approach Miss Hawaiian Tropic,” she warned before heading back to the front of the deli.
Just as Delaney reached for the door, Tia skipped out on her heeled feet, clinging to a man’s arm.
A damned good-looking one. All sleek and wearing a designer suit she was sure was a big-name label.
Hoo boy. Poor Clyde.
As Delaney slid past the couple, she gave a quick peek over her shoulder, hoping Clyde wouldn’t see the pair when they sauntered out of O’Leary’s. The look on his face when he’d seen Tia had been a little too lovesick for Delaney. It had almost made her heart clench. She could only hope, when she had more time to examine it, that clench had everything to do with her sentimentality for love lost and nothing to do with the color green.
Twenty minutes later, lunch in hand, she breathed a sigh of relief. They’d managed to be apart for twenty whole minutes without him attaching his big self to her.
And that’s when she began to panic.
Christ, if he’d disappeared without warning, she’d kick his ass for all the trouble he’d been. Her stride was quick, her heart hammering while she threaded her way through the Sunday lunch crowd, pushing her way to the door.
Flying out the deli door, Delaney made a direct left and went straight for the corner she’d left him in.
Lo and behold.
No Clyde.
The spot she’d left him in was empty. Her heart began to pump irregularly; her legs became the equivalent of lead poles. If the motherfucker’d jacked her up, and she found his brainiac ass, she’d dump a whole case of Morton on his head.
Goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it.
Shoving the bag from the deli under her arm, she stomped down the street toward her brother’s, where a crowd had begun to form in front of the 7-Eleven.
And whose head stood out in that crowd?
Delaney gritted her teeth and made a beeline for Clyde, who stood front and center, staring at something inside the store. Had Tia’d gone into the 7-Eleven with Mr. Fine, and Clyde was preparing to throw down in a fit of jealous rage?
She discarded that thought. Clyde just didn’t seem like he got het up over a whole lot—even if his girlfriend was prancing about with a good-looking guy. Delaney grabbed his upper arm and hissed, “What are you doing? Either I can’t get rid of you or you’re off attracting a crowd like you’re the new orca whale at Sea World. Did I tell you to stay put?”
“I forgot the 7-Eleven was here.”