I walked into work at 7:15 am, carrying my donut box and hoping Vance and Matt had kept themselves to themselves and hadn’t shared last night’s incident with anyone— namely Lee, who might tel Indy, who might tel everyone.
On the way home last night, I told Lenny what happened and he got al tight around the mouth. We got into a discussion about cal ing the police (no way, no how, not when my Dad was involved) then cal ing Smithie (worse than cal ing the police, Smithie would have a shit hemmorrhage). Final y, Lenny walked me to my front door and made sure I was safe inside.
I got approximately seven seconds of sleep because I was either reliving having a knife at my throat (which was not fun) or worried about what in the heck my father was caught up in now.
Dad was a bit of a bum; never had any money, never had a job that I could tel and I pretty much figured (and some of the comments Mom made confirmed it) he had a chequered past, present and future.
This, however, was a bit different from the usual Dad bumdom stuff.
Since I hadn’t had a midday nap, my seven seconds of sleep did not exactly put me in good stead for anything, much less work, but I had to keep going. I didn’t have the luxury of taking time off.
Tex, Duke and Jane were al there when I got to Fortnum’s, Indy and Al y were nowhere to be seen.
This, I took as a good sign.
The minute the doors opened at 7:30 am, the coffee crush came through.
Tex was Indy’s main barista and somewhat of a coffee virtuoso. People drove out of their way for one of his creations. This was one of the reasons Indy had to hire me; they became mega busy because Tex was so popular. I was also pretty good with a portafilter, which helped me get the job.
I was cruising through eight o’clock, relaxing a bit and thinking that maybe Vance and Matt decided not to share when the bel went over the door and Eddie walked in.
I held my breath when I saw the look on his face. To say Eddie was unhappy would be like cal ing the Grand Canyon a sweet, little canal. In other words, Eddie was supremely pissed off.
I should have known Eddie wouldn’t like someone who might bring unsavory characters and possible danger into Indy’s bookstore. I was surprised Lee hadn’t come in first.
Eddie’s eyes caught mine and burned into me from across the room and I stood frozen to the spot. He walked straight up to and around the counter and, his eyes stil on me, grabbed my upper arm and hauled me out from behind the counter.
“Hey! What the hel you doin’? Do you not see the twenty people who want coffee out there?” Tex boomed to Eddie.
Eddie ignored him and dragged me into the bookshelves, back a half dozen rows to the Crime section (which was appropriate, I thought). He turned in then walked me al the way down the shelved row to the book-lined, side wal before he stopped.
We were wel away from the coffee crush and wel hidden; no one came looking for books during coffee time.
Eddie maneuvered me so my back was to the books then he moved in, his body in front of me, his left hand resting on a shelf by my head.
“What’s going on?” I asked, deciding to act innocent.
“You tel me,” Eddie said.
He saw through my act. How I knew this, I was not sure. It could have been either the narrowing of his eyes or the tightening of his jaw when he clenched his teeth after he was done speaking.
“I was helping Tex make coffee,” I told him.
He shook his head.
“Let’s talk about last night.”
My hopes were dashed.
Damn.
“Last night?” I asked.
“Last night.”
“What about last night?”
I had to admit, I was feeling a bit like I felt last night. At least my heart was beating as hard as it was last night.
“About you having a blade at your throat.” I gave up on innocent and tried nonchalant. “Oh, that.” Nonchalant wasn’t a good cal . If Eddie’s eyes were burning into me before, they were scorching now.
“Yes, that,” Eddie said.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I told him.
He stared at me for a beat as if antlers just sprouted from my forehead. Then he said a bunch of stuff in rapid-fire Spanish.
I knew a little Spanish, what with having four Mexican ex-boyfriends, and I think I caught some naughty words but I couldn’t be sure.
He reverted to English.
“You cal having a knife at your throat nothing?” I didn’t answer, thinking maybe silence was the way to go.
Wrong again.
He got closer and because he was already pretty close, this “closer” was predatory.
“You had a knife to your throat before?”
“Not that I can recal ,” I told him.
His black eyes got kind of a scary glitter.
“Would you forget something like that?” he asked.
“Probably not,” I al owed.
He came nearer and, at this point, his body was brushing mine.
“Why didn’t you cal the police?” he asked.
“It didn’t seem that big a deal,” I answered.
“Someone holds a knife to your throat, it’s a big deal.
You report it to the police.”
Normal y, I would agree with him.
“Dammit, Jet, for once, talk to me,” he said and it certainly wasn’t a request.