Rook asked, “Something new on the case?”
She shook her head, texted, “N,” and fired up the ignition. He must have read her mood, because, for a change, Rook respected her silence the whole ride back to Manhattan.
The squad worked the case diligently, but their results still didn’t move the needle on the case. The French consulates in both New York and Boston had no recent dealings with Nicole Bernardin, she had no record of a landline, and her cellular calls were mundane take-out orders and mani-pedi appointments. Ochoa came back with confirmation of two, uncharacteristically last-minute color-and-cut cancellations made from the cell. Her stylist, who grieved the loss of one of his best clients, said she was a very nice, albeit private lady who seemed scattered lately. Neither of much use in furthering the hunt for her killer. Rook took a cab back to his place, leaving Heat to update the murder boards. Unfortunately, that amounted to writing check marks beside each bullet instead of entering new information.
The elevator doors opened for Nikki in the lobby of Rook’s building that evening and a massage table rolled out on two wheels followed by Salena, the rehab babe. “Hiyee!” she said, finger waving with her free hand, making her triceps ripple. “He’s all yours.”
“Gee, thanks. Appreciate that.” The last thing Heat saw was that row of perfect white teeth as the door shut, making her ruminate the whole ride up about Cheshire cats and how she’d seen grins without airheads but never an airhead without a grin.
By the time Rook came out from his shower, she had plattered the antipasto ingredients she had picked up at Citarella and poured them some wine at the counter. “Thought we’d stay in and do some grazing tonight,” she said.
“Fine with me.” He looked at the wine label and said, “Ooh, Pinot Grigio.”
“Yeah, perfect accompaniment to tea tree oil and pheromones.” They clinked. “I passed your naughty nurse on the way up. How was your ‘rehab’? And yes, those were air quotes.”
“Sadly, my last one. But I needed it after those rib shots I took from your elbow this afternoon.”
“Really?” She forked a slice of prosciutto and rolled it around a ball of bufala mozz. “It didn’t seem like you were even aware of them. Remember, you were supposed to be the rodeo clown, keeping my dad from getting mired?”
“Yes, it was quite a role reversal, wasn’t it?”
She set her food down and dabbed her fingers with her napkin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I was prepared to run interference for you, but you weren’t asking any questions. So I did.”
“Rook, we didn’t go there to ask questions. I went as a courtesy to my father to fill him in on the case because it ended up in your old girlfriend’s tabloid.”
“Let’s ignore that second jealous comment you’ve made in under a minute and focus on the visit with your dad.” He nibbled the meat off an olive and placed the pit on the side of his plate. “Yes, we went there for one purpose, but he kept sharing things that made me want to know more. His suspicion about the affair was too big to just let pass. When you didn’t say anything, I assumed you were too busy absorbing it emotionally and I picked up the slack. He never mentioned it to you?”
“You heard him. He said no.”
“And you had no clue?”
She took another sip of wine and watched the ripples on the surface as she swirled the stem. “Can I share something with you?”