“Oh, please.” She put her fist on her hip. “A brand-new black Continental GT Bentley does not escape my notice, nor does the driver.”
“I get that.” Robin did know her status symbols. “But how do you know that Derek Stone is driving that particular car?”
“Just how many people do we know who drive Bentleys?”
“None?”
“Exactly.” She smiled. “And I happened to see him take off as we were leaving the Covington, so I know he drives that car.” She stared down at the street. “And if you wait a few seconds, you can see his profile when the headlights hit him just right.”
“Oh dear.” It was Derek Stone, all right. I might not know cars but I knew that rugged profile.
“I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to watch you like a hawk,” Robin mused.
“You talked to him?”
“Yeah.” She sipped her wine. “When the police took you away for questioning, I was pretty much stuck with him.”
I let the front curtain go, leaned against the bookcase and sipped my wine. “So, what else did he say about me?”
“You’re joking, right?” There was a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Um, gee. He said he’s going to ask you to the prom. What is up with you?”
“Nothing.” I put the wineglass down on the worktable and paced nervously. “He’s a jerk. I just meant, I hope he didn’t, you know, bug you.”
She started to laugh. “Oh God. You like him.”
“What? No.”
“You do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She held her arms out. “Hey, why not? He’s totally hot, I’ll give him that much. Great car, too.”
“Oh yeah, it’s all about the car. Are you insane?” I waved my arm toward the street. “He’s a-a stalker.”
“And as stalkers go, he’s a hot one.”
“Oh, I’m so flattered.” I grabbed my wine and took a gulp. “The man has no sense of humor and he thinks I’m a murderer.”
“Sounds like love to me.”
I groaned. “Shut up.” I turned the lights up and headed back to the worktable. At least my personal stalker had given me something else to think about besides Abraham’s murder.
Robin chuckled as she backed away from the window and followed me across the room. “So, how’s the putrid pile of caca doing?”
The smell of mold and ancient leather and old paper wafted up and I’ve got to say, I loved it.
“It is nasty, isn’t it?” I said with a satisfied smile. “But this is my version of heaven.”
“You can actually fix all this?”
“Of course I can,” I said, turning the cover over. “I’m a genius, haven’t you heard? And I’ll earn every penny on this job because some of the damage is dismal. Will you look at this?” I pointed to a jagged rip on the end plate.
She squinted. “Is that duct tape?”
“Yes.” I shook my head in disgust. “On a John Brindley binding! Can you imagine?”
“The horror.”
“It gets worse.” I held out a stiff column of mottled, torn leather for her closer examination. “Rats. They nibbled straight through the-”
She jumped back a foot. “Oh, good God. Rat cooties on top of everything else? Get that disgusting thing away from me.”
“Wimp.”
“Freak.” Robin laughed again and shook her head. “Come on, it’s time to sleep.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m shocked. Good night.”
“Good night.” I gave her a hug. “Thanks again for staying.”
“I loved the old coot, too, you know. And I didn’t want to be alone, either,” she admitted, as she toddled off toward the guest bedroom. “Don’t forget to feed the cats.”
“I’ll feed them in the morning.”
“You already forgot, didn’t you?”
What? Was she a mind reader? “No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t make me have to call PETA,” Robin said with a laugh.
Disgusted, I rummaged in the kitchen junk drawer, found a yellow stickie, wrote Feed cats and stuck it to the refrigerator door. “There, are you happy?”
“Yeah. Now don’t forget to read the note.”
“Go to bed.”
“Nighty-night.”
I stuck my wineglass in the sink, debated whether to break into the bag of leftover Chinese food, but took the high road. I poured water into the automatic coffeemaker and added three scoops of Peet’s Blend 101 for the morning, then headed off to bed.