“You’re incredibly annoying,” I said. “But thank you for carrying my grocery bags.”
“I assure you it was pure entertainment.”
I jogged around to the driver’s side, climbed in and slammed the door shut, then started up the engine. I looked over and gave him a weak smile.
The gaze he gave me was anything but weak. I gulped, then drove away, watching in my rearview mirror as he jumped into the Bentley, started it up and followed me out of the lot.
I tossed and turned all night and woke up the next morning feeling groggy and out of sorts, with a dull headache accompanied by an impending sense of doom. I wasn’t sure whether to blame Derek Stone or the pint of Coney Island Waffle Cone Crunch I’d consumed the night before while watching Survivor: East L.A.
I was happier blaming Derek, I decided, as I stumbled to the kitchen to grab my first cup of strong coffee before heading for the shower.
I stared at the contents of my closet and remembered I’d most likely be meeting the Winslows today. I chose a semiconservative, fitted gray pin-striped suit with a short flared skirt, crisp white shirt with a stand-up collar and black heels.
Robin had insisted I buy this suit because it made me look like a defrocked postulant. I’d figured it was a compliment but later had to Google the word postulant. I’d found a Web site of a nunnery in Indiana filled with photos of happy young women bowing their heads in prayer as they answered the heavenly call to become brides of Christ.
There were no photos of the defrocked variety, but it no longer mattered. Sometimes it was better not to examine Robin’s words too closely.
After I poured my second cup of coffee, I went next door to check on the cats. Somehow I’d forgotten to feed them last night, another offense I would lay at the feet of Derek Stone. I washed their kitty bowls and gave them fresh water and some mushy food from a can mixed with kibble bits.
Pookie and Splinters were in a playful mood, so I stuck around for ten minutes to keep them company as they careened around a massive redwood log and a couple of hunks of burl, then zoomed up the tower of their deluxe carpeted cathouse and back down again.
As the cats chased each other and their tails, I thought about last night at Abraham’s studio. I’d barely avoided meeting a murderer. He’d been there-whoever he was-carrying on a hasty search while I’d blissfully visited with my family a few hundred yards up the hill.
Creepy.
I couldn’t put a face to whoever it was. I wondered again whether he’d been looking for the same missing item I was after. Or was it something else? Had Abraham been hiding other secrets?
And speaking of secrets, I hadn’t told Derek Stone about the cocktail napkin I’d found with the scrawled note from someone named Anandalla. I wondered guiltily whether I should’ve told him, then shook my head. There were only so many sins I could deal with at one time. I’d tell him about the note later.
It wouldn’t hurt to stop at the Buena Vista tonight, chat up the bartenders and ask whether they knew someone named Anandalla. It was a long shot. I couldn’t describe her.
Did the cocktail napkin note even matter? Was I picking at nits? Possibly. Nevertheless, I was overcome by a sudden desire for Irish coffee. I could tag Robin to come with me if she didn’t have a date. She probably had a date. Fine. I could go alone.
Maybe Derek Stone was available. He seemed to have nothing better to do than follow me around, so why not include him?
“It’s not like it’s a date or anything,” I muttered aloud. “More like an outing.”
Pookie hopped onto the couch and gave my thigh a much-needed head butt.
“Come here,” I murmured, and settled the cat in my lap, where he proceeded to lick and groom himself. Splinters paced in front of my feet and meowed loudly.
“I thought cats were supposed to be aloof,” I said, scratching Pookie’s ear. “You’re embarrassing Splinters.”
Pookie apparently got the message because he leapt off the couch to rejoin Splinters in their chasing game. I watched them for another minute, chuckling and wondering if maybe I should get myself a cat. Then I caught a whiff of something horrendous and remembered I hadn’t cleaned out their litter box.
“Oh, mercy.” I grabbed a plastic bag, covered my nose and approached the offending box.
So maybe I didn’t need a pet right now.
As I walked back to my place, I realized my headache was gone. I packed leftover Chinese food for lunch, collected the tools I would need for the day along with some leather and paper samples, then locked up and took off across town.