I turned at the sound of that silky, rich British accent and wondered if there was anything sexier than Derek Stone’s voice. Not in my world there wasn’t. “My day was exciting and fun, but now I’m exhausted.”
He touched my cheek and nudged my chin up so that I was looking at him. Then he kissed me. “You do look a wee bit weary. Do you want to skip the wine and go to bed?”
“I think I can manage half a glass. And I want to talk and maybe watch a little television with you. It’s so odd to be working outside of the house.”
“It’ll take some getting used to,” he said, reaching for the bottle. “You take Pugsley and go relax on the couch. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Pugsley,” I said, frowning at the kitten. “Really?”
He shrugged. It was his latest name for the kitten. Derek had surprised me a few weeks before with this fuzzy little white-haired darling, with a hint of tiger stripes around her face and a sweet personality. I’d fallen instantly in love with her, but we hadn’t yet decided what to call her.
At first I had suggested the name Syllabub, after the ridiculously sweet and alcoholic English dessert I’d recently learned to make. But I had ended up calling her Silly and Derek had been calling her Bub. Neither of us were happy with that and I figured the poor cat was just confused.
So now we were trying out different names whenever they occurred to us, convinced we would recognize the perfect name when we found it.
As I walked to the couch, I nuzzled the kitten and she patted my nose with her tiny paw. “You’re much too cute to be a Pugsley, aren’t you? Let’s sit down and think of a better name for you. How about Skeeter?”
“Absolutely not,” Derek said immediately.
I laughed in agreement. “You’re right, she’s definitely not a Skeeter.”
Derek set our two wineglasses on the coffee table and joined me on the couch. The kitten immediately abandoned me for Derek, who was holding a tiny stuffed mouse to entice her. As Derek teased the kitten, he regaled me with the story of his latest client who’d had a fortune in artwork stolen from his beach house in the famous Long Island Hamptons.
As one of the world’s leading experts on security for the incredibly rich, Derek always had interesting work stories to tell.
“I might have to travel back east for a few days and I’m hoping you’ll come with me. We can spend some time in New York.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I sighed. “But I can’t go anywhere for the next three weeks, not until the show is over.”
“I’ll try to hold off, then, until you’re free.”
“That would be nice.” I squeezed his arm affectionately. “I’ve never been to the Hamptons.”
“Good. We’ll make it a mini break.”
“We’ll have to find a kitten sitter,” I said.
“Vinnie and Suzie can help out. You’ve taken care of their Pookie and Splinters any number of times.”
“But they have Lily now.”
“They won’t mind,” Derek said, tucking me closer to him.
“Of course they won’t,” I said. “And speaking of neighbors, I met Alex tonight.”
“Alex?”
“She’s the one who’s subletting Sergio’s place.”
“I’ve yet to see her,” he said. “Do you like her?”
“I do. Even though she’s tall, smart, and gorgeous. She wears fabulous shoes and pink suits and still manages to look powerful and perky at this hour of the night. I should hate her, but apparently she bakes wonderful cupcakes.”
“Ah,” he said, finally reacting. “Cupcakes.”
I laughed. “Yes, that got my attention, too. So far, it’s her most outstanding quality.”
He laughed, too. “I look forward to meeting her.” He reached to pick up his wineglass.
“I should tell you something,” I said.
He swallowed a sip of wine and studied my expression. “Yes, you should.”
I related the conversation I’d overheard between the two producers and Randolph, the host. “Randolph was really upset, but Tom and Walter seemed unfazed.”
“He believes someone is out to kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Have you any idea what occurred before you came down the corridor and overheard them?”
“Not really.” I mentioned the producer’s throwaway line about Randolph tripping over a broom. It seemed a little silly, but given Randolph’s reaction, it might be an important detail. Had he really tripped over a broom? Or was the producer being sarcastic? “I get the feeling from their looks and comments that they consider Randolph a prima donna who whines about everything.”
“Does he seem that way to you?”
“No.” I thought again of that moment when the two producers saw me in the hall. “And until Tom and Walter walked out of the dressing room, they didn’t come across as insensitive, either. So I’m not sure what to believe. But I’m concerned.”
Derek’s lips twisted. “So am I.”