Chapter 15
15
SETH MAYS
Thank you—the chair leg is perfect.
ELLIOT CRANE
Of course it is.
:)
I laughed and shook my head. I’d have thought that Elliot was being egotistical, but I’d seen his craftsmanship. He really was that good—to my inexperienced eye, anyway. But he’d managed to somehow exactly match the chair’s color and tone, even scuffing it a little bit so that it looked as though it belonged with the other three.
It had been in a little box waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I’d gotten home—a little early today, to make up for my late night last night. I’d also spent half of today talking to Maza, who had actually come to me for once. So of course I’d also showed him my spreadsheet, even though I’d been nervous that he’d get irritated with me for doing his job. I liked him, and I didn’t particularly want him to be angry with me .
I also just really don’t like it when people yell at me. Or talk to me in a way that isn’t technically yelling, but is also clearly yelling. I’m an extremely non-confrontational person. I prefer to keep my head down and smooth things over whenever I can. It’s easier that way. And less stressful.
But Maza had reacted like I’d just given him tickets to Disney World, which was definitely a pleasant surprise. He’d asked me to send it all to him, and I’d happily done so. It was about the most accomplished—the most useful —I’d felt in a long time. I’d done something that would help us to catch whoever had done this to Quincy. To stop them, hopefully.
So I was feeling good when I got home. Better when I opened the long box containing a single, perfectly matching chair leg.
And then my phone rang.
For a moment, I wondered if it might be Elliot. If my evening was going to be spent in a long, illicit phone call that would culminate with an orgasm almost as good as if he were physically in the room with me.
But it was Detective Clements.
I went from excited to worried in about half a second flat.
“Good afternoon, Detective,” I answered, trying to force some pleasantness into my voice through the disappointment and adrenaline.
“Not anymore,” came her grim reply. “Texting you the address.”