Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dev’s bar is packed. The Tampa book club women are sitting at a big round table, raising glasses and toasting with Naomi and Deborah. As soon as she spots us, Deborah jumps up and rushes over.
“It’s the three mush-keteers!” she slurs.
Naomi is on her heels. “We went to another bar first. Bad intel but good drinks. I’m afraid my sister overindulged.”
“Isn’t this place marvelous?” Deborah says. “I want to move to Willowthrop and come to this charming establishment every night. It will be my Cheers. My Cheerio!”
Naomi sighs and shakes her head. “I am so sorry.”
“Not to worry,” Amity says, patting Naomi on the arm. “You are not your sister’s keeper.”
“I kind of am,” Naomi says.
Deborah steps close to us, peers up at Wyatt. “I do not for one moment believe that Dev could be the murderer. Is he a devil with the cocktails? Yes, yes, he is. Might he have slept with Tracy? Yes, yes, he might. But a killer? Impossible.”
“Come, let’s grab a table,” Naomi says. “I’ve had enough of the Tampa girls. Can you believe that’s actually what they call themselves—girls. It’s worse than ladies.”
Wyatt promises we’ll join them after we question Dev.
We seat ourselves at the bar. Dev is working fast, taking orders, making drinks, wiping down the counter.
He’s not aware of us yet, which gives me a good chance to watch him.
He brushes his forehead with the back of his hand, holding up the drinks to the light before he places them on the counter with a barely visible but charmingly self-satisfied smile.
It must be something to love what you do. Finally, he notices us.
“Welcome to Moss,” he says to Amity and Wyatt. And to me, a quiet hi, which travels all the way down to my toes. “What can I get you?”
“Answers,” Wyatt says.
“Do I need a solicitor?” Dev says.
“Not yet,” Wyatt says.
“Okay, go on, then.”
“You need to tell us more about your shower,” I blurt out.
“Whoa,” says Wyatt.
Amity laughs.
“My shower?” Dev says, grinning at me. “I lathered. I rinsed. I repeated.”
“So you’re squeaky clean?” I can’t help myself.
“Maybe still a little dirty.” Dev winks at me.
“And what precisely are we talking about now?” Amity says.
“His alibi,” I say, trying not to laugh. “If you showered and then you came here, how do you explain the bottle of gin, dirty highball glasses, and note signed from you that were on the table in Tracy’s flat?”
“I was there earlier on Saturday.”
“What for?” Wyatt says.
“A friendly chat,” Dev says.
“How friendly?” I lean onto the bar. “Black-lingerie friendly?”
“That’s not a term I’m familiar with,” Dev says, stepping closer to me. “But I’d love to know more about it.”
Oh Lord.
“What did you and Tracy ‘chat about’?” Wyatt says.
“If you must know, it was my hair.”
“You went there for a haircut?” Amity says.
“No,” Dev says. “She’s been cutting my hair for free for the past year.”
“Is that so?” I ask. “And what does she get in return?”
“I keep her in gin,” he says. “I stopped by Tracy’s flat at about five o’clock to give her a fresh bottle and thank her.”
“And where were you later that evening, specifically from eight o’clock to ten o’clock?” Amity says.
“I helped out at The Lonely Spider until 8:30, went home and took a quick shower, and was here by nine.” Dev raises his arm, calls over one of the waiters, who corroborates his alibi.
“We were slammed,” the waiter says. “Best night ever. We could barely stop to take a breather.”
“Now, what can I get you?” Dev says.
Wyatt and Amity get red wine and join Naomi and Deborah. I hop off the stool and jerk my head toward the back room.
“I’ve got questions,” I say.
The door swings behind us, and we’re kissing again. I kiss his beautiful lips, press my body against his. “This gin-bartering business. Who else are you trading favors with?”
His lips are on my neck, my collarbone. “What makes you think I’m so easy?”
“You’re not exactly playing hard to get.”
“I’m very discriminating,” he says, nibbling on my ear.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I say.
“Yeah? That’s good.”
Why can’t I stop kissing this man?
“I should get back,” he says.
His mouth is on mine again.
“Me too. I’m on the trail of a murderer.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to question me some more?”
“I probably should. I mean, to be thorough.”
“Let’s take this interrogation home, to my place.”
I pull back, look him in the eye. “For real?”
He puts a finger under my chin and tips it up. “No joke.” He kisses me lightly. “What do you say?”
Instead of answering, I kiss him back. And why not? It’s a foreign fling, all in good fun, nothing more.