Chapter 9
I slid my phone out and shot a text to Neto.
I’m about to make my escape. You hungry?
Starved.
Same.
Do you like Indian food? We could check Cecelia’s alibi.
Great idea. And I love Indian food.
There were two Indian places in town and I couldn’t be sure which one Cecelia had ordered from, but since The Curry Cauldron was closest to De Bourgh Hall, that was the most likely option.
Unsure what Neto’s food preferences were, I ordered a bit of everything from the app on my phone to be delivered to the arena.
I walked into my mother’s line of sight and struck up a polite conversation with our neighbor about his favorite subject—his prized Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
Once I was certain my mother had seen me mingling, I made an excuse and walked slowly through the crowd, smiling and acknowledging people as I went.
I did my best to ignore Cambria Jeffrey’s shrill laugh and Jed Jameson’s coffee breath as the clatter mixed together into a cacophony of sensation.
My skin chaffed as I brushed past guests with their polyester and cheap wool and nylon.
I waded through the humid press of dozens of bodies until I reached the handle of the first-floor guest room.
I hurried inside. The first thing I did was shed my serviceable business casual clothes and change into my soft, comfortable ones, then I slid the window open, sighing with relief as the cool, fresh air curled up my face and around my neck.
I didn’t need to worry about my mother checking on me and finding I was gone; this party was just like all the others.
Now that she’d checked me off her list, it would be hours before she thought of me again.
So I crept out the double doors that led to the back porch and walked around the house to my car, where my skates and the cocoa waited for me in the front seat.
Moments later I was blasting Bing Crosby Christmas classics while I made my getaway.
Neto waited for me at the back door of the rink, hair still wet from showering.
He’d changed from his hockey uniform into joggers and a soft, short-sleeved T-shirt.
The blooming bruise on his jaw and cut on his eyebrow, combined with a grin, made him look like a kid who didn’t regret the fight he’d started.
Warmth spread through me at the sight of him, and I had to clench my fists to keep my hands from sliding into his damp curls.
“This is amazing,” I said, taking in the peaceful quiet of the smooth ice surrounded by a few hundred empty black seats.
The arena wasn’t huge, but it was large enough to accommodate the hockey fans from Austen Heights and the surrounding towns.
The popcorn and soda spills had all been cleaned up, and the lingering odor of the fans was rapidly fading beneath the cleansing fragrance of mopping solution.
A Zamboni had smoothed every divot and gouge in the ice and the main lights were shut off, leaving only a few to bathe the rink in a soft glow.
I sighed contentedly. “This is just what I needed. It’s like a sensory palette cleanser.
” His brow furrowed and I answered his question before he could ask it.
“My fae gift is greatly enhanced senses. I can try to limit it, but I get fatigued if I do it for too long, and my control slips if the input is too much. It’s really hard for me to shut out all the commotion of my mother’s parties. ”
“That sounds exhausting, but also very cool when you don’t have too much thrown at you. I bet that’s a really useful ability for a musician.”
“Yes and no. It allows me to catch all the imperfections in my playing, which has made me better, but it’s also frustrating when I fall short of the ideal.
When I play with the orchestra, I don’t have to block my ability.
Something about everyone coming together to create one beautiful piece keeps me from overloading.
” I could probably release my senses here.
I let go, bracing myself for a barrage of sensation, but the stillness of the room calmed me.
“This is one of my favorite places,” Neto said, his quiet voice stretching into all the empty space around us. I love it during the chaos of the game, and afterward—when everything is still but a bit of the energy of the night lingers behind.”
“Do you stay here often after the rest of the team leaves?”
“This might sound crazy, but this is one of my favorite places to write music.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all. I bet the acoustics in here are amazing.”
I heard footsteps approaching the building, and a moment later a knock sounded at the back door. Neto opened it to reveal a middle-aged man with a wide smile and two huge bags full of styrofoam boxes.
“How many people do you plan on feeding?” Neto laughed.
I poked his chest. “You told me you were starved.”
The delivery man raised his eyebrows. “This is the family meal. It feeds eight people.”
I couldn’t contain my giggle. Neto tried and failed to keep his expression serious. “I’m an amateur athlete who left it all out on the ice tonight and needs a serious recovery meal. This is perfect.”
The delivery man turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” I said, stopping him.
He turned back to me, hands on his hips. “Do you need more food?” He winked to show he was kidding.
I laughed. “We might. But if you don’t mind my asking, did you make any deliveries Monday afternoon?”
“Of course. I work six days a week, saving up for my daughter’s college.” He pulled up a picture on his phone of a pretty teenage girl with curtain bangs and a wide smile.
“She must make you very proud.”
“She does.”
“A colleague of mine ordered food on Monday, it would have been delivered to de Bourgh Hall. Were you the one to deliver it?”
“Yes, I remember her. Short blonde hair, snotty attitude.”
“Yep, that’s Cecelia. Do you know what time you delivered it?”
He checked his phone. “I delivered the meal at 1:24, we chatted for a few minutes, and I left there around 1:30.”
That was right during the window of when Paolo had been murdered. “Did you see anyone else while you were there?”
“Just the man who opened the door.”
I tried to keep my posture loose and casual as I asked, “What did he look like?”
“He was tall and blonde.”
Walter. He hadn’t mentioned answering the door when I’d asked him where he’d been.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your meals. All eight of them.”
We laughed and Neto shut the door behind him.
“Sounds like it couldn’t have been Cecelia,” I said. “But Walter told me he was in a practice room during the time when Paolo was killed. Either he forgot to mention answering the door, or he was lying to me.”
Neto frowned. “That’s suspicious.” He led me to a glass-encased room at the edge of the rink.
“This looks like the penalty box,” I said. “Did I violate a rule?”
He laughed. “No, but I kept imagining you here with me as I sat in the box, so I thought I should make it a reality.”
A flush ran up my neck and heated my cheeks. I sat next to him on the bench, close enough for our thighs and shoulders to touch. We passed boxes between us, filling the air with the aroma of turmeric, saffron, and coriander.
“I’ll get in touch with Walter tomorrow,” I said.
We both reached for the same piece of naan and heat tipped through my veins as his fingers brushed mine.
I laughed nervously and took a different piece.
Something about this man made me giddy. Possibly his stormy eyes as he said, “I’d like to be with you when you talk to them.
I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t like the idea of you questioning potential murderers alone. ”
My mother was protective, as was my abuelo, but Neto’s protectiveness made my breath catch, so I asked a question, clinging to conversation like a lifeline. “How does a serious musician get involved in hockey?”
He gingerly rested his palm against his jaw, right over the bruise.
“I don’t know if I was a broody musical kid who needed hockey as a physical outlet, or if I was a rowdy hockey kid who turned to music to help ground me.
Maybe a bit of both; you’d have to ask my mom.
” He stilled, and took a breath before saying, “I’d love to introduce you to my family. ”
This was not how tonight was supposed to go.
I was supposed to see Ernesto and realize that I had been dazzled by my crush but that we didn’t actually have very much in common.
It was supposed to be easy to check the fulfillment of a massive wish off of my list and move on with my life, making my mother proud and never causing any trouble for the monarchy.
Instead, I found myself saying, “I would love that. Tell me about them.”
So we ate our fill of curry while Neto told stories about his sisters Ximena, Carmen, Vanessa, and Soveida that had me laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes.
I wanted to know these girls. I wanted to know everything that was important to Neto.
I wasn’t under any delusions that this thing between us would last, that he would be interested in anything serious with me.
But while we were working together, I was going to enjoy every moment of my time with him.
He reached for another box, and I spied black ink peeking out from under his sleeve.
“Wait, do you have a tattoo?” I asked.
He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a curling script around his biceps.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“It’s the names of the members of my family. Well, my family of origin.” He grazed his hand along his other arm. “The other side is still open for now, but it will be for my wife and kids someday.”
I didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“I’d love a tattoo,” I said. “But my mother would never allow it.”
I was grateful he didn’t tell me that was crazy, that I should do what I wanted. He just nodded, his face clear of judgment.
When we finished eating, Neto gathered up the leftovers and stored them in the fridge in the locker room. “Do you want to skate?” he asked when he came back.
“I’d love to, if you’re up for it. But I thought I heard you say something back there about ‘leaving it all on the ice.’”
He grinned. “That was before I refueled. I’d love to skate with you.”
I tied on my skates, making sure to cinch them tight enough around my ankles. It had been ages since I’d last skated, but thankfully, as I stepped out onto the ice, the lessons I’d taken as a child kicked in and I didn’t make a fool of myself.
The scrape of our blades against the ice was peaceful, and it would have been enough to calm me into a deep relaxation if it weren’t for the reaction my heart had to Neto’s nearness. Especially when his warm fingers brushed against mine and he took my hand. My fingers curled around his.
We spent an hour skating together, playing a game where he would do a trick and I’d have to replicate it plus add a move of my own.
Then he’d do the previous moves and add another.
We played until the chain was thirty tricks long and we were both laughing so hard our stomachs ached.
“You’re a fantastic skater,” Neto said, “I concede defeat.”
I tried to curtsy but my skate caught an edge, and I would have gone crashing onto the ice had Neto not caught me around the waist. When I was stable, he started to move his hands away, but I covered them with mine.
Our eyes locked and my fingers finally wound their way into his slightly damp curls.
Neto’s voice was low as he asked, “Do you want to put on some music? The arena has an amazing sound system.”
I started. “Oh my gosh, the sound system. There’s someone else who was at the rehearsal hall that day—our sound guy, DeShawn. He left, but he has a key to the building and could have easily circled back and killed Paolo while we were all practicing.”
“Do you think he might have wanted Paolo dead?”
“I don’t think DeShawn would hurt someone. But he and Paolo were fighting at the beginning of rehearsal.”
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves another suspect.”