Chapter Fifteen
‘You’re my hero,’ says George.
It’s been a few hours since I did my doughnut drop-and-run, and now I’m back at home on the couch, picking at a late-lunch-meets-early-dinner of cold grocery store potato salad from a slouched position, with George on speaker phone.
‘I wouldn’t take it that far—’
‘Queen. Royalty. Goddess! Deity.’
‘It’s just an ice sculpt—’
‘It’s the one thing I cared about for our party, and you made it happen!
And Colby is a-maz-ing. Have you seen her work?
My God. You know she’s going to be sculpting live, right?
At the beginning of the party, it’ll be a huge block of ice.
And by the end, it will be two people committing their lives to each other.
To scale!’ George sniffles. ‘Sorry, it’s making me so emotional. ’
‘It sounds like it’s going to be beautiful,’ I say, scooping up another cold, lumpy bite and regretting my choice to let a clearance sticker dictate my choice of food.
‘It’s a metaphor, you know? Before Arjun, my life was cold.
Like a block of ice. But now …’ She makes a series of sounds that are impossible to interpret.
‘I just can’t wait for you to have your turn.
Please tell me you slept with Adonis yesterday.
Please tell me he is melting your defenses into a puddle and you’re going to get some real, actual boneage—’
‘Ack!’ I exclaim, because the word boneage is extremely cringe. ‘Relax, George! It was a kayaking date. We’re taking it slow.’
‘Margot, you can be slow when you’re dead! You’ve been in hibernation for years. It’s time to come out and play! Speaking of which, where are you at with your business plan for the coffee shop?’
I mumble something incoherent that I hope will pass for an answer. And then, another incoming call buzzes – Liam.
‘Oh my God, it’s him, I have to go,’ I say breathlessly. Did his neighbor share that I was trying to pick his lock?
‘Ah! Report back with every sordid detail!’
I click over to the new call.
‘Liam, hi!’
‘Margot.’ He chuckles. ‘I got the doughnuts.’
‘Oh! Yay. They’re great, right? Too bad you weren’t home … what did you say you were doing?’
‘Nothing that interesting. I thought you were at church?’
‘Oh! I got out early. Sunrise service.’ I improvise. I don’t know, it sounds like a real thing.
‘But I know I didn’t tell you my unit number.’
‘Oh, that! A really nice couple that I met told me.’ I pause. ‘They had some interesting things to say about you.’
He groans. ‘Patty and Reg. Yeah, they hate me.’
‘They did mention, erm … screaming. Loud, screaming women.’
‘I swear it’s not me. It’s the guy above me.’
‘Wow. The noise reaches them from up there?’
‘He plays his movies at movie-theater volume. I have the entire script of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre memorized.’ I can hear the grimace in Liam’s voice. ‘Not to mention, he walks like he’s doing military drills.’
‘OK.’ He’s lying, right? Then again, the footsteps I heard did have a very drillish vibe. ‘There was also a mention of smells?’
He laughs suddenly, in that full-throated way that I love. ‘Well, yes. I am an experimental cook. They’re probably alluding to the batch of sauerkraut I made.’
‘You make your own sauerkraut?’ And why is that kind of hot?
‘And kimchi, and kombucha. Fermented foods are really good for your gut.’ He pauses.
‘But this is a terrible segue into what I actually called to ask you. Dinner? Tonight? My place? I know you have work tomorrow, but I can make sure to wrap things up at a decent hour. I know you like to go to bed early—’
‘Already ate,’ I interrupt, pushing aside my regretful potato salad. ‘But we can do drinks? Dessert?’
‘Perfect.’
Holy shit we’re doing this. I’m actually, finally getting into his apartment.
‘Can I bring anything? Wine? Cookies? More doughnuts?’ I say, my voice going a bit squeaky, because, what if I do find a deep freezer? And there’s a body in it? That would be horrible but also amazing, right? Because I could actually solve this tonight. If I make it out alive.
There’s a brief silence, as if my rapid affirmative wasn’t what he was expecting. Then, his voice drops a key and he practically purrs, ‘Just your lovely self.’
*
As I approach Liam’s building, I take in my surroundings in the glow of the streetlights and lit-up restaurants.
I was here this morning, but everything looks different at night.
More enchanting – and more dangerous. Traffic is livelier than earlier in the day, and the local restaurants are hopping.
My body feels alive too, like every nerve ending is the lit end of a sparkler.
This is it. If there’s a clue to be found that will link Liam to the murders, it’s likely to be here, at his place.
I purposefully haven’t dressed up. Like this morning, I figure my strategy should be to put the brakes on any sexiness.
Losing my mind is the last thing I’m going to let myself do tonight.
Thus, I’m wearing the same sweatshirt and leggings I’ve been in all day.
My hair is in the same messy top knot from earlier, and there’s not a drop of makeup on my face.
Do I smell like BO? I didn’t check, but hopefully, yes.
At the apartment entrance, I ring the bell for 505 and Liam buzzes me in.
This time, I take the elevator.
He’s left his door ajar, so I let myself in.
No weird noises yet. And no weird smells – quite the opposite; a delightful vanilla scent immediately greets me from a flickering candle in the entryway.
In fact, there are candles everywhere – and soft jazz is playing, which should be annoying and cliche, but isn’t. I can already feel myself relaxing.
Nope! We are staying cold and firm. Think George’s block of ice, except it stays a damn block of ice.
‘Hello, hello!’ I call out, but there was no need – he’s right over there in the kitchen, his broad shoulders highlighted under his white tee. He’s stirring something at the stove.
I close the door behind me, but leave it unlocked, in case a 911 call is in my near future and the police have to crash in and save me.
‘Sorry I can’t step away.’ He flashes a grin toward me. ‘Just making a quick chocolate ganache.’
‘Oh, fancy.’ I’m not even sure exactly what a ganache is. I cast my gaze around the apartment. ‘Mind if I look around?’
‘There’s not much to see, but help yourself. Oh, and feel free to stash your purse in the entry closet.’
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll keep it on me.’ No way am I losing quick access to my weaponry.
I take myself on a small tour of the open-concept space.
The galley-style kitchen is open to the living room, and at the front is the small balcony, the shades half drawn down.
And dear heavens, it’s gorgeously decorated.
I take in the vintage framed posters above the lowback caramel leather couch, featuring an art print of the Chicago skyline and an old ad for the Illinois Central Railroad.
A thriving Monstera plant sits in the corner, and a fuzzy blanket is thrown over a plaid highback reading chair.
The glass and metal coffee table in front of the couch is piled with books.
I investigate the splayed-out hardcover with the reading glasses next to it – Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson’s Abundance. OK, Mr Smarty Pants.
A clear plastic round table sits in the small dining nook by the front windows, with two perfectly positioned orange plastic chairs.
An abandoned coffee mug rests to the side with a puddle of black in the bottom.
It’s impossible not to imagine how delightful it would be to have breakfast in that very spot as the morning sunlight streams through the windows.
To be frank, this does look like the apartment of someone who’s in finance and getting into art collecting as opposed to someone who regularly kills people.
Everything has been meticulously chosen for the space – this is a guy with a great eye.
I remind myself that good taste has no correlation with moral purity.
You can be classy on the outside and an ethical dumpster fire on the inside. Isn’t that how Ted Bundy got them?
I peruse a white bookshelf and notice right away the collection of coasters Liam mentioned on our first date, neatly stacked. I look at a few. San Francisco. Albuquerque. Minneapolis. Honolulu. A cute collection? Or are the coasters trophies of the places where he’s done away with women?
There’s one notable absence. The deep freezer. I doubt it’s in the small bathroom I can see off the main space – and I doubly doubt it’s in his bedroom, though I’m not leaving without making sure.
‘It’s a little small,’ I remark. Also, how am I going to poke around to my satisfaction with Liam right there? It had occurred to me that maybe he could fall asleep while we watch a movie. Let’s see, what’s the most boring movie of all time?
‘Big enough for one.’ He’s moving the little pot of ganache to the island. ‘This has to cool for at least fifteen minutes before I can put it on the cakes. Hope you’re not starving. But I can get some beverages going for us in the meantime. Wine. Coffee. Home-brewed kombucha. Ladies’ choice.’
I shake my head. ‘Do they give you any extra storage space? In the basement? You know, for bikes or Christmas boxes or … a deep freezer?’
He laughs, his eyes glinting. ‘No extra storage. You’re still on that cow kick, huh? Wait until you eat these chocolate cakes. That’ll put everything else right out of your mind.’
Oh, will they? Wait – is that code for ‘the cakes are drugged’? No dessert for Margot tonight.
‘I had no idea you were a pastry chef.’
He smiles. ‘I’m a man of many skills.’
He’s in good spirits, and charming as ever, but … does he look a teensy bit worn out?
‘You look tired,’ I say. Which could be perfect for my boring movie plan.
He steps around the counter, his body incredibly close to mine now. His arms are bulging and it’s honestly hard to look away.