Page 161 of Blue Moon

“I’m halfway there.”

“Halfway where?”

“To the old porn mansion near Elk Ridge. Don’t worry; I won’t get lost. I’ve been there plenty of times before.”

“What the fuck did you do? Send another PI after me?”

“No, I put a tracker on your car. Those lust-induced hazes can be distracting, can’t they?”

“You know I carry a gun, right?”

“And I’m sure you know how to use it. But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Firstly, you like playing reverse cowgirl, and secondly, you might break a nail burying my body.”

Unfortunately, he was right on both counts. Motherfucker.

“Hurry up, and try not to crash.”

“Aw, I knew you cared.”

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Romeo had abandoned his Jaguar by the front steps, and now he was roaming around the hallway. “Shame you took down the sex swing, though.”

“I thought you were kidding when you said you’d been here before.”

“Dick Steele and I are on first-name terms.”

“Just give me the earrings.”

He pulled a small dark-red velvet box out of his pocket. “The original bag is missing.”

I took the box into the kitchen where there was better light. The fittings were white, the counters were grey, and the appliances were pink. Fucking pink. Floor-to-ceiling bifold doors led to the courtyard, plus there were a couple of skylights. Marcel beamed at Romeo.

“A guest? Nobody warned me we were having a guest. Would you like coffee? Herbal tea? A cold drink?”

“He isn’t staying.”

Romeo ignored me. “I’d love a coffee.” He offered a hand to Marcel. “Romeo Serafini.”

Marcel’s smile turned into a scowl when he realised just who our guest was.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you,” he said, and I knew Romeo would be getting decaf. When Marcel headed for the pantry instead of the coffee machine, I smiled. Not only was Romeo getting decaf, he was getting the instant decaf Marcel saved for his least favourite people.

The earrings were unusual—curls of gold wire wrapped around dull reddish-orange beads that might have been glass or stone. I turned them over and squinted at the backs, but there was no sign of a maker’s mark. The box bore no clues either.

Another dead end.

Marcel slammed a mug of coffee down on the counter beside Romeo. “Here. I added plenty of milk so you can drink it quickly.”

“What did I do to him?” Romeo whispered as Marcel swished off back to his baking.

“You’re still breathing.”

Elene was staring between Marcel and Romeo, confused. So far, Marcel had been civil to her. Yes, she was a thief and a liar, but so were we when the need arose, and she’d only been trying to help her nephew. Her story checked out. Misho was in the hospital. So far, she was refusing to pay back the money because more medical bills were due soon, but that was Emmy’s problem to deal with, not ours.

And Romeo was just an arrogant prick.

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