Page 18 of Fluffed and Folded

Tristan studied her. His stoic expression didn’t change, but Eli knew him well enough by now to think he might be perplexed. Darby’s case was a stumper. That someone so lovely, so small and helpless looking could in any way be involved with a man’s murder was hard to contemplate. The first instinct was to shy away and say that of course she couldn’t be culpable for murder. On the other hand, a man was dead. Darby had holes in her memory and too many haunting occurrences to dismiss.

“I can try to help you,” Tristan said at last.

Darby sagged in relief. He held up a hand, staving her off.

“As I told Eli, it could only be in the capacity as your employee. I’m not blowing smoke and trying to drum up business. Ethically I can’t skirt the law this way without a contractual obligation. Our fees aren’t cheap, and it will involve me crawling into the dark spaces in your life and dragging them into the open.”

“I understand. Money isn’t a problem and, as for the darkness, I want to know,needto know what’s going on.”

Tristan leaned in a bit, his tone becoming a bit more urgent and intense. “You also need to know that if I find out you’ve murdered someone, I will not cover it up. I will help you negotiate a conversation with the police, but I won’t ignore it.”

Darby took a deep breath and glanced at Eli, brows raised in question, as if asking him what she should do. He gave her a slight nod. Whatever happened with the investigation, he trusted Tristan to do the right thing and handle it well.

Darby faced forward again and reached for the pen on the desk. “Where do I sign?”

CHAPTER 12

“He wasn’t lying, that was brutal and intense,” Eli said. Tristan had been available to start right away, which meant he accompanied them back to the apartment complex to look around and interview Darby. Eli tagged along because he felt like he should, as if he were the emissary that brought the two sides together. Also there was the fact that Darby seemed so very alone and so very vulnerable. He wasn’t certain what to do with that vulnerability, if he was honest. She certainly hadn’t asked for his help. Should he continue to provide it?

Tristan had followed them back to the apartment complex and walked the perimeter in silence. Darby and Eli stood side by side, watching, both wondering what he saw as he made his detailed perusal. After the initial walk, he pulled his notebook from his pocket, wrote a few things, tucked it away, and said, “I need to see the apartment.”

“The police sealed it,” Darby said uncertainly.

“Landlord trumps police,” Tristan replied.

“Really?” Eli said.

“When I’m on this side of the law, sure,” Tristan said, shrugging a shoulder. He led the way to Asher’s apartment and stood aside while Darby unlocked it. They followed him insidebut stopped in the entryway. Darby was tense, and Eli hovered, feeling oddly protective. Did he think she was capable of killing a man, of killing Asher? He knew absolutely nothing about her, except that she was above average attractive. His instinct told him she wasn’t a killer; it was that same instinct that told him she was in over her head and needed a friend right now. Which begged the question, where were her friends? Why was she so alone?

“It smells weird,” Darby noted, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Eli took a delicate sniff and agreed. “Have you ever noticed that when someone says something smells bad, your instinct is to inhale? Why wouldn’t it be the opposite?”

“Automatic exhale? You’d have to have a ready supply of oxygen in your lungs. Most people don’t.”

“I’m going to make that my new goal: to always have enough oxygen to do the right thing.” He pressed his hand to his heart, like a pledge, and she smiled and relaxed the stiff set of her shoulders. He might not be suave and confident, but he could make people laugh, could set them at ease.

“Darby, come here,” Tristan called.

Darby raised her brows at Eli. “Do you think anyone ever defies him?”

“I can think of one person,” Eli said. When Josie was nearby, Tristan was putty. He tried to pretend he wasn’t, and that made it funnier somehow.

“What was the manner of death?” Tristan began as soon as they were in the bedroom. They joined him in staring at the bed, with its giant blood spot in the center. The mattress was saturated and already turning brown at the edges. Darby swallowed hard and crossed her arms again.

“Stabbing, I think? I heard them say something like that. And with all the blood…” she motioned halfheartedly to the bed.

“You don’t remember stabbing him,” Tristan said it as a statement as he noted her reaction, studying her keenly. Eli studied her, too, but he saw only fear and trepidation, no guilt or shock.

Darby shook her head. “No. The room.” She motioned again. “It looks familiar, the entire apartment. It’s like I canalmostrecall being here, almost catch snatches and glimmers of…something? But I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like it involves violence or anger.”

“Did you know the victim in your conscious memories? Had you ever talked, interacted?”

“No more than I do with any of them,” she said, and this time motioned to Eli, who winced.

Ouch.He had long suspected that Darby viewed all the tenants as an anomalous mass of admirers. To hear proof of it was both painful and validating. What was he doing here? Why didn’t he leave?

“Was there any blood in your apartment?” Tristan asked.

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