Page 48 of Luck of the Devil
By the time I walked into the kitchen with the two mugs, he was wearing his jacket and pacing the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear. His gaze shifted to me, and he said a quick, “Gotta go,” then ended the call and slid his phone into his front jeans pocket.
“I made you a drink for the road,” I said, holding it out to him. I felt awkward, although I had no idea why.
He took it from me and glanced down at the lid.
“It’s a latte.”
“I figured.”
“I made one for myself. It’s no big deal.”
He grinned at me. “I didn’t think it was.”
I gave a short nod, wishing the ground would open and swallow me whole. Unfortunately for me, there were no reported sink holes anywhere near here.
He took a sip, then lowered his cup. “You want to take anything besides your mother’s laptop and her address book with us? Maybe a notebook?”
Grateful we’d moved on, I said, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I headed into the dining room to look for one in my mother’s stationary supply cabinet, kicking myself for forgetting the notepad I’d started making notes on in Malcolm’s office. Not that there was much on it.
I really needed to get my shit together.
When I got back into the kitchen, Malcolm had a charging cord lying next to the laptop, along with a couple of pens and my mother’s address book.
I scooped up the laptop and address book, while Malcolm grabbed the power cord, and we headed out the back door. Something caught my attention in my peripheral vision. Malcolm had brought the pocket planner in and placed it on the counter. Two glasses were on either side, holding it open while two pages stood up—presumably the March pages—air drying.
“That’s not going to tell us anything,” I grumbled as I headed out the door. “It’s a waste of time.”
“Then you can gloat and say I told you so later.”
Malcolm locked up, then we headed to the car. I knew I should give it more thought, but a sudden weariness had slammed into me, and all I could think about was reaching the car.
Once we were inside, he turned to look at me. “How are you doin’?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped as I buckled my seatbelt, only it took three attempts to make it click.
“There’s no shame in what you’re goin’ through.” His tone was unexpectedly sweet, and my gaze jerked up to his.
“You seemed to heap plenty of shame on me last week.”
He paused, resting his hand on the steering wheel, as though trying to figure out what to say.
“Stop before you say something you’ll regret,” I said through gritted teeth. I had no idea what he was about to say, but the resignation on his face looked like he was dangerously close to apologizing. I wasn’t sure I could handle it if he did.
He started the car and backed out of the driveway. “I was going to say, I need your grandparents’ address to put into my GPS.”
He was full of shit and we both knew it. But I pulled up the address on my phone and sent it to him. He pulled to the side of the road and programmed it into his car’s navigation system. The map popped up on his screen, telling us it would take us three hours and fifteen minutes to reach our destination.
My hand was noticeably shaky as I set my phone down, but I suspected it wasn’t from my detox. Malcolm was unnerving me. If I didn’t trust him, I’d be highly suspicious of his niceness, and the small, desperate part of me was scared to believe it could be anything else.
“Do you need another sip?” I could hear the worry in his voice. I’d already had two sips in less than a half hour. If I was needing them more frequently, then I might be in real trouble.
“If I didn’t know better,” I said in a snotty tone, “I’d think you were trying to keep me a drunk.”
He didn’t respond, just pulled his car away from the curb and started driving down the street.
I felt like an ass. Of course he wasn’t trying to keep me drunk. He was the only person who’d even noticed my drinking. The only one who’d tried to convince me to stop. He’d stayed up a good portion of the night to help me through my DTs, and we both knew it wasn’t because he needed me for this investigation.
And this was how I repaid him?
