Page 26 of Positively Pricked
"Not really," I said. "But it's not like I've seen her around, so I can't really call her on it." I felt my jaw clench. "But thenyoutell me that she was home just yesterday, maybe right here, in this kitchen."
"And you seriously didn't know?"
"How would I?" I asked. "I was at work."
"But if she's not home, where does she sleep?"
"Well, not at the good professor's house, that's for sure."
The professor was married. According to Paisley, he and his wife had some sort of understanding. I wasn't buying it. Not only was the guy a total cheater, he was a pompous, smarmy ass.
"Yeah," Charlotte said. "I'm sure his wife would just 'love' a big ol' sleepover."
My gaze drifted to the fridge. Taped on the front of it were both of my work schedules, written on two separate index cards.
I stalked to the fridge and yanked both of them off. I crumpled up the first one and tossed it in the trash. After all, I'd finished that job just yesterday. The other card, I folded up and set aside, with plans to put it someplace less visible.
Obviously, I'd been making it way too easy for Paisley to know when I was coming and going. And, during the last few weeks, my schedule had been particularly hectic.
Until just yesterday, I'd been holding down two jobs – a part-time job at a donut shop and the catering gig, which had only recently been converted to full-time. Now, finally, I had one full-time job instead of two part-time ones.
Thank goodness.
My gaze drifted to the cake, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I'd been so lost in my griping that I'd completely lost sight of the fact that this was apparently supposed to be some sort of celebration.
I gave Charlotte an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"For what?" she asked.
"For ruining the celebration."
"You're not ruining it," she said. "You're making it more interesting." She leaned forward. "Tell me. Is Paisley still claiming to be a psychic?"
I had to laugh. "Probably."
I turned and pulled out two of my best dessert plates, along with a couple of forks and a big knife. I set everything on the table and then went back for two mugs of coffee.
Finally, I claimed the seat across from my sister and asked, "So what are we celebrating?"
"Oh, stop it," she said. "Youknowwhat. Your promotion."
"Oh, that? It's not really a promotion." I couldn’t help but sigh. "And it'sstilljust a dead end job. I mean, it's not like I'm using my degree."
"So? You're still meeting interesting people, right?"
Instantly, a vision of Zane Bennington popped into my head.Oh yeah.He was definitely interesting, in a giant rich prick sort of way.
I gave an epic eye-roll. "Sure. And I'm serving them crab cakes. I mean, it's not like we're rubbing elbows or anything."
"Eh, who cares?" she said. "At least you're not making donuts anymore."
Well, therewasthat. In truth, I loved donuts, but getting up at the crack of dawn to make them wasn't my idea of a good time, especially after working a late-night catering gig.
But forget the donuts. I had cake. And a wonderful sister who'd made a special trip to make a celebration out of nearly nothing. If that wasn't a reason to smile, what was?
I was just about to cut into the cake when I heard a noise that made me pause. It was a thud. And it had come from somewhere inside the house.
Paisley?
Or someone else?
