"I can't believe you're staying! You know, and you're fucking staying!"
"Well, what about you, white boy?" Hmm. Jessica must be mega-pissed... "white boy" and "white girl" tended to come out only when she was furious, or scared. "You somehow forgot to mention that you're using my best friend to help you look good for the chief."
Wait. What?
"Not to mention, you expect her to take bullets for you if things get nasty. Slip your mind?"
"I'm not taking bullets for anyone," I announced, pushing open the door, "unless it's Beverly Feldman."
"Stay out of this, Betsy."
"Yeah, fuck off, blondie."
Sinclair's head came up with a jerk (he'd been seated at the counter, pretending to read the Journal), and he opened his mouth to hiss or roar something, but I overrode him with a breezy, "And a verrrrrry pleasant good evening to all of you, too."
The pleasantness of my greeting appeared to take the wind out of everyone's sails, not just his. I poured myself half the pitcher of orange juice and sat my ass down just like I belonged there.
It could be tricky, busting in on a fight. There was the "oh my God, I'm so sorry you didn't see me, I'll just scuttle back out the way I came" method, always popular with roommates of the female persuasion.
And there was my "hey, you're doing this in a public place - sort of, our kitchen - and you're fighting about me, so guess what? I'm staying" method, which I normally didn't have the nerve to try.
Jessica was eyeballing my head. "Nice hair."
"Thanks."
"It's very," Sinclair said carefully, "bright."
"Felt like a change."
"Mmmm. Detective Berry," Sinclair tried again, in a much calmer tone, but no less frightening, if you knew him, which we all did, "please do not speak to my wife that way in her own home."
"It's my girlfriend's home," Nick said, sounding sulky, but at least he was quieting down, too.
"Yes, so you delight in reminding me, and as I said earlier, I would be delighted to purchase the place from her at a fair market price. She could then move in with you, or not, as she liked, and as you liked, and several of your so-called problems would be over."
Nick had nothing to say to that, of course, and why would he? Sinclair was only telling the truth. In fact, I could see on Nick's face how very, very badly he wanted that option for Jessica.
Too bad he'd have about as much luck making her do anything she didn't want as I'd had in the past. Put it this way: I'd had more luck persuading the Ant not to wear so much polyester.
In fact, the only way he could maybe get her to leave would be if she moved -
Abruptly, Nick was on one knee. This startled Jessica, who kept her finger pointed at the space where his chest had been two seconds earlier. "I don't like you talking like - what the hell are you doing?"
He looked up at her soulfully, grabbed the hand that wasn't stabbing the air above him, and clutched it to his chest. "Jessica, will you marry me?"
"What?"
"Or at least move in with me? Right now?"
"Tr
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