Chapter 19
We returned to the bar and I told the men I was going to head straight upstairs so I could shower and change my clothes. Tyrese said he'd fill the others in on our visit to TJ and he went upstairs to the Capone Club room. Mal said he wanted to shower also, and that maybe he should head home, but I suggested he join me upstairs and use my father's shower.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don't want to impose.”
“It's no imposition,” I insisted.
“Okay, then.”
I led him upstairs and once we were in the apartment, I dug out a towel and washcloth for him to use. “Do you have another change of clothes?” I asked him. “If not, I have a few of my father's clothes packed away that I couldn't bear to get rid of. You're close to his size, so I imagine they'd fit you.”
“I have another set of clothes left in my go bag, but thanks.”
“When we're done with the showers, give me your clothes and I'll toss them in the washer with mine.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” I started to turn away but he touched my arm and stopped me. “One more thing,” he said. “I planned on staying here again tonight if you're going to be alone. Is Duncan going to come by?”
“No,” I said, trying to mask my disappointment. “But I don't think you have to stay. I'm pretty secure up here, between the alarms on the bar doors and the lock on my apartment door.”
Mal shook his head. “I promised Duncan I'd look out for you, and that's what I'm going to do.”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. To be honest, I didn't mind the idea of him staying over again, though it wasn't just because I was concerned about my safety. I also enjoyed his company.
“This time, I really am going to sleep on the couch,” he said.
I felt myself blush, and wondered why he hadn't said anything about our sharing a bed last night. Did he even know? Or had he slept so soundly that he was unaware of my presence beside him?
“You can sleep wherever you want,” I said.
His eyebrows arched and he sucked in a little breath.
“The couch or my father's bed,” I clarified quickly. Then I turned and nearly ran into my bathroom to escape the awkward moment.
Half an hour later, I came back out into the living room and found Mal seated at the dining room table, writing something down on some paper. His hair was damp from his shower, and as I approached him, the clean smell of him triggered a sensation like a light breeze on my face.
“What do you want to do with the rest of the evening?” I asked him. “I need to go downstairs and see to the bar, do the closing and such. You're welcome to stay here or to come with me, whatever you want.”
“I feel like someone needs to keep a close eye on you, particularly when you're in the bar. You're open to the public and while having a crowd around you offers some sense of protection, it can also make you more vulnerable. I noticed that big hulk of a guy you have behind the bar and at the door at times. Is he trustworthy?”
“You mean Gary. Yeah, I'd say he's trustworthy. He took a bullet for me a couple of months ago.”
His eyebrows shot up at that, and I quickly filled him in on the story of my father's murder and that of his girlfriend, Ginny, nine months later.
“I feel a little better knowing you have someone like Gary around, especially since Duncan and I can't be here all the time,” he said when I was done. “But you still need to be careful until we find out who's behind these letters. If this Apostle Mike is the culprit, it sounds like he has plenty of yahoos who will blindly do his bidding. Not to mention that there might be some fanatics in the group who would take it upon themselves to do something even without Apostle Mike's direction. And that means that being in a public place around a lot of other people may not be much in the way of protection. Maybe we should clue Gary in to what's going on so he can keep a closer eye on you.”
I frowned at that. Bringing in additional people made it more likely that word would spread, and I didn't want anyone else's death on my hands. Yet Mal had a point. He and Duncan couldn't be around all the time and I didn't want to have to hide in my apartment or office all the time, either. But something told me that whoever was behind those letters was more interested in playing with me than killing me, like a cat toying with a mouse . . . taunting, teasing, hurting, but not killing. At least not yet.
“Let me think about it, okay?” I said.
Mal scowled, making it clear he didn't want to agree, but eventually he nodded.
We headed down to the bar and checked in with the group, updating them on the interviews we'd done earlier, though Tyrese had already filled them in on most of it. After that, Mal and I headed back downstairs to the main level, where I chipped in to help wait the tables in Linda's section. She still wasn't very fast, nor did she have many of the drink names down pat. But she was making an honest and earnest effort, and I felt that with a little more time and training, she would turn out okay. While we worked, I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, staring at unknown customers, wondering if I was being watched, stalked, and hunted.
Mal positioned himself on a stool and spent the time surveying the crowd, both directly and by using the mirror at the back of the bar. I checked in with him periodically, and clued him in when I saw Clay Sanders come in and take a seat at one end of the bar. Clay stayed until closing, so Mal and I put on a good show for him. A couple times Mal put his arm around my waist and pulled me close when I came up to the bar to fill drink orders. Later on, as I was standing at the end of the bar opposite Clay, Mal came out of the restroom. When he saw me, he came up behind me, wrapped me in a bear hug from behind, and kissed me on my neck. Clay definitely got an eyeful, so if he was coming to spy on me, I felt our mission was accomplished.
Had it been anyone other than Mal acting out these moves on me, I suspect I would have stiffened up and looked uncomfortable. But I felt no discomfort with Mal; in fact, I felt we fit together quite nicely.
The forecasted snow started coming down around one. It started with flat, fluffy flakes that drifted down from the cloud cover, but half an hour later they were coming down faster and straighter. By closing time a bitter wind put in an appearance, so I sent my staff home and did the cleanup and closing tasks myself, though I did put Mal to work washing glasses and dishes. We finished up a little before three and by then the wind had sculpted much of the snow into mini peaks and drifts, making the street look like the top of a lemon meringue pie. It gave me a sense of relief, not only because it meant Mal would likely not have to work in the morning, but because heavy snowfalls tend to bring peace, at least temporarily, to the city. No one, not even the most hardened of criminals, was likely to go out and do anything in the midst of a blizzard. Still, I was relieved to be safe behind my locked doors. The emotional tension I'd felt all night had left me exhausted. Mal and I headed upstairs once we were done and, after giving him some sheets and blankets for the couch, I headed for my own bed. My head barely hit the pillow before I was asleep.
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As I slowly surfaced from a deep and restful slumber the next morning, I knew the snowfall during the night had been significant. My first clue was the smell of the air, the second was the deep and distant rumble of the plows outside, and the third was the brightness of the light streaming in my window around the edges of the curtains. The light that comes from daylight reflecting off snow has its own unique feel for me.
I sat up and peered out the window. A good foot of snow had fallen and it was still coming down. The plows had been busy during the night clearing the streets, but there was a good two or three inches of newly fallen stuff in many places, waiting for the plows to make their next round. I smelled fresh coffee, and the lure of it pulled me out of bed and out to the kitchen.
Mal was sitting at the dining room table sipping a cup of coffee. “I made a pot. I hope that's okay.”
“It's not only okay, it's wonderful,” I said. “It's nice to be on the receiving end for a change.”
“Well, then, you're going to love it when I cook you breakfast. I hope you don't mind that I snooped in your fridge to make sure you had what I need and that you like French toast.”
“I like anything anyone else cooks for me,” I said, using his own line on him.
Mal pulled a chair out from the table and waved a hand over it. “Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?”
“A dab of cream.”
He returned a moment later carrying a steaming mug of perfection. My laptop was on the table and I dragged it over and checked out the morning news while Mal occupied the kitchen. I thought he might ask me where certain items were, but he seemed content to hunt and peck and make do on his own. Before long, the wonderful aromas of vanilla, cinnamon, and maple filled the air, and my stomach began to growl. Mal kept sneaking into the room to drop items off at the table: butter, plates, napkins, and two sets of silverware.
I got a text from Cora asking if she was needed for the trip to the brewery and I messaged her back to let her know that Mal was able to go, and to let the brothers know.
As soon as I hit send, Mal appeared at my side and set a full champagne glass beside my laptop.
“What is this?” I asked, eyeing the bubbly drink.
“My personal spin on the classic mimosa,” he said. “I make it with peach juice and put half a canned peach in the bottom of the glass as an extra treat.”
I took a sip, savoring the flavors of orange juice and peach syrup mixed together with the champagne. “Yummy,” I said.
Mal grabbed my plate and retreated back into the kitchen, returning a moment later. On my plate were three pieces of perfectly browned French toast, delicately dusted with powdered sugar. With his other hand, he set down a small gravy boat with warmed maple syrup in it. “There you go, Mademoiselle,” he said with one of the worst French accents I'd ever heard. “Your morning treat.” He scuttled back in to the kitchen and returned with a second plate of French toast, which he carried over to the seat across the table from me. “Dig in. Eez best while it's fresh and hot, which is how I like my women.”
I laughed, and did as he said. We ate in companionable silence and I scarfed my food down. The tastes in my mouth created a heady combination of sensations that left me feeling warm, safe, secure, and relaxed. When I was done, I set my fork down and ran a finger through a bit of remaining butter and syrup. When I popped the finger in my mouth to lick it off, I caught Mal watching me with an odd intensity. It took him a second to realize I was looking at him, because his eyes were fixed on my mouth. When he did realize it, he blushed and hurriedly looked back down at his plate.
It was a strained moment, and it became only more so when my cell phone rang and I saw it was Duncan calling.
I answered with a cheerful “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Sunshine. You sound like you're in good spirits.”
“I am. How was your night?”
“Long, but I'm heading home to bed. And I have some good news. At least I think it's good. One of the other detectives is bringing Apostle Mike in later this afternoon for a little chat about an assault that took place two nights ago. And I think I figured out how we can bring you in to the station without anyone being the wiser so you can listen in and observe.”
“How?”
“I know someone who does theatrical makeup. She trained out in Hollywood with some of the best, but then she abandoned the bright lights so she could move to Wisconsin to be with a man she met. Ten years and three kids later she's still here, and she does cast makeup for theater groups in the area, and for the occasional movie set when Hollywood comes to town. She can fix you up so that no one will recognize you.”
“So basically you're suggesting I adopt a disguise and come down to the station?”
“You got it.”
I looked over at Mal, who was watching me, his brows drawn down to a worried V. “When?” I asked Duncan.
“Is Mal there? Are you two going to do the Miller tour today?”
“Yes, and yes,” I said. Mal and I hadn't discussed it, but given the hour and the weather outside, I assumed he wasn't going into work, and that meant our plan to do the tour was on.
“What time?” Duncan asked.
“I don't know. We haven't discussed the specifics yet. We were just finishing breakfast. Let me ask Mal. I'm going to put you on speaker.”
I switched the phone to speaker mode and set it on the table between Mal and me. “Duncan wants to know what time we're going to do the Miller tour. He wants me to come down to the station later and listen in on a chat with Apostle Mike.”
Mal shrugged. “We can do the tour anytime.” He glanced at his watch, making me do the same. It was after ten already. “I don't think we can make the ten-thirty tour, especially given the conditions outside, but we should be able to do the eleven o'clock tour.”
“That will work fine,” Duncan said. “We arranged to have Apostle Mike come in at three-thirty, so I'll send Isabel to the bar around two. That should give you two plenty of time to do the tour and get back. Let Isabel work her magic on you, Mack, and when she's done, come on down to the station.”
“How should I get there?” I asked. “If I'm being watched and Mal takes me, someone might recognize his car. They might also recognize my car.” The idea that the person writing the letters might have police connections had occurred to me, though I hadn't verbalized that thought to anyone yet. If it was true, they might have the ability to run a license plate. “I'm thinking I should take the bus, or a cab,” I concluded.