“I do appreciate it. Seriously.” Noah didn’t want to appear ungrateful, and he edged closer to watch Alistair cook. “I guess we can go back to my house eventually to get some of my stuff, right?”
“Of course.” Alistair turned each piece of bacon carefully, lifting his hand to avoid the popping grease. “Everything will be taken care of in a day or two. We can go then.”
“Everything? What everything?”
“The mess.”
Noah’s stomach sloshed. “You mean Medina.”
“Yes.”
“What’s gonna happen?”
“Nothing that you need to worry about, sweet boy.”
“You’re gonna cover it up, aren’t you?”
Alistair was silent.
“Remember the giant stash of pills you put in my car?” Noah drawled. “It’s not like you can’t totally fuck me over if you wanted to, just sayin’. Kinda thought we were past this keepin’ secrets bullshit. You did kill him to save me, you know, so that’s gotta mean something, right?”
Alistair seemed to consider that for a moment and then said, “Yes. We’re going to make it look like an accidental death. I have a good working relationship with some of the staff at the medical examiner’s office and with some police, plus the man coming to help us is an excellent cleaner.”
“Cleaner?”
“He cleans up messes.” Alistair laid the cooked bacon on a plate lined with paper towels. “He’s the person you call when you want to cover up a crime. He removes and creates evidence, and he will write the story we tell of how Medina died.”
“Which is what?” Noah tried to reach for the bacon and got his hand smartly popped.
“A tragic slip in his tub while taking a shower.”
“It’s that easy?”
“It can be when you know the right people.” Alistair picked up a bowl of mixed eggs to pour into the pan with some of the remaining grease.
“Makin’ omelets?” Noah observed.
“Very good, young chef.”
“What’s the green stuff?”
“Spinach. Ah, and my apologies. I don’t think I own any ketchup.”
“I’ll survive, I guess.” Noah leaned his head on Alistair’s shoulder, watching him tend to the omelets for a few moments. “So, uh… with all the cleaning up murders and stuff, do we know who was trying to kill me?”
“No.” Alistair frowned. “The list of people who visited the house between the end of the party and the day we suspect the bomb being planted is short. We’re still looking into it. And we’ve still had no word about Patrick.”
“Great.” Noah sort of wished he hadn’t asked, but he was grateful for Alistair being honest. He didn’t want any more bullshit between them.
“Have a seat.” Alistair nodded to a little chromed out breakfast table with two chairs. “These will be ready in a few minutes. Want something to drink? Juice? Coffee?”
“I’m okay right now.” Noah didn’t have much of an appetite now to be honest, but he sat down all the same.
“Mace will be by later with some paperwork that I need to sign for a closing, and I have a conference call this afternoon,” Alistair said. “Other than that, I am all yours today.”
“So.” Noah thought over the possibilities, and he smiled. “Got any of those old ass black and white mysteries to watch?”
“Seriously?”
