Ignoring him would be ideal, but that’s impossible with Dorian Buchanan. “Going through it all.”
“You’ve gotten rid of the boxes. Good.” From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “Having all of that crap in here makes you look like a crazy person.”
Ignore him, Daisy.“Uh-huh” is all I say.
He moves to my desk and sits in my office chair, then wiggles the mouse to wake up my computer. It’s password protected, so he can’t see what I’ve got on my computer. “You gonna show me what you’ve written in the last week?”
No.That’s what I’d like to say, but it won’t fly. Besides, the sooner I show him what I’ve got, the faster he’ll leave. Tossing another magazine into the trash bag, I stand and make my way to the desk. I pause in front of him, waiting for him to give me my chair. He rises but doesn’t go far, which makes me tense.
Typing in my password, I make a mental note to change it again as soon as he leaves. Fortunately, the file is already open. Standing, I let him take the seat again so he can read what I’ve got. I know what’ll happen next. He’ll begin questioning some of my findings. He always does.Always. And 99 percent of the time, he’s wrong. Every once in a while, he’ll catch something I missed, but not very often.
“I’m not sure about this paragraph.”
See?
“Which paragraph?” I ask as I reach for the folder that holds my research.
“This one, about Hemingway’s sister, Ursula.”
“What about her?” I already know what he’s going to say.
“She didn’t kill herself. She died of cancer.”
Yes, she did kill herself, but arguing with my father does no good. Instead, I open my research folder and pull out the information on Ursula. “Here.” I hand it to him. As he reads, I return to my stack.
“I’ll be…,” he mumbles to himself.
“Yep.”
“What about—”
I don’t know what he’s going to question next because there’s a knock on my door. I cringe.
No. Not now.
The last thing I want is my dad to see I’ve made cookies for someone. A man. But when the knock sounds again, I know I’ve got to get it before my father does.
Quickly, I make my way to the door. Peeking out the peephole, I don’t see Gage. It’s the other one. Sighing, I pull the door open and put a fake smile on my face. “Oh, hey.” Like I’m surprised to see him.
“I can’t stop thinking about the cookies,” he says with a smile. It’s a nice smile. Not as nice as Gage’s but still….
“Sure.”
I step into my kitchen to retrieve my plastic container when my dad hisses in my ear, “What the fuck is a cop doing here?”
First of all, even though my dad is a cheat and a liar, he rarely cusses.
“I made them cookies.”
“Why is hehere?”
“Oh.” I can’t believe my father doesn’t know. “They’re across the hall, investigating.”
“Investigating what?” He’s still whispering, sort of.
“My neighbor was murdered.”
Dad’s eyes grow round. “And you didn’t bother to call me?”
