He turns with surprise, eyes as hard as the unforgiving wood he's been studying, though they warm up when they see me. Still, I know that look. Once his mind's set on something, he won't give up, no matter what gets in his way. It's why he was made head of security when Mr. Pedretti was away, and it's why we've had our occasional difficulties.
It's also why I love him.
"We were supposed to meet downstairs," I remind him with a smile.
"Ah, shit. Sorry, D. Time got away from me." Raffi's fingers trace a whorl in the wooden door. "It's just—there's still something off about this whole mess with AJ Bernardi."
"Off?" I echo. "Don Castellani is handling it, Raffi. What more is there to say?"
Raffi shakes his head. "The pieces don't fit. It doesn't makesense. Still doesn't explain how Chops Lollo got into the passage—orwhy." He pats the wardrobe, and it echoes solidly. "This thing weighs a ton." He looks back at the other door. "Roxyand Gino were staying in that room there. Said they didn't hear anything, only missed him later in the evening."
"Maybe Ms. Rochford has superhuman strength and moved the wardrobe herself," I say lightly. When Raffi only frowns, I add, "You can't seriously think she would be involved. She's an actress, not some mob queen."
"I don't know what to think anymore." Raffi sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "But something's not right."
Worried he'll dig himself into trouble, I say, "Come on, let's get out of this dreary room."
But he just stands there. "I've been thinking a lot about her dressing table," he says slowly.
"What?"
"She had this crappy plastic lighter, in among her makeup and shit. It just seemed out of place."
Raffi is really clutching at straws now, but I promised to be his partner in this. "What else was on it?" I ask. "Do you remember?"
He closes his eyes, thinking back. "The lighter. All her makeup. Hairbrushes. Tubes of stuff, creams and whatever. A few metal nails files that I remember thinking I might confiscate, because they could be turned into shivs or something—" He opens his eyes and I'm relieved to see a twinkle in his eye. "But I didn't, because I figured that would be paranoid."
I chuckle. But then I pause. "Metalnail files? That's…odd. The night she arrived for the soiree, Ms. Rochford made a big deal about going back to her natural nails for a part she's playing."
"Okay, but chicks use nail files even when they don't have those big claws, right?"
"Ladies, Raffi, would be even more careful with their natural nails. It's my understanding that metal nail files can be a little harsh. Are you sure it wasn't glass or ceramic?"
He stares at me. "No? I mean, fuck, I don't know. It was definitely metal, that's all I can tell you. Anyway, it's not the damnnail filethat was the weird thing, D. It was the lighter."
For all that Raffi calls me stubborn, he certainly can get obstinate himself. "But what does the lighter have to do with anything?" I ask.
Raffi just shakes his head, his eyes getting that glazed look again that tells me his mind is going over and over the same thing.
"Maybe we can get to Narnia through the back of the wardrobe?" I say, trying and failing again to lighten the mood. But I persist, climbing inside the empty wardrobe, feeling around the back panel. Solid as expected, except for a few knots in the wood that go right through the back. "Strange," I say, my voice echoing in the small space.
"What's strange?"
"A wardrobe as well-crafted as this one, but the craftsman left all these open knots in the back? Moths could get in. My mother would be appalled." I step back out, dusting off my suit, making a face as it doesn't seem to get any cleaner. "No fantasy worlds, I'm afraid, just poor attention to detail. I suppose we'll have to go the long way around to Narnia. And I'll have to have this suit laundered in the meantime."
Raffi catches me and pulls me close. "I don't need no fantasy world. Got my own fantasy right here." He grins at me and I smile back.Thisis the Raffi I know—flirtatious, loving, affectionate.
His hands linger on me and for a moment I forget where we are. All I see is him, and I desperately want to kiss him—so I put my hands on his face, and I do. But when I pull back, I leave a smudge behind on his cheek. "Oh, sorry—" But the more I rub at it, the worse it gets. "What on earth…" I look at my fingers and am shocked to see them covered in black marks. "Whatisthis? It's all over my hands."
Raffi pulls out a fresh handkerchief like a total gentleman and gives it to me so I can clean off my fingers.
"It's all…sooty. Bleh." I look up at Raffi and use the hanky to wipe off his face as well.
But he barely notices. He's staring past me, into space.
"Raffi?"
He doesn't reply, just grabs my hands, stares at my fingers, then marches over to the wardrobe and…
