Because we are absolutely not at a restaurant. Or a hotel. Or the Turkish bath house she mentioned and terrified me with.
The sketchy back alley is dark and desolate. A shadow whizzes in front of the car. She points. “Look, a kitty.”
“Just what you need.”
Before I can ask a single question, Bernadette reaches for the door handle.
I start to get out, too. “Let me?—”
She flutters her hand at me. “No, no. You stay put, dear.”
She walks to the back door of an industrial-looking building and knocks.
I don’t like the looks of this. I’m also not armed. And as much as I want to wrap the driver in a sleeper lock and drive away from this “date,” I will not leave crazy cat lady to fend for herself.
I’m about to get out when the metal door to the building opens.
And I see a red, billowy skirt teasing the shapely calves of someone I know.
Pix.
And she is smiling.
I step out as Pix and Bernadette exchange a hug. “Can I get a picture?” Bernadette asks.
It doesn’t look like Pix wants to. Still, she does. I’m not sure what that’s about.
Viviana hands Bernadette an envelope. “This is for your trouble.”
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, dear.” She waves me over and hands me her phone. “Get another picture of us.”
Pix’s smile withers. I’m about to decline when Pix says, “It’s all right.” When she adds, “Please,” I don’t like it, but I do as she asks.
They pose, and I snap the shot, deliberately leaving Pix’s face out of the shot. Oops.
I also delete the previous one. I have no idea why, but I don’t like Pix looking like she’s being backed into a corner.
Besides, since Miss Bernadette once mistook a sewer rat for a kitty, I doubt her eyesight will clue her in until we’re long gone.
I hand back the phone, and the woman squeezes Pix’s hands, clearly approving of me. “He’s quite the catch, dear.”
Pix glances at me, smiling.
Then Bernadette shuffles into the building Pix just came out of.
“Where’s she going?” I ask.
“I arranged a cab for her out front.”
I scan the dilapidated brick building, every instinct lighting up. “What is this place?”
“My home away from home.”
I nod slowly. “So. Hannibal Lecter’s Airbnb.”
She rolls her eyes and flicks her skirt with flair. “It’s a wholesale fabric shop, Lumberjack.”
I nod, taking in how perfectly the dress hugs her figure.
