Chapter Twenty
Too Attached
Felipe’s eyes driftedto the clock on the mantle for the tenth time in as many minutes. Oliver was late. He had probably gotten involved in an autopsy or stopped to have coffee with Gwen Jones. Still, Felipe wasn’t sure if he was upset or relieved to have been forgotten. He put down his pen and rubbed his pounding temples. He needed to do something about Oliver. The man was getting too attached, and this would all be over soon. Felipe had already apologized to Gwen for the mess that might come after he died, but the thought of Oliver being alone again compounded the pain of Felipe’s absent future.
You’re getting too attached, too, he reminded himself. When he kissed Oliver Barlow that first night, he figured he would enjoy his time left. Have a little fun while on borrowed time, but last night, when Oliver came in and wrapped his body around him, neither asking nor expecting more, Felipe knew he was in trouble. He slept with Oliver’s strong arms bracing him against the coming storm and his warm, calloused hands intertwined over his heart. In the middle of the night, he awoke from a nightmare he couldn’t remember beyond teeth, blood, and panic, but Oliver was there, at his back, protectively curved around him. There was no need to get up to break the fear or reach for the sherry to calm his nerves with Oliver there to ground him.
More than that, he hated knowing Oliver was willing to go against his principles for him.We can keep this going a little while longer. How long was a little while? Would one more day turn into a constantly extending timeline until Oliver had to cut him loose without telling him to spare his feelings? At some point, Oliver would look back and resent Felipe if he let him do it. Felipe needed to make it clear that this would only last until Saturday, and that they never should have gotten physically involved. He started it, and he would finish it.
At the hard yet tentative knock on the door, Felipe shoved his half-finished letters deeper into his desk and closed the lid. A moment later, Oliver poked his head in, his face brightening upon seeing Felipe dressed and out of bed, no matter how rough he looked. Gwen Jones waved as she followed him in and shut the door. A wide, nervous grin broke across Oliver’s face, which he immediately tried to stifle behind a cough as he and Gwen silently exchanged a pointed look.
Felipe’s gaze traveled between the two friends. Whenever he saw a look like that on Teresa or Louisa’s face, it meant trouble. “You two look far too eager. What’s going on?”
“Our dear Oliver has figured out the perfect activity for this afternoon: breaking and entering,” Gwen replied with a flourish.
Felipe stared at them for a long moment, waiting for them to laugh or tell him it was a lark. He blinked. They weren’t kidding. “And you didn’t tell him no? I thought you were the sensible one. We can’t break into Newman’s room.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked as he peeked into the bedroom. Probably looking to see if he ever ate his breakfast. “Whoever murdered you broke into your room without a qualm. If it was Newman, this is only fair.”
“But we don’t know that. I thought you wanted to talk to Sister Mary Agnes’s family or Newman’s friends first.”
“That would be the normal progression,” Gwen began, “but I happened to stumble across the perfect excuse to send Inspector Newman out on an errand that will take at least an hour. Mr. Turpin needed someone to pick up bookbinding materials in Brooklyn, but Reynard and his partner can’t drive. With you ‘ill’ and Oliver busy with that skeleton, Mr. Turpin was more than willing to take my suggestion of asking Newman to drive Reynard. It was perfect timing.”
“We also bribed Reynard to take his time and chat with the man who runs the shop, so we know they won’t get there and immediately head back.”
“And how do you plan to get into his room without anyone seeing us breaking in?”
“The same way I get into Oliver’s lab. Lockpicking with telekinesis.”
“We confirmed his room is two halls over, third door on the right. He already left, so we should really get going.”
Felipe sat back dumbfounded. Oliver and Gwen conspired to commit a crime, planned it, and were ready to execute it all within a few hours. A minor crime, but a crime all the same. He didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Felipe released a tense breath. Oliver couldn’t manage to get him out of bed with breakfast, but he could do it with the allure of potential evidence. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once at the ridiculous thoughtfulness of it all.
“I see what you two are trying to do. This is an absolutely terrible idea. You know that, right? When I said I wanted to break in, I was just angry. I wasn’t serious.”
“You really should have thought of that before you said it in front of me. I do have a habit of taking things literally.”
“And the plan has been set in motion, so now, may be your only chance to find evidence against this guy,” Gwen said, crossing her arms and standing beside Oliver.
God, they were worse than Teresa or Louisa. Separately, Oliver and Gwen were quiet and controlled, but together, they were a force of nature.
“Fine, fine, but if the head inspector catches us, I’m blaming you two.”
***
Standing down the hallfrom Peter Newman's room, Felipe fought the urge to watch the door. He feigned listening to Oliver talk about how beetles could be used for defleshing a skeleton as Gwen stood between them with her brows furrowed in concentration. The weird looks on her face didn’t quite line up with the conversation, but at least this time of day, the Paranormal Society was relatively quiet. As the occasional investigator or worker ducked into their rooms to change or grab something, their gazes trailed to the trio until they heard “carnivorous beetles” or “necrotic flesh” and hastily made their exit. At least Oliver’s chosen topic of forced conversation would be remembered more than their loitering.
“I almost have it,” Gwen gritted. “Ugh, I forgot how hard this is the first time. I could unlock the lab door in my sleep, but I— Oh, got it!”
A few yards away, Newman’s door popped open with a low whine. Felipe watched with bated breath as one of the sybils passed in front of the door, but her eyes stayed locked on the novel in her hands. Checking the hall one last time, Felipe casually walked to Newman’s door with Oliver at his back and went in like he belonged. The walls seemed to close in the moment the door shut as every surface in the small parlor was cluttered with papers, books, chachkas, knives, bags of salt, and discarded cups and plates. Oliver’s grey eyes widened as he took in the room, looking as overwhelmed as Felipe felt. If Newman had expected a maid or his mother to tidy up after him at the Paranormal Society, he had been sorely mistaken. No wonder the man was getting sloppy with his work. He probably couldn’t find anything. Felipe ran a tired hand over the stubble on his jaw. This was going to be a nightmare to search.
“What did Gwen say the signal was if someone’s coming?” Oliver asked, his voice tight and his back to the door.
“She’ll rattle the doorknob. Come away from the door, so no one hears you. Remember what we’re looking for.”
“Papers, the rosary, photographs, the stolen book, anything that looks suspicious. The papers alone might take too long.”
“I know. Just skim them. Do you want to take the bedroom or parlor?” Felipe whispered.
