As though he’s thinking the same thing, Jordan says, “What kind of sick bastard does this?”
I glance over. He and Polly are hovering beside the coffee table, staring at the box. Nobody’s touched it—they’ve all watched the same crime dramas I have—but looking can’t destroy evidence.
“Is that the picture from TMZ?” Polly asks. “Not the kissing one, the other one. I think they downloaded that, cut out Phil’s face, and stuck it on.”
Quickly, I check that Phil didn’t hear that. He really liked the TMZ photos of us, especially the kissing one.
“I think I can see a note,” Blaise adds, going to hover beside his boyfriend. “Underneath the doll. There’s the edge of some white paper, see?” He points.
“Don’t touch,” I remind them. “If there’s a note, the police will pull it out.”
Polly sighs and sinks down to sit on the floor. “Calla, do you think this could have been someone in your building?”
She sits beside him and wraps her arms around herself. “No. Maybe? I hope not.”
“Not to be pushy, but how do you think Phil would feel about me buying a place, and you and him living there as caretakers? Because I don’t think I’ll sleep again knowing someone who’d do this was right outside your door.”
I resist the urge to inform them that Phil’s moving in with me. That’s not a decision I can make for him, even if I desperately want to. Hopefully he’ll agree.
“Not the time,” Calla replies, leaning against him and turning her face into his shoulder. “But we’ll talk about it.”
We sit in silence for a while, until Phil’s whimper gets our attention. He’s holding his mug in front of his face, looking into it.
“Where’s Harold?” Blaise asks. “Did he?—”
“On it,” Harold says, coming out of the kitchen carrying a big thermos, the kind that holds six cups. “Here, Phil, let me top you up.” He places a gentle hand on Phil’s wrist to steady the mug, then fills it with steaming tea before putting the cap on the thermos and setting it on the coffee table. “Lucky timing, but we’ll be ready next round.” He sits at the other end of the couch, not crowding Phil, but close enough for his presence to be felt. “So, what do we think this is? Ex-lover? Ex-client? Homophobe who saw the photo and crashed out? Who the hell could want to do this to Phil, of all people?”
I shake my head. I was thinking the same. Phil’s a sweetheart. Even when I thought he was a stuck-up snob, I didn’t think he deserved something like this.
Could someone more prone to overreacting have also misinterpreted a situation? It’s a big leap from “he didn’t talk to me” to “I’m sending him a mutilated effigy.”
“Calla, is there anyone at work who might hold a grudge?” Jordan asks. “Should we organize full-time security for the showroom? I like Kyle, but he’s got other things to do. Plus, he’s too nice.”
Calla hesitates, then says, “We’ll talk about it. I can’t think of anyone who might do this. People love Phil. We don’t work with the ones who… don’t.” Her eyes get big. “Fuck, is this my fault? Do you think it could be one of the clients I declined because I didn’t like the way they acted around him?”
“It’s probably not,” Blaise soothes. “They would likely have sent you something too. Let’s just wait and see what the cops have to say.” He pauses. “But maybe I should get a pen and we can start making a list.”
Ten minutes later, the list includes a few potentially disgruntled not-clients, two exes nobody liked because of the way they spoke about Phil behind his back—I make a mental note of those names—an ex of Calla’s who became an ex when she went on a diatribe about Phil taking too much of Calla’s attention, and a couple of people who were particularly nasty to Phil back in college. We’re currently debating whether his family should be added, too, when the front door opens.
“It’s just us,” a voice calls—Butch, I think—and a second later, they appear in the doorway. Xera has Vivi in her arms and looks just as smitten as she should, but the second my dog spots me, she barks and wriggles to get down.
“Hold on to your bow,” Xera chides, bringing her over and setting her in my lap.
A little knot inside me loosens. I knew she was fine with Bettina, but I guess I’m not one of those dog parents who doesn’t worry.
I stroke my free hand over her fur, then scoop her up and angle my body so she’s in Phil’s line of vision. At first, he doesn’t react, but then his gaze sharpens and he lets go of my hand while shoving his mug toward me.
Gladly, I swap him dog for mug, and he cradles Vivi close to his chest, burying his face in her soft fur. She whines and licks his neck but doesn’t try to get away. I knew my girl was a nurturer at heart.
“Thank you,” I tell Xera and Butch, grateful that my place isn’t that far from here.
“Anytime,” Butch assures me.
“We’re just glad it’s helping,” Xera tacks on. “Have we thought of anything that might be helpful?”
Blaise looks at the list. “Not really. What’s your vote—could someone in Phil’s family have done this?”
Xera shakes her head, but it’s not a negative. “I wouldn’t know. I never met them.”
