“You don’t have to come with me.”
“I meant for you as well.”
“Ehhhhh. Not the first time I’ve done it. And with keys, it’s a cinch.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “What are you expecting to find?”
I shrugged. “Anything about this mysterious other Marina.”
This seemed to do the trick “The police showed me his phone records, said the calls were from an unregisterednumber. That’ll be who they are looking for as well,” he said.
Nigella’s voice was in my head. This was all to distract him until the mania of his grief had passed. But here I was, getting sucked in all over again.
“Fine,” he said. “But I don’t have the key on me. Come to my place later, and I’ll get it for you.” He stood to leave.
I nodded. “I’ll be over about midnight then.”
He looked pained at this. “You know this stuff is dangerous, right? It’s not a game.” He looked me up and down.
I jutted my chin out in mock resolution. “I’m a big, brave boy, Simon. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll see you at midnight then.” With no warning, he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Thank you for your help today.” Before I’d quite processed what had happened, he was out the door.
Neither Kennedy nor I knew quite how to deal with that. Instead, Kenny waited downstairs while I took a long shower and, um, worked through some feelings while I was in there.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped at him when I came back downstairs almost an hour later. I wandered around the house in a towel and grazed at various things in my fridge. I was ravenous but too jittery to cook. In the space of a few weeks, I’d gone from an insomniac who never ate to someone who slept twenty hours and ate constantly without even realising I was doing it.
After a snack, I took a long nap and awoke when it was starting to get dark. I read through Simon’s notes again – he had the handwriting of a teenage boy. He pressed into the page too hard with the pen, and his letters were bunched up in thin shapes.
“I thought a spy would have nicer penmanship,” I told Kenny. It was at least legible, unlike my loping scrawl.
That evening, I parked my car at the top of Simon’s street and then walked around the back to where I’d entered with Nigella that day. Several trips in the dark and a very bruised shin later, I knocked at Simon’s door.
He answered in the most circumspect manner.
“Key?” I asked, hand out.
“This is such a stupid idea,” he told me.
“Uh-huh. Key?”
“Can you at least take Kenny with you?”
“Take my anxious dog, who gets scared of the sound of a packet of bacon being opened? Who whines if he can’t see me for five minutes, so I can’t even take a dump in peace? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’m sure he won’t make any noise.”
Simon looked heavenward with a pained expression on his face. Something I was sure he would claim I was the frequent cause of.
“I’ll come with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “So benevolent. I’ll be fine, I don’t need protection.”
“Yeah, well, I’m coming with you. Give me two minutes.”
“Fine, meet me at the car. I’m parked around by the house with the ugly rose bushes on the corner.”
“Mildred’s house? God, she’ll be watching you through the curtains.” He sighed.
Five minutes later – hey, who was counting – a hulking great beast of a man, all clad in black, slipped silently into my car. Which was impressive, considering his size. Simon said nothing, so neither did I.
