“How was your day, darling?”I asked.
“I do care how you are,”Miles said. “But I figure Gray would have mentioned it if you’d like… lost alimb or something.”
“I broke a nail in thesupermarket. But there’s tea and sugar and milk in the house now, so it’s hardto complain.” I grinned to myself, but I couldn’t keep Miles in suspense anylonger. “He’s tiny and he’s got the saddest puppy eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I didn’t mention that I’dended up hugging him after all. As much as I loved and trusted Miles, that wasprivate. Not the sort of thing I planned on spreading around.
An excited little squeal wasthe only response for several seconds.
“He’s like… five-three and ahalf,” Miles said once he’d recovered.
“I s’pose the half is veryimportant at that height.”
“Not everyone can be a giantlike you and Gray.”
“We’re the same height,” Iprotested. Miles might even have been a quarter-inch taller than me.
Apparently, fractions of aninch were important at any height.
“He really is tiny.”
Tiny andneedy. Adangerous combination.
The spare key he’d left me—in hotpink—caught my eye as I shifted to get more comfortable on the bed. I’d put iton my own key chain, with the keys to my apartment, bike, and the office.
It stuck out against thebrass and stainless steel, but I quite liked that. A pop of color on anotherwise boring ring of keys.
“Don’t forget to tell him Ilove him,” Miles said.
“How old are you?” I asked. “Yousound like a teenager.”
“You’re only as old as youfeel. You’reyoungerthan me. How would you feel if you met yourfavorite musician?”
“Alarmed,” I said. “As he’sbeen dead a while now.”
“Who?” Miles asked.
“Bowie. Shame, really. Endof an era.”
I hadn’t listened tohis last album yet. Half because I didn’t want it to be over, half because Iwas afraid, with only the one working ear, that it wouldn’t sound right to me.I wanted to remember music as ithadbeen. Before…
Before.
I tried to stifle a yawn,but it got away from me.
“You must be tired,” Milessaid. “Oh, uh… have you figured out who did it?”
I snorted. Miles had a lotof faith in me.
“Haven’t met all my suspectsyet,” I said. “Got a fair idea it wasn’t Quinn himself.”
“Why would it be Quinn?”
“He—” I cut myself off, notquite up to a second explanation. Not least of all because I wasn’t sure Iwouldn’thave lied forhim. Lied, cheated, stolen.
Everything about him screamedhelp me, and I wanted to help.
“Doesn’t matter. Point is,he didn’t do it. Ninety-eight percent positive.”
