“Ah yes! Code names.” His eye spasmed like he’d stopped himself on the verge of another wink. “And I am your husband. Mr. L.”
“Sounds super-cool, right?” Jean flashed him a thumbs-up. “Like an international assassin.”
“As opposed to a local assassin?” Libby asked, mostly under her breath. “Contract killing at the county level?”
Frowning, Mr. L pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and snapped it open. “Were you admiring the Golden Lotus?” he asked, edging around Libby.
“I—yes?” She wasn’t sure it was the right answer, especially since he appeared to be wiping off her fingerprints with the square of white silk. Maybe she should have denied everything.
“Who wouldn’t?” Jean elbowed Libby in the side, giving her a try-harder glare.
“Totally. Since it’s so elegant.”
Jean nodded like she’d said something profound. “Yet strong.”
“Two-point-oh GPM,” Mr. L informed them. He flicked a finger under one of the bronzed leaves, and a spurt of water hit the sink. “It doesn’t get more powerful than that. At least notlegally.”
“Wow.” Jean looked expectantly at Libby, who was still wondering whether Mr. L was part of an underground fight club of faucet designers, illegally souping up their plumbing.
“That’s… a real gusher.”
Mr. L inclined his head. “Do you know what I dreamed of as a young man, before I found my true calling?”
“No.” Libby wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Was this it, the dark secret?
“The stage.” A swish of the handkerchief for emphasis. “But my academy only had chess club and engineering team. No shows for Rudy.”
“I’m sorry.” Libby could sort of imagine him doing magic tricks.
“But now at last I get my chance!” He carefully refolded his handkerchief and tucked it into his pocket. “To test my dramatic skills for an audience.”
Was that why he’d signed up for this charade? Somebody should really tell him about community theater.
“Do you knowMamma Mia?” he asked.
Libby imagined a vise holding her head in place. Even the slightest eye contact with Jean would spell the end for both of them. “I do, yes. Well, the movie.”
“I’m afraid this is going to be a little less… Broadway than that.” Jean managed to sound sad about it.
“Fewer musical numbers,” Libby added.
“Very tasteful,” Mr. L agreed. “Top-quality.” He glanced at Libby, and she felt another prickle of suspicion. What was this guy’s deal? And if it did involve internal organs, did she really owe him that much? If she somehow wound up with a staff writing job at a legit media outlet, maybe a kidney wasn’t an unreasonable price to pay.
“Before our guests arrive, I have a little surprise for you.” He pressed his palms together like he could barely contain his excitement.
“Here?” Libby pointed at the floor. “In this bathroom?”Please let it be a showerhead,she silently prayed, despite having wished the opposite many times that day. As opposed to his personal plumbing.
“You are funny. Another reason to marry you,Lillibet!”
“Plus she’s hot,” Jean prompted. “And a really good cook.”
“Very all-American,” Mr. L agreed. “Do you play volleyball?”
“No.” She didn’t cook, either, but hopefully he understood they were talking about Lillibet, not Libby.
Jean looked thoughtful. “She could be sporty.”
“No,” Libby said again, imagining a tetherball smacking her in the face. “I don’t think we need to introduce any more props.”
