“I know what you’re saying, and no.” I straighten a little. “I’m not dragging someone into my current mess. That’s why I left. I’m not turning other people into targets because I made the mistake of working for and sleeping with the wrong man.” I study her. “Including you, which is a separate conversation we should probably have.”
For once, she doesn’t push. One of the things I love most about Clio is that she knows when to argue and when to let something go.
“Okay,” she answers softly. “But if we find him?—”
“We’re not looking.”
“I know.” A pause. “But if.”
I take her hand and tug her toward the food court. “Feed me,” I say. “Then show me the corkboard.”
Over an hour later, we’re back at Clio’s apartment, arms full of takeout and plastic bags cutting into my fingers.
Clio shoulders the door open and calls out, “We’re back, we have food, and before anyone says a word, yes, I got extra rice.”
Aura, Clio’s younger sister, appears in the kitchen doorway like she’s been summoned by the phraseextra ricealone. Her eyes go straight to the bags, and then she’s crossing the room and rescuing half of them from my arms.
“Obviously you got extra rice,” she says to Clio.
“Thank you,” Clio says, deeply vindicated. “I enjoy being understood.”
Four days in this apartment and I already like the rhythm of them. The way they move around each other without fuss. The way Aura acts like she’s not paying attention while noticing absolutely everything.
I follow them in and glance toward the living room, where two people I don’t know are already sprawled across the furniture.
The woman in the armchair is somewhere in her fifties, all sun-warmed skin and silver-streaked dark hair twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a faded tank top and linen pants. A half-finished scarf spills over her lap as she knits.
“Malia,” Clio says, waving a hand at her as she kicks the door shut behind us. “Retired marine biologist. Knows everything about the ocean and loves knitting, so expect to receive a hat or scarf soon. And she’s the one who suggested the current main case we’re working on now about Rebecca Hana.”
I smile. “Great to meet you.”
“You too, lovely. You’re going to adore our little group.”
“And this,” Clio chimes in, “is Priya. Paralegal. Human disclaimer. She’s here to tell us when our plans are illegal. Plus, like the rest of us, she loves murder mysteries.”
Malia is nodding, smiling, while Priya glances up from her phone. She’s still in business clothes at this hour, dark hair sleek over one shoulder, warm brown skin glowing under the apartment lights, and a pair of gold hoops flashing when she turns her head. Everything about her looks neat and deliberate, right down to the pen tucked behind one ear. The smile she gives me is quick and kind.
“Technically illegal,” she says. “There’s usually nuance.”
“Is there?” Clio asks.
“No,” Priya says. “But it makes me feel better to say it that way.”
“Well, this is Adelaide.”
I laugh before I can help it.
“Hi there,” Pryia pipes in. “Clio talks about you constantly.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mixed reviews,” she says pleasantly.
Clio gasps. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” Aura adds from the kitchen.
“I support that claim,” Malia says, lowering her knitting and smiling.
