07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page A

every Wednesday at four o’clock sharp ever since.
    “What am I, then?” he asked. There was laughter in his voice, but a sober backdrop lit his pretty, heavy-lashed eyes.
    “Sounds like you’re in love,” I said.
    He gave me an exaggerated look that suggested both surprise and reproach. “I don’t believe in love.”
    I raised my brows. “You don’t believe it exists or—”
    “I think it’s a euphemism for lust.”
    “Really? Then how do you explain couples who stay together for sixty plus years?”
    “Dementia?”
    I didn’t laugh out loud. It didn’t seem like it was my job to encourage such talk, but I did smile a little. “What about your mother?”
    I watched his reaction. He was quite an accomplished actor and could almost hide it, but I saw his jaw tighten just the slightest amount. “Obviously she wasn’t a believer either,” he said.
    I let the words lie undisturbed for a moment, then, “I meant your adoptive mother.”
    “Oh.” There was a shitload of complexity in that one word, an intriguing blend of gratitude, guilt and confusion. His shoulders slumped, and his expression softened.
    “Do you think she believes in love?” According to Phillip, he’d been an undersized asthmatic with an over-sized attitude when Lisa Murray had taken him in.
    “She doesn’t count,” he said.
    “Because…”
    “She also believes in the tooth fairy.”
    “Phillip—”
    “She told me there was a tooth fairy.” He shrugged and grinned. That grin had probably gotten him out of more trouble than most people get into.
    The man was too charming for his own good. I kept a somber expression. “She also told you that she’d love you whether you were an ax murderer or an actor.” His wince was almost imperceptible, which, strangely, seemed to make it more powerful. “Do you think I made the wrong choice?” he asked.
    “The point is,” I said, “she loves you.”
    “Well, that’s because she’s…” He paused. Irreverent and sharp-witted as he was, he couldn’t manage to belittle his mother’s enduring adoration. “Okay, maybe love exists, but only as it pertains to a mother and child.”
    I stared at him, using my wise face. My smart-ass face was tired.
    “And…” He opened his hands, palms up, as he worked his way carefully through the quagmire. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be a biological bond.” I nodded like an ancient sage. “Okay, if love exists and it doesn’t have to be biological, doesn’t it seem probable that it can also exist between two adults?” He narrowed his eyes and seemed to be ruminating, then said with absolute certainty,
    “Nope.”
    “Really?”
    “Think about it.” He leaned forward, animated and earnest. “How many marriages break up?”
    “Just because they break up doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t care about each other.”
    “So they can be in love and still want to kill each other?” I actually thought that was feasible, but I also thought he was trying to hijack the conversation. “I think they can have considerable differences and still have a strong emotional bond.”
    “In other words, they can want the other person’s head on a spit.” Phillip was currently a plebe in a miniseries set in ancient Rome, and sometimes the setting colored his language. “Well, hell, if that’s the case, I’ve been in love a half dozen times.”
    “Okay.” I decided to work from where we were. “So are you in love now?”
    “I don’t think so. I haven’t considered killing Greg once yet.”
    “Tell me about him.”
    He put the pads of his fingers together and stared into the distance. “He’s oddly fond of the combustible engine.”
    “And you still speak to him? That must tell us something.” Phillip didn’t own a car.
    In fact, he was quite an outspoken proponent for public transportation, which, actually, was one of L.A.’s better jokes on humanity. Citizens of the greater Los Angeles area have been known to drive from their garages to