Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery) by Holly Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page B

it. 
      “Even cops need to eat,” I tried.  “You can quiz me about the murder scene some more, if you like.”
      Murder wasn’t generally my topic of choice for a meal, but if he asked me questions, maybe he’d let something I could use slip.
      “Come on.  What do you say?” I tried.
      “I’d say you’re up to something.”  He shot me a look that was very reminiscent of the looks my parents used to give me when they said those exact same words.
      I was well practiced in the appropriate response.  “Who, me?”
      He looked over my shoulder and at the small view of the house the partially opened door left.  “What’s the board for?”
      “Come to breakfast with me, and maybe I’ll tell you.”
      Cal sighed again.  “Fine.  I’ll drive.”
      “And I’ll follow in my car.”  I waited for him to argue that it made sense to drive together. 
      Cal looked as if he was indeed going to argue, then he simply shrugged and said, “Whatever.”
      We drove to nearby Pattycake’s Pancake House.  It was only a few blocks from the house and it was one of the boys’ favorite breakfast joints.  They’d sit around the table and argue the merit of chocolate chip pancakes against blueberry ones.
      I missed my boys.
      Pattycake was a twig of a woman who looked like she should be a on some runway modeling lingerie rather than serving up homemade pancakes in an old silver diner car.
      We got situated in a booth and placed our orders.
      “So, why can’t I come in your house?” Cal added a creamer to his coffee.
      “You didn’t buy the orgy story?” I asked.
      “No.”  He took a sip of his coffee, grimaced and added another creamer. 
      “What if I said I was hiding escaped convicts in the living room?” I tried.
      “Quincy.”  His voice dripped with exasperation, but maybe, just maybe, underneath that was the slightest sound of humor.
      It was that tiny indication of humanity that convinced me to tell the truth.  “Fine.  So, my boys left for a summer vacation with their father on Thursday, and I’ve been so wrapped up in this murder business, I haven’t had time to clean up.”
      Cal looked at me like I was nuts—I was beginning to think that was the only expression he had when I was around. 
      “I’m a guy,” he said…as if I didn’t know that. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”
      “You’re a detective, which means you make your living noticing stuff.  And I make my living cleaning up messes.  Having my own home look like a tornado went through it, not once but twice...that’s just embarrassing.”
      “So what was the whiteboard for?”  He took another sip of his coffee and didn’t grimace, so I figured he’d added enough creamer. 
      I wanted to tell him about the whiteboard, and about Tiny.  But I couldn’t.  I may have been honest about the state of my house, but I wasn’t willing to give up all my secrets.  And I especially wasn’t willing to give up Tiny’s secrets.  “A new craft project,” I said, thinking on the fly.  “I’m using it to make a huge montage of pictures for my son Hunter.  He just graduated from high school and I thought he’d enjoy a sort of Hunter retrospective.”
      As I said the words, I realized what a stupid explanation that was.  Now, if I’d made something like that for Hunter’s graduation party in June, it would have made sense, but having it for him before he left for college was dumb.
      But obviously, Detective Parker didn’t think very highly of my mentality because he nodded and said, “Oh.” 
      He’d bought it.
      I sort of wanted to kick him because the fact that he’d bought it was insulting.  But I needed information about the murder more.  “So have you made any progress on finding poor Mr. Banning’s murderer?”
      Cal looked suspicious.  “Why do you ask?”
      “Since I’m your prime suspect, it’s in my interest to ask if your focus has shifted