Serious Moonlight(84)

Daniel: I never listen to warnings. Life is better when you wing it.





“Why don’t you tell me about myself?”

—Miss Mary Russell, The Beekeeper’s Apprentice (1994)





26




* * *



A lot of things were going right with my life now. I was back in Cherry’s good graces (thank goodness). I was mostly sleeping okay (at least, I hadn’t dozed off at work). And I was getting used to having the house to myself (Grandpa had texted me photos of him and Cass holding up armfuls of rainbow trout).

But there were also a few things that weren’t right. Mona was always too busy to talk. The Raymond Darke case was stagnating. And after I went to see Cherry in the dance studio, two entire work shifts came and went and Daniel never once tried to kiss me.

Was he friendly? Yes. Was my stomach filled with butterflies every time he smiled at me? Yes. Were we sharing breakfast pie at the diner? Drivin’ Me Cocoa (chocolate silk and whipped cream, dusted with cocoa), Buttermilk Kisses (buttermilk pie topped with candy kisses), and King of the Forest Fruits (a medley of berries topped with a crown of golden, spun sugar).

But were we kissing? Putting our hands all over each other? Whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears?

No.

Even our sleuthing gig had come to a sputtering standstill. We’d all but given up on the stupid spreadsheet. And when Tuesday rolled around, the day Raymond Darke normally visited the hotel, instead of us pulling another James Bond stakeout outside of room 514, Daniel texted me to say he had something to do in his cohousing community—that he’d asked other employees to keep an eye out for a man in a baseball cap at seven p.m. Turned out, Darke never showed. It wasn’t a huge surprise. We knew Ivanov was flying out of Seattle since that day we followed him to Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, so I wasn’t sure why this disappointed me so much. I think because the mystery that had bonded us together was now fizzling out.

And I worried we were too.

In fact, that was all I could think about after Raymond Darke was a no-show. I had the night off from work, and when I got up in the early afternoon to take a shower and found no texts from Daniel, an achy gloom settled into my bones. I began to wonder if I’d done something wrong. Maybe Daniel was reevaluating his feelings and had changed his mind about us.

When I finished blow-drying my hair, I heard a ding on my phone. My hopes rose, but it was only my fairy godmother.

Mona: Are you up?

Me: Up but not Adam.

Mona: Better get that way.

Me: Why?

Mona: This is ur only warning. Get up. Get dressed. Be ready. You hv 15 min.

Me: Ready for what?

Mona: This text will self-destruct in 5 seconds . . .

Me: Are you coming over here?

Mona: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. You’re welcome, btw.

And that was it. I continued to text her, but she didn’t answer. So I got dressed. I pinned a stargazer in my hair. And I trotted downstairs right as the doorbell rang.

Aunt Mona didn’t ring doorbells. She had a key.

When I peered through the keyhole, all my thoughts scattered.

I unlocked the door and swung it open, a little breathless.

“Hi,” Daniel said, rocking back on his heels. His hair hung loose around his shoulders, and his hands were stuck firmly into the pockets of his jeans.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dropping off a bucket of apricots at your aunt’s.”

I squinted. “Um . . . what?”

“We’ve got three apricot trees in the Nest. Jiji picked them clean before Old Man Jessen could get them, so I guess you could say it was a revenge harvest. Anyway, we had three buckets of apricots, and most of them weren’t even close to being ripe, but Jiji wanted to get rid of the evidence, and my mom suggested that I take some to Mona. In return for that flyer you brought her.”

“Oh.”

“I looked her up online and called her art studio, and she invited me over this morning. You told me about the theater, but wow. Amazing. All that vintage furniture and those Broadway posters—my mom would totally be into those.”

“Her parents used to manage a local theatrical playhouse,” I said.

“She told me. I met Zsa Zsa Gabor,” he said, shaking white cat hair out of his T-shirt. “That is one friendly feline. Blueberry would crush her with one paw. Oh, and I met Leon Snotgrass.”

“Snod. He was there?”

“You say snod; I say snot. He was actually pretty nice.”

“Traitor,” I said, pretending to shut the door. “You’re dead to me.”

“He was terrible! A monster!” Daniel said, pressing back against the door.

I peered through the crack. Our faces met, mere inches apart. He smiled at me, and I nearly melted into a pool of warm, giddy sap.

He knocked on the door without moving his face. “Hey, little pig, can I come inside?”

“If I say no, will you huff and puff and blow my house down?”

“No, but I’ll wait here for hours until you feel sorry for me and let me in.”

I opened the door and held out an arm, gesturing for him to enter.

“Jesus, Birdie. This neighborhood is . . .” He finished by whistling. “Are these, like, million-dollar homes, or what?”