The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(49)

“You did the . . .” The words were dying in Stevie’s mouth. “. . . Sherlock thing.”

David had, in fact, done the Sherlock thing that Stevie had dismissed for herself, specifically, the BBC one. He was wearing a sharply cut blue dress shirt, slender, tailored pants, and a long gray-black coat with a red interior. He had teased out his hair a bit and made sure it curled. In many ways, it was a perfect costume while not being a costume at all. And it was obviously intentional, directed at her.

Stevie’s legs decided to debone themselves and her body became a hormonal swamp. She clutched her pillow belly for emotional support.

“What are you?” he said to Stevie. “A . . . chef?”

“She’s Hercule Poirot,” Janelle said, as if it was obvious that the baggy suit and fake mustache also translated.

“And Wonder Woman! And Gandalf! And Sherlock! All together! Just like nature intended. Should we go?”

The four of them headed out into the night. They were met on the path by Vi, who was dressed as a perfect Steve Trevor.

“So,” David said as the five of them passed under the dark trees to the Great House. “Is this weird?”

“Which part?” Stevie said.

“Is there fan-fic of this? You know, these two. What does that look like? What do we call it? Porlock? Sheriot?”

Janelle and Vi were arm in arm, Wonder Woman and Steve. Nate was off by himself, his cape brushing the lawn.

“Where did you get the coat?” Stevie said, trying to sound casual.

“What, this old thing?” he said, extending his hands in the pockets and showing it off. “I just charged a two-thousand-dollar coat to my dad’s credit card.”

“There are two-thousand-dollar coats?” Stevie replied.

“He’d want me to have it. I can’t look shabby, can I? Not at the White House.”

This was the first time David had ever said anything about his father’s ambitions, and Stevie glanced around nervously.

“They didn’t hear,” he said. “And wouldn’t understand if they did.”

They walked in silence for a moment. The world was spinning gently as she comprehended what was going on—he was doing the sexy dress for her. Not the other way around. He was trying so hard, reaching for her.

“No chance you know about any tunnels under Minerva?” she asked, trying to regain some composure.

“There are no tunnels under Minerva.”

“Not according to Fenton.”

“What is a Fenton?”

“Fenton is the professor I work for in Burlington. The one writing a book about the case.”

“There are no tunnels under Minerva,” he repeated. “You think I wouldn’t notice a tunnel under Minerva?”

“Secret tunnel,” she said.

“I repeat.”

“She seems pretty sure.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure too. You haven’t said if you like my coat.”

“I like your coat.” She meant it to come out dry and unaffected, but instead her bastard throat betrayed her with a tiny croaking sound on the last syllable. The body was the enemy of the mind.

Ellingham had gone all-out for the Halloween party. The Great House was made for occasions such as this, quite literally. All the overhead lights had been turned off and illumination came in the form of hundreds of tiny flickering electric candles. They were on every surface and lined the staircase. The diffused light winked off the crystal. A fire roared in the big fireplace, where a s’mores station had been set up, manned by Kaz, who was dressed as David Bowie, with a lightning bolt across his face. Call Me Charles approached dressed as Charlie Chaplin.

“You guys ready for some fun?” he asked.

“No,” David said.

Charles let this slide and pointed toward the door of the ballroom with his costume cane.

This was not a silent party tonight. The ballroom, with its mirrored walls and its carnival mask decorations, flickered with light and was rich with sound. There were orange and white fairy lights draped from the ceiling, and hundreds more tiny electric candles flicking along the walls and floor. A table was set up with drinks and snacks. A few regular suspects were in the middle of the floor, dancing away, including Maris, who was wearing a red flapper outfit, a choice that felt inevitable to Stevie. Dash was there as well, dressed as Han Solo. Vi extended a gallant hand to Janelle, who took it. Wonder Woman and Steve began to dance.

“Hey.”

Mudge was standing next to them, dressed as Mickey Mouse. A six-foot-five Mickey Mouse, with big ears coming off his jet-black hair.

“Cool Gandalf,” he said to Nate. He looked a bit more confused by Stevie and David, but nodded politely.

“I’m a watch ad,” David said. “She’s a hipster grandpa. Together, we solve crime.”

Mudge cocked his head at this and decided his time might be better spent elsewhere. Nate also looked around the room from under the massive brim of his wizard hat and immediately decided that he was going to the s’mores station. Stevie and David were left standing on the side.

“You want to dance, Grandpa?” he asked Stevie.

“Hercule.”

“You want to dance, Hercule?”

Hercule was feeling nervous. The fine cloth of David’s shirt was soft and fitting. She could sense what it would be like to put her hands against his chest, to work them around to his back, to press against his body.