A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(124)

“Of course. We’re very lenient with dads. But they’re not allowed to participate in the actual burning. Only the mothers are allowed to burn each other.”

“That’s a relief.”

Abby leaned back, grinning. She was enjoying this, sitting in this lovely place with a man, her mind reasonably free of worries.

“Oh, you know who I met the other day?” Carver asked. “You remember Hughie? From the academy?”

She frowned. “Was he the one who accidentally swallowed a fly at the shooting range and almost shot the instructor when he tried to cough it out?”

“What? No, that’s Tyler. Hughie is the one we called Hughie the Gooey? Because he was always sweaty.”

“Oh yeah! He made a pass at me the very first day at the academy.”

“He’s in the Animal Cruelty Investigation Squad now. He was actually pretty passionate when we talked about it. I think he really changed.”

“So he’s not sweaty anymore?”

“I don’t know if his sweat glands work differently. I just got the impression that he got much nicer. Like . . . really relaxed.”

“Maybe it’s because people aren’t calling him Hughie the Gooey anymore.”

The waitress came over and placed a basket of breadsticks on their table. Then she left. Abby tried to decide if she should eat the bread before her dish came. A momentous decision.

“You look beautiful,” Carver said.

“Oh.” Blood rushed to Abby’s cheeks. “Thanks.” She took another large sip from her wine to gather her bearings.

Carver took a breadstick from the basket. “How’s the snake?”

“Who? What?” Her head was starting to spin. She’d drunk too much on an empty stomach.

“Your son’s snake. How is it?”

“Crawling and slithering as ever. Yesterday he ate a large frozen mouse, so today he’s resting.”

Carver let out a shudder. “I don’t even know how you can sleep in the same house.”

“Not easily,” Abby admitted. “It helps I’m on the second floor. But I guess he can climb up steps if he ever escapes the vivarium. And he’s plotting his escape. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You could lay a snare for it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I’m serious! I’m really good at this. My sister Holly is really good at drawing. So we used to spend hours drawing plans for elaborate traps for our big sister. Here, let me show you. Give me your napkin.”

“Why can’t you use your napkin?”

“Yours is way better.” Carver took out a pen from his bag, snatched Abby’s napkin, and began to draw. “These are the stairs. You have a laundry basket at home, right? So you position it like this . . . you have to hold it up, like that. You place the bait—”

“Bait?”

“Yeah, something the snake likes eating.”

“He likes eating mice. Are you saying I should leave a dead mouse on my stairs every night?”

“Don’t bother me with details. If you put the bait like that, it slithers over to it . . . it moves the broomstick—”

“What broomstick?” Abby was smiling widely. She took another sip of her wine.

“How else do you think it would work? You need a breadstick. I mean a broomstick.” Carver took another breadstick as he scribbled. “The snake moves the broomstick, and the trap springs! Bam, it’s in the laundry basket.”

“Did your sister ever fall into one of your elaborate traps?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean they weren’t any good. Here.” He gave her the napkin back. “Free of charge. A trap planner would charge thousands for this.”

“A trap planner? Is that a thing?”

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be one.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s an actual profession.”

Their food arrived, and Abby barely waited for the waitress to leave before digging in. Her pasta was delicious.

“Did you talk to Eden?” Carver asked after they’d eaten in relative silence for a few minutes.

“Yeah. She and Gabrielle both needed stitches. Eden also had a blood transfusion. But they’re much better now. Nathan too. They transferred him to the same hospital.”

“That’s good.”

“What about Luther?” she asked.

“He’ll live.” Carver didn’t sound particularly happy about it. “We have a solid case on the murder charges too.”

Abby nodded. For Eden’s and Gabrielle’s peace of mind, it was best if Luther stayed in prison until the day he died.

“It’s all thanks to you,” Carver said after a second. “You didn’t let your past with Eden impair your judgment at all. If you hadn’t figured out who Luther was in time . . . or if you weren’t there to talk to him . . .” He shook his head.

“We don’t know what would have happened,” Abby said, staring at her dish. Dark thoughts that had invaded her mind the past few nights began creeping in.

“I know,” Carver said.

She cleared her throat. “When I talked to Gabrielle on the phone that day, she sounded so . . . out of it. So scared. She could hardly piece a sentence together.”