The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(40)
“We’ll review what you know about your coworkers in the car. Yours or mine?” He pats his pants pockets, looking for the little notebook he carries everywhere.
“Let’s take mine,” I reply. But as we walk briskly to the door, I can’t help but feel oddly sad about leaving. Though this whole case is complicated, my thoughts feel more in order here, in this quiet place with this quiet man. There’s something serene that would possibly become addictive. I can picture sitting with Matteo, each of us with a book in front of the fireplace . . . and I slam the door shut on that vision. Again I am reminded that Matteo isn’t just some guy I keep hanging out with. We have a crime to solve, and we are both in uncharted territory.
CHAPTER 14
“So we’re looking for a costume, a cape, anything that would suggest knowledge about drugs and crime, and Hooded Falcon anything,” Matteo reminds me on the doorstep of Kyle’s house.
“Roger that. I hope you’re ready for geek immersion.”
As the door opens, I school my features, trying to look like I’m not snooping in my coworkers’ lives in order to solve a drug-related crime spree. We make it perhaps two feet inside before we’re attacked by geekery. A small herd of people descends on us wielding wands and a large floppy brown hat—bringing forcefully to mind the time I was attacked by geese at MacArthur Park. I hate nature.
Before I can defend myself, the large floppy hat lands on my head, covering my eyes, and the darn thing starts to sing. When the hat ceases its wagging, it crows, “Better be . . . Hufflepuff!” much to the delight of those standing by. I recognize Kyle’s sarcastic snort.
“I would have bet Slytherin.” Most definitely Kyle. I lift the brim.
“You’d better be glad I don’t have my rubber-band gun, Kyle. Plus, what a lame welcome. I’m obviously a Gryffindor. I demand a retrial.”
A titter of laughter ripples around the group, and the hat is replaced on my head. It does its jiggly dance, and I stand patiently until it crows, “Better be . . . Gryffindor!” More laughter as it’s pulled back off and transferred to Matteo’s head.
He ducks so that a tiny elf of a girl can put it on him, ever gracious even while wearing a clear WTF expression.
The sight of the large pointed sorting hat on Matteo’s head causes dragons and glee to bang around my ribcage in a death match. “I don’t know about this one . . . I think he might be a Squib.”
Matteo knows he’s been insulted and throws me a playful dirty look.
“Better be . . . Ravenclaw!”
I’m already clapping. “Yes! That’s perfect! You are so a book nerd!”
He still looks baffled. “What is a Ravenclaw?”
The same woman who put the hat on his head holds out her hand. “It’s your Hogwarts house! You may now enter the party! I’m Nina, Kyle’s fiancée, and a Hufflepuff. We’ve heard so much about you, Matteo. And you too, of course, MG. I’m so glad you could make it!”
Her perkiness goes beyond normal irritation and into the realm of . . . infectious. I find myself smiling back. “Thanks for inviting us.” I lean over as if I’m telling her a secret in a stage whisper. “Matteo is new to a lot of this.”
She squeals and claps. Kyle wanders up behind her and throws his arm around her shoulders. “MG. Matteo. Welcome!” He points to the kitchen. “The house-elves are in there.” He points over to a large living room where five or six people are sitting, already engrossed in conversation. “Star Wars marathon starts in about ten minutes in there.” He opens a door directly to the right of the entry, which reveals stairs. “Downstairs will be a mix of Settlers of Catan tournament and random episodes of TNG. There’s a Charmander nest down the street for those in the office Pokémon GO competition, and”—he glances at his Apple watch and finishes off with an announcement at large—“pizza will arrive at four p.m.!”
I give a mock salute, and Matteo follows me like a puppy into the kitchen, where the masses have descended.
“What do you do, Matteo?” Nina munches on a baby carrot.
“I went to architecture school,” Matteo responds with his pat answer, and I pray for a diversion away from his job description because while he can hold it together, I can’t lie to my coworkers that well. Any diversion. Some kung fu vampires to pop up from a grave who need slaying. Anything.
“He’s an architect and he fixed my chair in two seconds flat,” Kyle responds. Total bromance.
I clear my throat. “How about you, Nina? What do you do?”
“I’m an actress—theatre, not movie. Hamlet. Neil Simon. Stuff like that. And then I help do some production management stuff to actually pay the bills.” She laughs.
“That’s really neat. Actually, I’ve always wanted to do costumes for theater but have never pursued it.”
“You do costume design?” She looks impressed.
“I take a few commissions. Mostly drag shows right now, but I want to get into art direction so that I can help design superhero costume adaptations. Maybe do costume work on the side.” I bite my lip and cut a look at Kyle, hoping I haven’t said too much. This is why I don’t attend work parties. I suck at playing politics.
Kyle doesn’t even bat an eyelash at my work comment but dives right in about the costumes. “That’s really cool. I didn’t know you did that. You’d be great at costume design. Your costume sketches are the best on our team.” His straightforward vote of confidence nearly bowls me over, especially given my role within the team is usually the dialogue, and his is usually the panel art. He shoves chips into his mouth and turns toward the Crock-Pot.