Murder Takes the High Road(25)
“How could I forget?”
“That was your nemesis Vance blowing the fuses by using the wrong adapter for his hair dryer.”
I laughed. “No way. Is that true?”
“I overheard him telling someone at dinner.”
I was amused, but had to say, “For the record, I don’t think it was Vance in our room.”
John shrugged.
I gave him a challenging look. “I think you know who was in our room.” I’d been thinking about this downstairs, though I hadn’t intended to bring it up so soon. Not without more proof.
He met my gaze, but I thought he looked uneasy. “Even if I had my suspicions, that’s all I have. I don’t want to bias you. If something happens that makes you suspect something, then you should tell me and we could compare notes.”
Yeah, right.
I grunted, grabbed my sleep pants and stepped into the bathroom to wash up. The water that gushed out of the old-fashioned taps took forever to heat to even mildly tepid, and I forgot all about break-ins and faceless intruders.
When I left the bathroom, the room seemed even colder. In addition to the draft whispering beneath the window over my bed, the sound of rain hitting the glass was more chilling than cozy.
“We should have asked Ms. Eccles to fix the radiator,” I said. “I bet she’s had plenty of experience.”
“I don’t think there’s any fixing it,” John said. “I took a crack while you were cutting a rug downstairs. If that thing has worked since the last century, I’ll eat my Vanessa Rayburn Fan Club membership card. The air valve has cobwebs on it.”
“Great.” I pulled the blankets back, dipped a tentative toe between the sheets, and sucked in a breath. “Holy crap, it’s cold in there!”
“I know,” he said heartlessly. “I got the last hot water bottle in the entire hotel.”
“Are you kidding?”
He shook his head, and the suspiciously guileless expression was back. “Maybe we should huddle together to conserve body warmth.”
“Ha.” I eyed him thoughtfully. “So are you...?”
“Cold? Very.”
I would not be sidetracked. “Gay?”
“What makes you think so? All heterosexual men give dating advice to their gay roommates.”
My heart lightened, and I had to bite back a smile. “Technically, it wasn’t dating advice. It was an unsolicited opinion. Besides which, I believe you’re wrong about Trevor.”
His smile was smug. “You think I’m wrong because you’d prefer that to having to face the idea of maybe still having feelings for Temple.”
My pleasure faded. “You don’t know anything about me, John.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been observing you for the last twenty-four hours.”
“You probably don’t intend that to sound creepy.”
His smile widened. “From a purely professional standpoint. I find people interesting. What makes them tick. That kind of thing.”
“Purely professional. Right. Is that so you can sell them life insurance policies?”
“Of course.” He continued to grin at me.
“Well, I’m not in the market for another life insurance policy.”
“As, again, a matter of professional interest, did you change your will after you and Temple split up?”
“Yes. And what made you think I have a will?”
“You seem like a careful, well-organized man.”
“Sexy as hell, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “You’d be surprised.”
“Sure.” I gave him my best No Talking in the Library glare. “However, this subject—the subject of me and Trevor—is now off-limits.”
“Ah.”
“And don’t give me that tone because...”
“Because?”
Why had I steered us back to the topic of Trevor and Vance? It was really the last thing I’d wanted. That said, John was right. Or at least, not wrong. I had secretly—and not so secretly—believed from the first that Vance and Trevor would never last. Of course, I wanted to believe that. It’s one thing to get dumped. It’s a much harder thing to get dumped by someone who then goes on to find his Happily Ever After with the very jerk you were dumped for.
Either way, why was I wasting new opportunities raking over the past?
I realized John was gazing at me expectantly. “What? Oh. Just don’t.”
I thought that would be the end of that, but to my surprise, he turned his attention back to our own sleeping arrangements.
“What we could do,” he said thoughtfully, “is move the nightstand out of the way and push the two beds together.”
I stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“I can see the goosebumps through your pajamas.”
“Ahem,” I said pointedly.
He withdrew his gaze from my pajama bottoms. His smile was unrepentant. “Well, I’m not suggesting we rip our clothes off and share one sleeping bag. I’m—”
“A romance reader.” I sighed. “I might have known.”
He said evenly, “Occasionally.”
“I know you don’t read Vanessa. I figured it out the first night.” That was a slight exaggeration, though I had suspected from the first John was not a true believer. And nothing had happened to shake that suspicion. “Why did you come on this tour?”