And Now She's Gone(47)
But then her desk phone rang, and the abrupt noise ended this delicious respite.
She offered a groggy, “Hello.”
“Miss Sykes, I need to talk to you,” the woman on the other end of the call said. “It’s important … I’m Dr. O’Donnell’s big secret.”
25
Victoria Avenue was lined with apartment buildings and Spanish-style duplexes and houses built before World War II. The scent of trimmed rosebushes and honeysuckle mixed with marijuana and fried chicken. A soft breeze rustled the boughs of the magnolia and pine trees, and Gray could hear both the echoes of African drums coming from the drum circle at the park and the laugh track from The King of Queens coming from behind Omar Neville’s roommate, now standing in the doorway of the duplex.
“Yeah, Omar ain’t here.” She was a caramel-colored woman with an acne-scarred face. Her fuchsia workout clothes were dark with perspiration.
“Do you know what time he usually gets home?” Gray asked.
“No idea. Not his secretary. Just his roommate.”
“What’s your name?” Gray asked, smiling. “I’m Maya. Hi.”
“Toyia.” She had the biceps of a weight lifter and the high ass of a stripper.
“Sorry that I’m bothering you, but Omar is dating my friend.” Why not? “And she was in a car accident just a few hours ago. We’ve been trying to call him, but his voice mail is full.”
“Yeah…” The front door creaked wider, and a Yorkie poked her beribboned head around Toyia’s ankle. “He’s working out of state right now, and he’s not taking anybody’s calls. Believe me, I’ve been trying to get him—rent’s coming up in two weeks.”
“Yikes. That’s a little stressful. Maybe I can call his boss? I wouldn’t insist except that she’s not … doing well and I’d hate for him to find out on social media. Who does he work for?”
Toyia squinted at her.
“It’s really important. She may actually…” Gray made her eyes fill with tears and she made her smile crumple and, eventually, one teardrop gained enough mass to tumble out of her right eye and down her cheek. “I can’t even say the word. I’m not ready to let her go.”
Toyia pulled her phone from a pocket in her leggings.
Gray swiped at her manufactured tear—a great tip from Jennifer. “I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t ask, but … And I’ll give you my number, too, just in case he calls.”
“Allan Construction,” Toyia said, finding the number on her phone. “They’re building houses in this little town three hours south of Vegas. They’re behind schedule, so Oz is ignoring everything except work. But if his girl is hurt … What’s her name again?”
“Isabel Lincoln. I think they met at the Cork.” Why not?
Toyia shrugged. “He meets everybody at the Cork. Omar is knee-deep in women, no offense to your friend.”
* * *
Ian O’Donnell was also knee-deep in women.
And women like Trinity Bianchi were rarely nurses. No, women like Trinity Bianchi sent men to the emergency room—and to the grave. Gray had thought of her as Hot Nurse Pfeiffer because of her smoky blue eyes and lips stung from telling toxic lies. She had the kind of body that didn’t need double Ds or a big ass to stun. She had the walk of a woman who had tromped over broken hearts and had never slipped, not even once.
Trinity Bianchi grinned at Gray, now seated on the bench outside of Café Fletcher. “I knew it was just a matter of time before we chatted. So I just figured … Get it over with, right? Rip that bandage off and deal with the truth.”
Gray said, “Sure.”
“Wise of me, huh?” Those smoky blue eyes twinkled with self-satisfaction, the only setting for eyes like hers.
Gray said, “Sure,” again, and then, “Shall we?”
Café Fletcher had a resident cat named Michonne. The male bartenders wore man buns and the women wore flannel shirts and jeans shorts. The cocktails were twelve dollars and none of the appetizers on the menu cast shadows.
Gray’s first thought: What the fuck kinda place is this hipster bullshit?
Patio diners vaped, and massive plumes of their alt-smoke billowed from mouths too sensitive for meat and peanuts.
She and Trinity snagged a table out on the patio.
The nurse ordered a vegan passion fruit mojito.
Gray ordered Pellegrino with lime and spotted the revolver inside the nurse’s handbag.
“This is my favorite spot.” Trinity plucked a kale chip from the basket left by a waitress.
Tiny knives plunged into Gray’s heart. What the fuck kinda place … She avoided kale chips—there wasn’t enough cheese or salt or butter or oil or cocaine in the world to convince her to enjoy alt-chips. “So … you and Ian O’Donnell.”
Trinity crunched the kale chip. “That one’s easy: we’re lovers.”
Gray cocked an eyebrow.
Trinity watched for more reaction. When Gray didn’t give her any, the nurse rolled her eyes. “If you knew that, then why are we here?”
“Why are you lovers?” Gray asked. “That’s why we’re here.”