“Oh God, Nick,” Perry said. It was practically the only thing he’d said the entire time, and it was disarmingly heartfelt.
Nick collapsed on him, and Perry fastened a tight arm around his back and kissed him on his ear and his temple and his hair. Puppy kisses, Nick thought. Puppy love…
* * * * *
Perry surfaced. He was warm and sticky and utterly, deliciously relaxed. From the other room he could hear Nick talking quietly. The phone? California calling again? He frowned a little, thinking about what would happen when Nick left.
That would be hard. He’d have to tough it out somehow. Nick would never have patience with him getting all weepy and clinging, and he wanted to spend every possible minute with Nick before he left.
He’d need those memories to hold to all the long, lonely nights that would follow Nick’s departure.
Hearing the murmur of a second voice, he realized Nick wasn’t on the phone. He sat up, pulled on his jeans. Found his shirt. His hair was sticking up on end. He combed his fingers through it, walking down the short hallway.
“She could be a danger -- not just to herself but to the rest of us. I mean, if she’s going around hitting people over the head --” Jane broke off what she was saying to greet Perry. “Well, there you are. How are you feeling after your morning’s adventure?”
For a minute he thought she was referring to what he and Nick had done. Then sanity reasserted itself. “Good.” Perry couldn’t look at Nick. He was afraid his face would give him away.
“You look better than I expected. There’s a little color in your cheeks.”
He couldn’t help it; he raised his gaze. Nick’s eyes held his for a second, and Perry knew that now there was even more color in his face. Nick’s face was blank. He was probably great at poker. Perry was great at Old Maid.
“There’s cocoa in the kitchen,” Nick said laconically.
“Oh. Thanks.”
He stepped into the kitchen, poured cocoa while listening to Jane. She called out, “Miss Dembecki has just confessed to hitting Mr. Stein over the head with a poker.”
Perry stepped back out of the kitchen. “You’re…kidding.”
Jane shook her head. “Nope. I was helping her with her laundry, and she just casually mentioned it, just as breezy as could be. She said she thought he was a burglar.”
“But…” He looked to Nick who shrugged. “Why…what was she doing in my apartment?”
Jane shook her head. “I have no idea. I’m not sure she does. She’s getting very…peculiar is all I can say. And if she’s starting to whack people over the heads with pokers…”
Perry said to Nick, “But how did we miss her going downstairs?”
“I guess if she hit him and ran -- we didn’t look over the balcony, we just went across to your place and then went inside.”
“But the deputy would have seen her.”
Nick’s lip curled. “I knew that deputy was full of shit about how long he was away from his post.”
Jane said, “And that’s not all, by the way. The cops claim they’ve identified your body.”
Perry turned away from Nick. “Really? Who is he?”
“An investigator out of Jersey,” Nick said. “Raymond Swiss.”
“A private eye? For real? Why was he in my bathtub? Do they know who he was working for?”
Jane responded. “If the cops know, they’re not telling us lowly civilians. Apparently his secretary filed a missing persons report on him Monday when he didn’t return to the office.”
“He was a long way from home.” Perry digested this. “So…he was killed in this house?”
“It could have been an accident.” Jane hugged herself against a sudden chill. “But that’s the thing. They’re saying he died from a blow to the head.”
“You’re not thinking Miss Dembecki?” Perry protested.
“She’s not denying she clobbered Mr. Stein. The thing is the cops have taken Mr. Teagle in for questioning.” Jane was eyeing Nick speculatively. “And that was after your friend here had a word with them.”
Perry swallowed. He didn’t like to think of poor Mr. Teagle in jail even if he was an old weirdo. He couldn’t believe that he was a murderer, although he clearly had a few issues. But he couldn’t believe Miss Dembecki had killed someone, either.
He said, “If it was an accident, why didn’t someone say?”
Jane shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing. Maybe they still don’t.” She added slowly, “Maybe they were afraid. Maybe…they couldn’t come forward.”
Perry stared at her trying to follow this reasoning.
“Nobody killed Tiny by accident,” he said. “Tiny was shot.”
Nick said, “From the way you described the body, I’m guessing Swiss had been dead for a while by the time he was stashed in your apartment. He was probably killed somewhere else in the house. Maybe the basement. No one but Tiny ever went down there, and it would be pretty easy to clean up.”
“Or maybe he was killed in one of the secret tunnels,” Jane said. “They run all through the house and through the grounds and -- get this, it’s pretty awful -- there are all kind of eyeholes and listening stations throughout the house.”
As though on cue, there was a scratching sound behind the fireplace wall.
“They’re in the woodwork,” Jane muttered. “Cops, I mean. They’ve been prowling through the passages all morning.”
Perry gulped, thinking about all those peepholes. Meeting his eyes, Nick grimaced. The same thought had apparently crossed his mind.
Jane said, “Then whoever killed Tiny must have killed him to cover up the original crime -- whether it was an accident or not.” She looked pale. “You’d have to be pretty ruthless to kill someone as harmless as Tiny.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “I think we’re dealing with someone pretty ruthless. It would be a good idea not to forget it.”
Chapter Twelve
When Jane finally talked out her nervousness and departed, Nick said, “Okay, we’ve still got enough daylight to get in some target practice. Grab your jacket.”
Perry stiffened. He said shortly, “Look, I already know how to use a gun.”
“Great,” Nick said easily. “Then this won’t take long.”
“Not long at all, because I’m not going shooting.”
Nick raised his brows at this open defiance. Perry was obviously scared to death of firearms -- which was pretty much what he had expected.
He said patiently, “I need to know that you can take care of yourself, and I don’t think hand-to-hand combat is going to be your thing.”
“Neither is shooting people.”
Nick choked back his immediate retort. He said mildly, “I’m not asking you to become a sniper, but if you get cornered by your pal from the passageway again, you might find this useful.” He offered his backup weapon, a Sig P-228. Small, light, accurate, and easy to conceal, all of which made it a perfect choice for Perry.
Except Perry was not cooperating. He stared at the Sig, not moving. His eyes raised to Nick’s. The Bambi look.
Nick hardened his heart. “I want you to carry it till this thing gets straightened out.”
Perry lifted one shoulder. “Fine.” He still hadn’t touched the gun.
“But first I want to be sure you know how to use it.”
“I already said.”
“I want to see for myself.”
Perry flushed, his eyes narrowing. “You won’t take my word for it?”
His righteous affront took Nick by surprise. He said quickly, “Yeah, I take your word for it, but I want to see whether you can hit anything.”