Dangerously Dark (8 page)

 

 

Danny didn't pick up. That was unusual.

My burly bodyguard is willing to text or email, if necessary. (Who isn't? It's not the Stone Age.) But he prefers a face-to-face conversation. Or an old-timey phone call. For him, texting comes in at a solid third place. I don't like it (I'm all about the masterful thumb work), but that's the way it is.

Danny insists there are things he can discern from voices and body language that don't carry over any other medium—things that are valuable in his line of work. Since he's not the least bit woo-woo in any other capacity, I have to believe him.

Plus, it's not as though Danny doesn't use technology. He does; he's only thirty-two. We both grew up with Super Nintendo controllers in one hand and Tamagotchis in the other. (Don't tell me you don't remember that ‘90s toy craze. We weren't the only ones who took those digital pets everywhere we went.)

Stymied in my SOS plan, I dithered with the phone in my hand. Leaving a voice mail would have been downright archaic (not to mention ineffective—who listens to those things?), so I shot Danny a quick text before shimmying into my jeans, throwing on a bra and a fresh T-shirt before returning to my front door to let in Austin Martin.

That was the moment I recognized the pun in his name.

Austin Martin was pretty close to
Aston Martin
! My mom would have loved knowing I'd met someone with almost the same name as one of her favorite cars. She's crazy about all things British, anyway, but she's also a big auto buff. I can't tell you how many international auto museums exist in the world. (Too many, that's how many, and I've toured them all.) That's how I know that James Bond drove an Aston Martin DB5 in
Goldfinger.

But as a person with an unusual triple moniker myself, I wasn't about to give Austin a hard time about his name. I didn't intend to try to be “funny” about it, either. I've been on the other side of that scenario. (And no, I'm not telling you the top ten “jokes” I've heard while people were riffing on Hayden.)

Seriously, stop trying to come up with one. I can guarantee you, someone has already beaten you to it.

“Sorry about that, Austin.” I stepped back and invited him inside, trying not to jostle my painful head. “I'm not at my best this morning, I'm afraid. It was a tough day yesterday.”

“Yeah. That's why I'm here.” He moved past me, then turned. His owlish face was solemn. I couldn't help being comforted by his sympathetic demeanor. “I heard you left Muddle + Spade sort of abruptly yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I'm possibly poisoned.
“Don't I look okay?”

“Well . . .” Austin scrutinized me. For an insultingly long time. I might have been hypothetically dosed to death, but I didn't like thinking I
looked
bad. “You look kinda hungover, actually.”

Humph.
I scoured the neighborhood outside my front door with a suspicious glance. All I saw were newly leafed green trees, similar foursquare houses, sidewalks, and parked cars.

I shut the door. “You could have at least brought me a coffee, then,” I cracked, still feeling shaky. “I could have—”

Used some wake-up assistance.
I spied his face and stopped.

Austin looked appalled. “Coffee to go? No way. I wouldn't do that to you.” He shook his head. “It would be awful. I mean, assuming you wanted a pour over, brewed with the water at two hundred seven degrees Fahrenheit, you'd still get subpar results once wetting, dissolution, and diffusion took place. That's for a medium to light roast, too. With a dark roast coming in at ten degrees cooler, you're talking about . . .” He caught
my
expression and weakly trailed off. “. . . a major loss of flavor after transport had taken place.”

I smiled. “Sorry. I forgot I was in a serious coffee town.” To Portlanders, java was a beverage, a hobby, a way of life. It made sense, given the drizzle. “Anyway, what I've got feels
worse
than a hangover,” I confided. “I think I might have been—”
Poisoned.
I stopped. “Hey, how did you know where to find me?”

I certainly hadn't given Austin my address yesterday. As a woman traveling alone, I tended to be cautious with that intel.

“Your address was on Cartorama's group page. Online.” Austin described the social-networking site all the vendors used to keep in touch and arrange special events, something started by Janel for the Save Cartorama movement. “Carissa told us you don't drive much. We thought we might need to take turns picking you up and dropping you off, so—” He broke off, belatedly catching sight of my face. “Don't worry. It's private.”

I didn't feel reassured.
Everyone
at Cartorama had access to my temporary local address? “That needs to come down.”

“I'll ask Janel to do it. She's the one who maintains the site for us, along with Cartorama's Instagram, Facebook page, and Twitter feed.” Austin gestured to the sofa. “Maybe you should chill for a sec. You look a little unsteady.”

He gently helped me to the sofa, then tucked me onto the cushions with the cable-knit throw, generously if not adroitly. I couldn't help thinking that of all the Cartorama vendors who might have come to check up on me today, Austin was my favorite.

Danny would have said I was being gullible. I knew I wasn't. I decided to try out a quasi interrogation, to be sure.

But first . . . “You look a little unsteady yourself, Austin.” I studied his beanie-wearing self with concern. “Are you okay?”

His face twisted. I thought he might be about to cry.

I hoped not. I wanted to maintain some distance from him and the others at Cartorama. If I was going to investigate things—and I increasingly thought I might be, since I appeared to have been targeted, too—I had to be impartial. I couldn't be misled by Austin's teddy bear demeanor and red-rimmed eyes.

“I just spent the morning notifying everyone about Declan, that's all.” Austin's voice was hoarse with emotion. “I've got to say, it was one of the hardest things I've ever done.”

Distractedly, he lowered himself onto the sofa beside me, then stared at the unlit fireplace, probably looking for a diversion from his gloomy feelings. He let his gaze travel along my armchairs, then meander to the kitchen and stairway.

Danny would have said he was casing the place. Maybe for an attack later. I scoffed inwardly and gave Austin a pat on the knee. “I'm sorry. At least you got through it, right?”

He sniffled and nodded, making his beanie shake.

“Shouldn't Carissa have done that, though?” I didn't want to be insensitive, but I couldn't help wondering about it. “I mean, Declan's family was going to be her family, too. It would only make sense for her to have made those phone calls.”

Poor Carissa.
What awful calls they'd have been, too.

“Oh, they weren't phone calls. They were posts. On a different private message board. A couple of texts, too.”

Okay, me getting an Evite for this weekend was one thing. Austin notifying Declan's next of kin via kilobyte was something else again. “You texted Declan's family about his death?”

“No.” Austin scoffed. He smiled, shaking his head. “I told his gamer group. Well,
my
gamer group. Declan doesn't play much anymore. But everyone really liked him. They were pretty upset.”

I was still confused. “I can imagine.”

“That's how I met Declan. We were both big into online gaming.” Austin reminisced about the various games they'd played. “Declan came to town for Comic Con Portland last year. We had a real-world meetup with some of the other players. I took everyone over to Cartorama, Declan met Carissa, and . . .”

Austin trailed off, his expression turning distant—and bitter, too. I was reminded of his guilty look from yesterday.

I'd never met anyone as outwardly guileless as Austin before, though. I didn't think he could keep a secret for long.

“And?” I prompted, watching him for clues.

He blinked. “And the rest was history. Declan moved to Portland, started seeing Carissa, and started making chocolate.”

“Making chocolate? I thought Declan's thing was the tour.”

“Chocolate After Dark? Yeah. It is now,” Austin confirmed, “but first he tried the whole bean-to-bar routine. He lucked into a big hit with his first candy bar—kind of a bacon-y take on a Snickers. Lots of local places stocked it. He made a bunch of connections. He was a big-time wunderkind for a while there.”

That explained how Declan knew enough about the area and its chocolatiers to launch a culinary tour of his own.

“How did he go from bacon-y boy wonder to tour guide?”

“He couldn't cut it as a chocolatier. Even Carissa had Declan whipped when it came to the science of it all.”

I couldn't miss Austin's mildly dismissive tone. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little gratified to have my own skepticism of my friend's newfound scientific expertise confirmed. Especially by someone like Austin, who would know.

“But Carissa developed all the equipment necessary to freeze her ice cream at Churn PDX herself,” I protested with an inner bat of my eyelashes. I don't like playing dumb, but sometimes it's useful. “Wouldn't that take a lot of brainpower?”

“Technically, yes,” Austin said. “But the rumor going around Cartorama is that Declan designed that equipment for her.”

“Really?” I breathed, gawking at him. “
Declan
did it?”

Carissa would have flipped her lid to hear Austin say so.

It would explain a lot, though—the disconnect between the (self-admitted) airhead I'd known at university and the smarty-pants I'd hugged hello just twenty-four hours ago, for one thing. But it would also make it less likely that Declan would make a mistake while refilling Carissa's liquid nitrogen tanks yesterday, which was the current explanation for why he'd been in her trailer. If he'd designed the valves and ventilation, he would have known how to use all of them safely, wouldn't he?

“I'm pretty sure
Declan
started the rumor,” Austin added.

“Oh.” I frowned. “Wow. Carissa would have
hated
that.”

“Yeah. Declan could be kind of a dick to her sometimes.”

“That doesn't sound like a devoted friend talking.”

“Well, he could be a
tremendous
dick to
me
sometimes.” Austin gave a sarcastic grin. I was reminded he wasn't
all
flannel-and-bearded good humor. “That's just the way he was.”

So far, Declan Murphy didn't sound like the most stand-up guy. I mean, I was sorry he was dead. But he'd slept with Janel and broken her heart, started a rumor that disparaged his own fiancée's intelligence, and maybe cheated on Carissa. He was no prince, it seemed. Yet everyone had liked him. Why?

“You'd think remembering Declan's shittier qualities would make me miss him less, wouldn't you?” Austin grumbled, choking on a laugh. He wiped his watery eyes with the heel of his hand. “But the funny thing is, I miss that bastard. I really do.”

“
Aw.
Of course you do.” I patted his knee again.

He realized what I was doing and shifted subtly on the sofa, very much the way I'd done when Tomasz had pressed his thigh against mine yesterday in our booth at Muddle + Spade. It seemed evident to me that Austin was keeping his distance.

But why? Did he have a girlfriend he was devoted to?

He sucked in a huge breath, then shook his head. His smile broadened, enlivening his shaggy-hair-framed face. “The funny thing is, I came here to make sure
you
were okay. Now
I'm
not.”

“There's no telling how grief will affect you,” I assured him, wishing I weren't speaking from experience. “It'll take some time. Declan didn't have to be perfect to be lovable, you know.”

Austin snorted. “Declan wasn't perfect. Not by a long shot. But he liked all the same things I did. Gaming.
Tacos de lengua.
Vinyl record stores. Coffee. Nintendocore.” He noticed my baffled look and explained. “It's metal music influenced by video game soundtracks. It's kind of obscure. But Declan
got it.
”

I remembered Janel similarly reciting a list of the things she and Declan had had in common. It had been vastly different.

After all, it didn't get much less vegetarian than
tacos de lengua.
Who
was
Declan Murphy, anyway?

“Well, he
did
move here to Portland, right? So you two—”

“He didn't do that for
me.
” Austin held up his hand. “That was all for Carissa. Declan left some cushy job in Seattle real estate to do it, too. The market is totally booming there now.”

Warning bells clanged in my head. Declan had worked in real estate? Just like the developers pursuing Cartorama's land?

“Or maybe it was a tech company he worked at,” Austin amended, frowning. “I can't remember for sure now.” He gave me an abashed look. “Most of our conversations centered on gaming.”

Oh, well, so much for that brilliant theory of mine.

“At least they did until Declan got ‘too busy' to keep up his end of things.” Austin made air quotes with his fingers. “I think he just didn't want anyone here to know he was a gamer.”

I felt bad for him. “That must have hurt your feelings.”