Twilly was excited, hitting the climax of his story. “So now the DA has the letter Joey Flynn gave to her best friend, and turns out she also told her hairdresser that she was afraid Luke would kill her.”
“I’m dyin’,” Yuki said. “You better tell me what happened, Jason, because I’ve got to be in bed in ten minutes and you have to leave.”
“Come sit with me for those ten minutes,” he said.
Yuki felt her heart banging in her chest. And she felt something else: her deceased mother’s clucking presence all around her — in the furniture, in the portrait on the wall — and she knew that her mom would want her to say good night and show the stranger out.
Yuki got up and sat next to Jason Twilly.
Twilly put his arm around her, leaned forward, and kissed her. Yuki moved into the kiss, put her hands in Jason’s hair, and was jolted by the hot shock of desire that shot through her body. It was incredible! But somewhere into the second kiss, when Jason ran his hand over her breast, she pulled away, gasping and flustered, her confusion burning off into certainty.
She wasn’t ready for this. It was too soon.
Yuki dipped her head, avoided Twilly’s eyes as he reached out and tucked a glossy fall of her hair behind her ear.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he said, “The judge ruled the letter Joey wrote to her best friend inadmissible as hearsay, because a defendant, in this case Luke Flynn, had a right to confront his accuser.”
“Who was, unfortunately, dead,” Yuki said.
“Correct. But he allowed the testimony of Joey’s hairdresser. Luke’s lawyer put up a fight. Said the hairdresser’s testimony was also hearsay. The evidence went in anyway, and Luke was convicted.”
“That’s kind of amazing.”
“Bingo,” Jason said. “Luke’s lawyer appealed to the Tennessee State Supreme Court, and eight months later the conviction was overturned. As we speak, Luke Flynn is living in Louisville with his new wife and kids, making custom kitchen cabinets,” Twilly said. “As if Joey Flynn never happened.”
“So let me guess: the story fizzled out. And you had to either write the book or give back the advance,” Yuki said, starting to breathe normally again.
“Exactly. So I wrote Blue Northern, naming it after Joey’s song, and it bombed. But Malvo was a hit, and so was Rings on Her Fingers. And this book, the shocking story of the life and death of Michael Campion as told through the voice of the bewitching — oh, God, Yuki . . .”
Jason pulled Yuki to him and kissed her again, and when she resisted, when she said, “No, I can’t,” he held her tighter, until Yuki jumped up and pushed him away, putting the coffee table between them again.
Twilly’s face darkened. He was angry, and she understood: he’d read her libido, but not how much he was scaring her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just not —”
“Don’t be a sorry mouse, be a happy Jappy,” Twilly said, interrupting her. His lopsided smile was forced, and he stood, followed her into the middle of the room, reached for her again as she backed away.
Happy Jappy? What was wrong with him?
Yuki walked across the pale green carpet to the door, opened it, and said, “Good night, Jason.”
But Jason Twilly didn’t move.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “You flirt with me, invite me back to your place, now — hey! Listen to me,” he said, advancing on Yuki, gripping her chin hard with his thumb and forefinger, wrenching her face toward him.
“I said no,” Yuki said, pulling out of his grip. “Now get out or I’m calling the police.”
“Crazy bitch,” he said, and smiling coldly, he dropped his hands to his sides.
Yuki’s heart galloped as Twilly walked slowly out of her apartment. She slammed the door shut behind him, bolted the lock, and leaned against the inside of her door until she heard the elevator door open and close at the end of the hallway. She went to the window and watched as Twilly stalked out of the Crest Royal and got into his car.
His tires squealed as his black Mercedes shot down Jones Street.
Chapter 54
AFTER A GENUINE PSYCHO KILLER had been arrested in her building, Cindy had thought of adopting a dog for protection. Pit bulls were outlawed in San Francisco, and Cindy didn’t want an attack dog or a lap dog, and so her pursuit of the perfect watchdog had ended at Seth on Sixth, the pet store around the corner.
Seth had said, “Take him. His name is Horndog.”