“You’re all idiots. Go home,” I tell her. “Or better yet, try reporting some real news for once. If that’s too difficult, I hear a unicorn just stabbed a vampire down at the Quickmart.”
They ignore me and start yelling questions about where I got Fia.
Losers. I go for my keys, but the door’s unlocked. Maybe one of my roomies came home. I step inside and slam the door behind me.
“Mr. Norland, there you are.” An older woman with a lavender dye job is sitting in my living room, holding Fia.
All my worries instantly take a back seat when I lay eyes on the tiny little baby sleeping in her arms. I can’t wait to hold her and feel that rush of serenity wash through me.
“How did you get in?” I ask the woman, who has an official-looking lanyard around her neck that includes her photo. She must be Blackwell, the woman who called from Child Services.
“Your friend.” Blackwell’s eyes move across the room to Lara, who’s standing there looking upset—pale face, nauseated expression.
“Lara, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” And she got here fast. Must’ve driven straight over. But why not answer my calls?
I don’t like this. Something feels off. I mean, more off. This entire evening is an exercise in offness. And being offed. Poor Marli.
“I arrived a minute ago and found Ms. Blackwell knocking on your door. I let her in.”
“Actually, Mr. Norland,” says Ms. Blackwell, looking down her nose at me, “the door was unlocked. Do you make it a habit of doing that? It’s very unsafe.”
I must’ve forgotten since I snuck out the balcony. Got a twig up my ass and nearly broke my damned neck, too. “Oh. Uh, no. It’s just been a crazy day with all the reporters out there.”
She eyes me like I’m a bag of trash she wants to toss to the curb. “Your friend here was just about to tell me something she feels concerned about, weren’t you?” Blackwell looks at Lara.
Oh no. What is she doing? My pulse races. “Lara, can I speak to you for a sec?”
“I think I’d rather stay right here.” Lara’s tone is cold. “Away from any ladles.”
A lightbulb goes on. I think I know why she raced to beat me here. She thinks I killed Marli. She’s here to protect Fia. That’s really sweet. Also, really bad.
“But you don’t think…?” I point to my chest. “You’re not insinuating that…? Lara, what you saw wasn’t—I didn’t—how could you think that?”
“You murdered,” Lara sees my pleading, terrified expression and switches gears, “my love for you. You have some explaining to do.”
Phew. She’s giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Blackwell’s face contorts. “Mr. Norland? What’s going on?”
“I promise it’s a misunderstanding,” I say stiffly, looking right at Lara.
“I saw it with my own eyes, Dean,” Lara replies.
So she does think I killed Marli. She also believes Marli is some hooker I just banged in a cheap motel. Bang ’em and kill ’em. Totally my thing. I’m more than insulted that Lara believes I’m capable of doing something that horrific. “You’re going to have to trust me when I say I would never do anything like that.”
Blackwell frowns, looking thoroughly confused.
“What about that text you sent?” Lara asks. “Sounded like you were offering to use your utensils on me.”
“No. I was trying to say that certain people—not me—are very picky about how their utensils are used and wouldn’t appreciate you…rating them.” That came out all wrong. I wanted to say that Tony Rigatoni is a man she doesn’t want to cross.
“Is this some sort of sex talk code?” Blackwell asks.
“You caught us,” I say. “Sorry. Lara and I are a new couple, and we had a fight over…the wedding registry gifts. This is our form of makeup sex. Verbal banter.”
Blackwell’s wrinkled lips twist sideways. “But you just said you’re a new couple.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” I need to stop talking now. “Yet,” I walk over to Lara and throw my arm around her, “I know she’s the one. So why wait?”
Blackwell bobs her head slowly. She either thinks we’re on something or we’re stupid. “All right, well, I have to get home to my cats, so I need you to show me around the apartment. Then I’ll schedule a follow-up visit with you for next week.”
“Follow-up?” I ask.
“Standard procedure.”
I’m not about to argue with the woman. I just want her to leave. Then I need to figure out what to tell Lara. She’s going to freak the hell out.
“Sure. I’d be happy to show you around.” I gesture toward my bedroom.
Blackwell rises from the couch, still holding a sleeping Fia. I try not to think about what just happened to her mother. It’s sad. It’s disturbing. It’s driven home the danger I’m facing. We’re facing.
After an embarrassing tour of my place that included showing off Mike’s mountain of dirty underwear on his floor and Igor’s stack of Eastern European porn magazines, Blackwell gives me a pile of paperwork to sign, releasing Fia back into my care.