Holy Crepes by Melissa Monroe

Author:Melissa Monroe [Monroe, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cinnamon Cozies
Published: 2018-09-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“This thing is ancient,” Gabriel sniffed. “Don’t you have anything better to drive? You’re going to end up stranded on the edge of the road someday in this beat-up hunk of metal.”

“Don’t insult my car,” she said. “It’s a classic.”

“In age only. This thing will not go over well at car shows.”

He was probably right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Eventually she’d have to replace the old van with a shinier, newer model. But hopefully that wouldn’t be for a few more years.

“Should it matter so much what a suspected killer is driving?” she snapped waspishly. “You still haven’t dropped your case against me, I presume?”

“It could be very useful information to have,” he said, just as sharply. “If I need to put out an ABP on a rusted-out hulk of metal containing a dangerous felon.”

“She isn’t rusted out.”

“There is rust on the undercarriage,” he said.

“You try getting through a winter without driving over some rock salt. It’s not nice to cars. Not that I’d expect a native Californian to know.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know I’m a California resident?”

“Your license plate. Unless you drove a rental car with California plates all the way here, I’m guessing that you’re from the state or somewhere close.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re very astute for a baker.”

“And you’re being very trivial for an FBI agent. Don’t you have better things to do than pick on innocent vehicles?”

“Innocent,” he snorted. “This thing deserves to be in a scrapyard.”

Priscilla patted the dashboard. “Shh. He doesn’t mean it.”

The banter felt light and natural, after all the serious accusations he’d made earlier in the week. She wondered what had changed in recent days to make him likable. Or perhaps tolerable was a better word. Had it been the food? The help he’d given her? Or maybe she was just too tired to care about all his misbehavior up to this point.

“Arthur said you hated driving,” Gabriel said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did he now? What else did he tell you about me?”

“That you’re abominable with new technology.”

“Abominable is a strong word.”

“Resistant?”

“Better,” she agreed. “And yes, I can’t figure it out on the best of days. I thought that having a young person in my house would allow me to learn, but I hardly see him at all.”

He made a speculative noise, and she immediately regretted letting the words slip out. What if he took it to mean that he had no alibi? What if he decided that meant Dean was the guilty party? Didn’t she have some obligation to protect him?

And what if he was guilty? What did that mean for her?

Did she have an obligation as his so-called mother figure to defend him? Or did her duties as a police consultant compel her to reveal his involvement in the death?

Maybe it had been self-defense, she reasoned. Maybe there was a reason besides revenge. Absalom had gotten in her face in an effort to make her attack him. It was a standard practice in anti-vampire religious groups.

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