Killer Cables by Reagan Davis

Author:Reagan Davis [Davis, Reagan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999043537
Publisher: Carpe Filum Press
Published: 2020-05-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

At home, Sophie sniffs my legs while I prepare her dinner.

Watching her eat, I wonder if she knows from smelling me that I was at her house this afternoon. Could she smell the scent of the killer the day we found Laura? Was it someone she knows? If Sophie could talk, this case might be solved by now.

Last night, I finished the baby blanket I was knitting for the charity knitting guild, and I still need to block it. It’s been soaking in the laundry room sink since this morning.

I spread some blocking mats on the kitchen table, squeeze the excess water from the blanket, spread it out on the blocking mats, and pin it down. When it dries, I’ll unpin it and give it to the guild to add it to the collection of blankets they’re donating to the AC.

I dry my hands and text Eric.

Me: I’m home. We still on for tonight?

Eric: Yes. Have you had dinner?

Me: Not yet. I’ll make us something. Shrimp linguine? With salad?

Eric: No need to cook. I’ll pick up something.

About twenty minutes later, I open the door, and Eric comes in carrying two bags from Ho Lee Chow. I take the bags from him and carry them to the dining room while he takes off his winter gear.

“You don’t have to feed me every time we see each other,” I tell him. “I’m not giving you information in exchange for food. This isn’t a quid pro quo.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he replies from the front door. “I was such a jerk this morning.”

“Please don’t apologize again,” I tease.

“I’ll try to stop myself,” he says jokingly. “But seriously, I like our meals together, it’s a nice change from eating alone.”

I can’t disagree with that.

I put the bags on the dining room table and go into the kitchen for plates and cutlery.

When I come back into the dining room, Eric is standing at the table unpacking the food. He’s wearing jeans. I’ve never seen him in jeans.

They definitely suit him.

He paired them with a cream-coloured, cable-knit sweater. I’m pretty sure the sweater is store bought, not hand knit, but it doesn’t matter. The fit is flattering, and the sleeves stretch across his biceps just enough to remind me he has biceps. He looks warm, cozy, and temptingly snuggly. I allow myself to look, but just for a moment. Then I tell myself firmly to stop staring.

I put the plates and cutlery on the table.

“These are all my favourite things from their menu,” I say, looking at the spread. “Is that a coincidence or did you ask them what I usually get?”

“I got the same things we ordered in September.” He shrugs. “Remember? We ate Ho Lee Chow at the store while I questioned you.”

“I remember.” I nod. “You can remember a random restaurant order from four months ago?”

“I’m observant, it’s my job.” He smiles and sits down in front of his plate.

I go back to the kitchen and return with napkins and two beers.

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