Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [10]
“McMullen.” Rivera’s patience sounded a little strained now, which, oddly enough, made me feel better.
“Yeah?”
“Who did she shoot at?”
“I’m not sure she had decided exactly.”
He mumbled something then. It might have been a swearword. Hell, it might have been several.
I waited, staring at my legs. They were pasty white and kind of jiggly. I gave the right one a poke.
“… fallen for someone with a couple of brain cells?”
My attention snapped up. “What?”
“I suppose you didn’t even consider letting me know where you were going.”
“Actually I tried …” I began, then remembered his words. “What were you saying? Something about falling?”
“What did you try?” he asked. Impatience had slipped into pissed. It wasn’t a long slide.
“I called you,” I said, and scowled, remembering the night before. The panic I had felt at the sound of the voice on the phone. “He’s dead,” Micky had said and the first person that had popped into my mind had been Rivera. What did that mean? “Your line was busy.”
“When?”
“About two minutes after I turned you down.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I stood up. “Why are you so pissy? Did the next woman reject you, too?”
For a moment there was silence, then, “Oh, for God’s sake, you don’t seriously think I was propositioning someone, do you?”
“You propositioned me.” I could feel anger and doubt accumulate like tartar inside me.
“I’d just put in a ten-hour day. You seriously think I was trying to get you in the sack?”
“Me and probably a half-dozen others.”
He snorted. “Jesus, McMullen, if I put my mind to it you’d be flat on your back before you could even remember the word ‘no.’”
I curled up a lip. “I prefer being on top.”
“I’ll keep that in …” He stopped himself, drew a deep breath. I swear I could hear him grind his teeth. “Are you okay or what?”
I narrowed my eyes. Mothers weren’t the only ones who could be sneaky. Men were right up there with the champs. “Who were you talking to, Rivera?”
“What?”
“Last night, after we hung up. Who’d you call?”
“Are you seriously asking this?”
“Are you seriously evading the subject?”
There was a pause. I opened my mouth to blast him, but he spoke first. “Mamá.”
I closed my mouth, scowled. Harlequin had trotted after Laney. She had that effect on males. “You were talking to your mother?”
“Sí.”
“At that hour?”
His laugh was more of a heavy exhalation. “I know that wildcats like you have to get to bed before nine, but Latina women are known to stay up well past dusk.”
My hackles rose. There had been more than a few Latina women in his past. Hell, there had probably been Chihuahuas in his past.
“What did she say?”
“Mamá?”
“Yeah.”
“She said you’re a nut job.”
“It wasn’t her, was it?” I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Really, I don’t. I’m not usually the jealous type. The nutty type, yes. The horny type, absolutely. The weird, “I want to sleep with you but I won’t” type. But not the jealous type.
He cursed again. He was getting more inventive. Which, in my own warped brain, made me think he probably was hiding something. Still, maybe it’s not my fault that I’m warped. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve dated approximately seventy-eight guys, most of whom were certified whackos.
“Listen, Rivera. It’s not as if we swore to be exclusive or—”
“She said you told her all you wanted was a man who wouldn’t wear your underwear.”
I closed my mouth, closed my eyes, momentarily wished I had been born mute. Because, actually, I had told Rosita Rivera just that. In fact, I had said a whole lot of embarrassing things. A long time had passed since then, but some evenings are more memorable than others.
I rubbed my eyes but didn’t entirely give up on my line of questioning. Better to sound jealous than nuts. “She told you that last night?”
“You think I wouldn’t have mentioned it sooner if I had heard it before?”
Good point. Valid point. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“An idiot?”
I nodded a little. It was entirely possible, but I wasn’t about to admit as much out loud. He already knew I had been discussing underwear with his