Quinn - Iris Johansen [49]
He quickly changed the subject. “I’m glad you like the salad. The main course is much more ordinary.” He got to his feet. “Steak and mushrooms. I’ll let you take the dishes into the kitchen while I serve it up. Get to work.”
“Right.” She picked up the salad plates and followed him into the kitchen. She put the dishes in the sink and stood watching him as he served up the steak and mushrooms on a plate. She said quietly, “Thank you, Joe.”
“Wait until you’re sure I’m not going to give you indigestion before you thank me.”
“No, thank you for making these days bearable for me. I would have gone crazy without you,” she added with frustration, “Where is he? I thought that he’d contact me long before this. Not one word after that second news interview came out.”
“He’s biding his time. He’s probably enjoying the hell out of thinking about you on pins and needles, waiting for him to strike.”
“But you don’t think he’s given up and gone away?” she asked anxiously.
“No.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I think that he’s close, waiting for his chance.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”
“Do you know how sick that sounds?”
She nodded, then asked immediately, “And that policeman outside hasn’t seen anything?”
He shook his head. “Bramwell says that there’s been no suspicious activity since he took over the duty day before yesterday.” He handed her a plate. “Now go sit down and try my steak. I made it medium well-done. Okay?”
“Fine.” She didn’t move. “I meant it, Joe. You kept me so busy painting that damn room that I had no time to think.”
“Oh, you were thinking. I just tried to keep everything troubling on the edge of your consciousness.” He headed for the dining room. “Now let’s finish dinner, and we’ll have coffee on the front porch. I made Turkish coffee with a few interesting spices.”
“Coffee with spices?” she repeated warily. “I’m not so sure about that. Coffee should be black, strong, and hot, and not subject to all your fancy exotic tinkering.”
“I realize that I’m taking a chance in fooling with your holy of holies.” He smiled as he glanced over his shoulder. “But trust me one more time. Try it, you’ll like it.”
* * *
“HERE YOU GO.” HE HANDED Eve the small demitasse cup and sat down in the cane chair next to her. “I guarantee it’s black and strong and a small enough quantity that you won’t have to sample much. I heard the phone ring when I was in the kitchen. I gather it wasn’t Zeus.”
She shook her head. “My mother. She wants to know when she can come home. Evidently, she’s bored. I thought it might be McVey again.”
“He called you this morning, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “He won’t give up. He wants to come here and become part of the action.” She made a face. “When and if there is any action. I told him that he can’t do it.”
“I’m sure he didn’t like that.”
“He’s being very persistent. I said we’d give him an exclusive as soon as the story broke.”
“That’s more than he deserves.”
“You’re still angry with him.”
“He took you to that house on the lake and let you stake yourself out for that nutcase.”
“It was my call.”
“And he grabbed at the chance to help you to do it. No trying to talk you out of it. Just set up a house in an isolated area and let the bad times roll. Anything to get his story.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Yes, I’m still angry.”
“Then I’ll try to keep you away from him. He was scared of you, but he’s so ambitious that he’ll keep pushing.” She took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t want him to—” She gasped. “Good Lord, what are you doing to me? It’s nasty. ” She made a face as she thrust the cup and saucer at him. “It’s like cinnamon-flavored tar.”
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”
“If you ever give me anything but the real thing when I ask for coffee, I’ll murder you.”
He chuckled. “I knew it was taking a chance.”
“You knew I’d hate it. It’s some kind