Page 2 of A Funny Thing Happened…

At this time of year, the night held a spicy festive fragrance—or maybe that was the pine and peppermint scented oil plug-ins stashed around Cloak and Dagger’s sales floor. Because…Natalie.

I turned back to drag the security gate shut. Behind the bars the forest of bookshelves stood motionless and silent, fake evergreen garland glistening and tiny lanterns glittering in the cozy gloom. Natalie had placed a Santa hat on the grinning skull on the fireplace mantle.

“What is it about the extravagance of minimalist coats and soft layers that so disturbs you?” Jake asked as we merged onto the I-210.

“Huh?” I tore my gaze away from those mesmerizing flashes of Christmas glimpsed through other people’s windows and studied his profile.

“That magazine you were reading. The one you were muttering over. The one you rolled up and stuck in your coat pocket.”

I smiled reluctantly. “Was I muttering?”

“Yep.” He glanced my way, and I could see the glimmer of his smile, though the question was sincere.

I said slowly, “It’s not winter fashion that worries me, though if you’d seen some of those boots… It’s the results of a compatibility quiz.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t think we’re compatible?”

“Us?We’re compatible. I mean, I don’t know if we’re compatible on paper, but we’re compatible in real life. No. Natalie was taking the quiz.”

“I see.”

I was pretty sure from his tone he didn’t.

“Whoever she was trying to answer on behalf of is not someone she should be marrying. Or even rooming with. These answers are aDatelinewaiting to happen.”

“Hm.” The glow of the dashboard offered just enough light to read his expression. I always loved the way the hard line of his mouth would twitch when he found something funny but wasn’t allowing himself an actual smile.

Reaching into the back seat, dodging Tompkins playfully who tried to claw me through the bars of his crate, I fished the rolled magazine from my coat pocket. I unfurled the pages of pouty-looking girls in coats that looked like crayon-colored collapsed parachutes (How could something that bulky beminimalist?).

“Seriously.” I squinted at the tiny typeface. “Listen to this.How many times a day would you call your spouse to know how he/she is doing?”

Jake was silent.

I said, “Natalie’s answer is three times. Which…okay. Maybe? If a lot of stuff was going on? Her stalker’s answer—whoever he is—is eight.Eight times a day!He’s calling every hour.”

“That sounds like Angus.”

“Does it? But she’s working with Angus, so he can just yellhey youacross the aisle.”

“Yeah, but the questions are hypothetical.”

“Okay. Possibly. It sure as hell isn’t Warren. If he called her once a week, I’d be impressed.” And alarmed.

“Mm.” Jake was no fan of Warren’s either.

“Part of my worry is, I’m not sure if she’s guessing this guy’s answers, or if these are actually his answers. What does that tell you?”

“That we don’t know,” Jake replied. “We also don’t know if this is the new guy.”

I stared. “What new guy?”

He gave me a sideways look. “Pretty sure there’s a new guy.”

“How do you know that? I mean, aside from being a detective and everything.”

He said sardonically, “Aren’t compatibility quizzes the kind of thing people do when they first meet?”

My heart sank. Don’t get me wrong. I’d be very happy for my little sister to find her, er, HEA, as the romance writers say, but her taste in men makes my emotional accuracy look like William Tell in his prime. Anyway, Jake was probably right. I said darkly, “Somepeople. Don’t ask me. I never filled out a compatibility quiz in my life. Did you?”

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