Page 80 of Worse Than Wicked
Baron cuts his eyes towards me.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Of course you did,” she says, pulling a sleek object from her pocket. “Dead or alive, men are always so messy.”
I don’t realize what she’s doing until she twists her hand, sliding her fingers down and her thumb up at the same time, opening the object. It’s some kind of high-tech flip phone made entirely of black glass with a futuristic, angled design.
Baron eyes it with fascination, and I know he’s dying to get his hands on it.
“Cleanup on aisle five,” Dahlia mutters to herself, tapping on the panels for a few seconds before closing and pocketing the device.
“I was going to go back and clean the room once I took Mabel home,” Baron says.
“Of course you were.”
“How do we know you’re not going to take evidence from the scene that could incriminate us?”
“This is as close as I come to the scene,” Dahlia says. “And I trust my team.”
“I have no reason to,” Baron points out.
“I didn’t notice you filling out a complaint form last time,” she says, smirking again.
“That was you?” I ask. “You took the body from my aunt’s house in Maine?”
“Ididn’t go near it,” she says.
“Damn,” Baron says. “So you did that, and you’re the one who’s been following Mabel all this time? And I’m assuming you got rid of all those men she went out with?”
I realize then that the reason he’s not being completely rude to her, like he was my coworker, is that he’s impressed. It’s not easy to impress Baron Dolce, but he’s definitely being nicer to her than I expected, especially after she broke into his car and eluded him for so long. I should know, though, that Baron isn’t threatened by competition. So few people can compete with him on any level that when he finds someone who can, he loves it.
“I don’t kill men,” she says. “I kill monsters.”
“It’s really you,” he says. “I was halfway convinced it was Mabel, and halfway convinced one of her dates made it out alive and was stalking her to take his revenge.”
“Men don’t typically kill with poison,” Dahlia says, adjusting the fingers of her glove. “Like I said, y’all are messy.”
Baron’s eyes narrow, and he turns to me. “That’s what you said.”
I shrug. “It’s common knowledge. Off the top of my head, I can name a half dozen plants in the woods behind Summer House that could kill a man. Mistletoe, foxglove, pokeweed, nightshade, amanita… Want me to go on?”
“You’ve made your point.”
“How many can you name?” I challenge.
“I’ll count myself lucky that you don’t cook,” he says, but his eyes shine with admiration. “I couldn’t name one.”
Smiling, I turn to Dahlia. “So, what now? Are you back for good?”
She cracks a grin. “That’s not how this works, babe. You need me, I’ll be there in a heartbeat. But I’m a rolling stone. I don’t gather moss.”
“No,” I say, smiling over my shoulder at her. “You prefer mushrooms.”
“You got me there.”
“Does your family know you’re home?” Baron asks. “I’m sure they’d want to see you.”
“They see me all the time,” she says. “Even if they don’t know it. You’ve probably seen me a few times yourself.”
