Page 4 of Deja New
TWO
The James L. Brooks of Insighters stared at the cream-colored two-story house and tried not to vomit.
“Home,” Archer announced (unnecessarily), already tugging their suitcases out of the trunk. “The place where they are morally and sometimes legally obligated to let you in.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” the Mangiarotti of Insighters muttered.
“What’s that, babe?”
“I said I don’t feel well.”
“Okay, let’s get you inside and you can have a ginger ale and lay down.”
Ah, Archer Drake. The love of her life. (Well. This life.) Straightforward and not a man to get lost inside his own head. Product of a close, large, loving family. Brave and sweet and gorgeous.
And clueless. Also,lay/liewas one of her peeves. “It’slie.Unless you are physically laying me down, it’slie.” Her peeves were legion.
“You’ll lay yourself down,” he said, with aggravating cheer. “I stand by what I said! And you know it’s totally fine to be nervous, right? Hell, I’ve met all the players, andI’mnervous. Actually that’s probably why,” he added thoughtfully. “I know ’em. But they’ll love you.”
Leah found a smile. “I’m certain that’s a lie.”
“Well, they won’t hate you.”
“That’s better.”
“They can’t hate you, they know you’re here to solve a murder.”
“Why are they so adamant the wrong man is in prison? Is it—” Her experience with such things was nearly non-existent, so she chose her next words carefully. “Is it a family thing? Or is it more objective than that?”
“A little from Column A and a little from Column B. Listen: There’s no way my father killed his brother. They were always tight, to the point where my aunt hated it. My dad adored his brother. Still does, how’s that for depressing?”
“I don’t know.”
“And anyone planning a murder would make sure they had a much better alibi than Dad did. It’s stuff like that, all little things. You look at the facts, and you can’t shake the idea that something’s missing. Something huge.”
Her normally good-natured sweetheart had gone pensive, so she held off from more questions. “This won’t be an instant fix, you know. I’m not sure your cousin understands that.”
Archer’s brow furrowed. “What? I’m not following.”
Before she could say anything else
(not a fix—and also, get me out of here)
(what was I thinking)
(I mean it, get me out of here!)
the front door popped open so hard, it rebounded in the face of the young woman standing just inside. “Archer!” she called as she wrestled with the screen door and bounded out in a burst of energy with which, by now, Leah was familiar. The woman—his cousin?—strongly resembled Archer, with the same long limbs and barely suppressed hyperactivity, the same bright eyes, and a mouth made for smiling. Her hair—a riot of shoulder-length reddish-blond waves—was the only visible difference. Well, the hair and the breasts, too. Obviously.
“Huh,” Leah mused. “You’re all like that.”
“Only when we’re freaked out. Or nervous. Or horny. Or in fear for our life... yeah,” Archer finished, giving up. “We’re all like that. All the time. Except my aunt. But you’ll see for yourself.”
Splendid.
Archer’s cousin had finally fought free of the screen door. “Hi, it’s so great to meet you oh, my God, I can’t believe you’re here how was your trip oh, my God!” This as she rushed over so quickly and shook Leah’s hand so enthusiastically, she nearly knocked her back into the car.
