Page 60 of Dying to Meet You
“Lucky Amos.” I shrug. “Architecture is more fun than shipping.”
“You would say that.” Hank throws another smile in my direction and then tilts his handsome face up to inspect the elaborate ceiling. “Although he wasn’t very good at his job, was he?”
For the second time in two minutes, I’m caught off guard. “What do you mean? This house is the most significant example of Italianate design in New England.”
Hank lowers his well-defined chin and gives me an amused glance. “If that’s the way you want to play it, sure. But we both know that Amos wasn’t a visionary. And I’m sure you’ve noticed that he just ripped his designs straight out of the fashionable parts of Europe.”
He isn’t wrong. Although I’m surprised that Hank acknowledges this. “You could say that he washonoringthose traditions. As your professional cheerleader for this building, you won’t hear me say otherwise. There’s craftsmanship here that isn’t replicable. That’s exactly what I’ll be telling the Landmarks Review Board, by the way. They won’t know what hit them.”
His smile widens, but before he can reply, his phone chimes again. Then mine does the same damn thing. Unable to resist the lure this time, he retrieves his phone from his pocket.
I take the opportunity to do the same and find a text from Beatrice.
Beatrice: Did you see the news? They found the gun!
Beatrice: This could all be over soon.
“They found the gun,” Hank says as we both tap on our screens.
The news story loads mercifully fast.
A caller to the PPD tip line sent authorities to search a dumpster in the same west side neighborhood where the murder took place. Police say they’ve recovered a pistol that was recently fired, as well as personal effects of the deceased.
The forensic investigation is ongoing, but the gun appears to match the make and serial number of a weapon owned by the victim.
I sit back in my chair, startled. Tim had a gun?
A suspect was seen by the tipster tossing the gun into the dumpster. The suspect was described as a white man wearing a dark hoodie sweatshirt and a baseball cap. He is reportedly about six feet tall. Anyone with knowledge or footage of the perpetrator disposing of the gun is encouraged to call the tip line. Police are searching for any other witnesses who may have seen the perpetrator in action.
“A white man in a sweatshirt?” Hank says. “That’s half of New England.”
“Maybe they’ll find more. Fingerprints, or a hair, or whatever else police can get from a gun.” From a gun that’s been sitting in a dumpster?Sure, Rowan. Way to sound sharp.
“His own gun. Do journalists usually carry a weapon?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” I say as another wave of exhaustion hits me. “But maybe I’m just naïve.”
Hank picks up his briefcase. “I think I’ll head to the office and make some calls. Maybe I can find someone who’s willing to share more of the details.”
“Keep us posted,” I say mildly. As if I’ll be able to think about anything else today.
“Hang in there, Rowan. And I’ll have my girl send you the details on that dinner.”
My girl. Yikes. “Thanks. See you Friday.”
He leaves, and I pick up my phone and read every word of the article about the gun. Two more times.
22
The rain continues to spatter against the windows, and I work alone in the office with my CAD software and my regrets. Until I nearly fall out of my chair when I hear a shout from upstairs.
Rushing to the second floor, I find Zoya on her scaffolding. I brace myself to hear another anecdote about a ghost, but she’s excited about something else.
“I found it! Poseidon seducing Scylla! This painter was so fucking predictable.”
I move closer to the new image that she’s working on. The edges are still blurred by beige paint, but I can see a misbehaving Poseidon in a clinch with a young nymph.
“That’s Scylla.” Zoya points a Q-tip at the nymph. “And that’s Poseidon’swife.” She points at a neighboring figure—a goddess staring at the lovers with obvious contempt. “This house! It’s so dark, yet so horny.” Zoya dabs at the paint. “It’s a good thing you guys pay well.”
