Page 14 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“A fire?” she repeated. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. Everything is just fine,” Bruce crooned. Eden didn’t believe him for a minute. He sounded as if he were calming a nervous crowd before an asteroid hit the earth.
Davis tottered over to her glass display case of made-in-Blue Moon products. He rested his forehead against the glass, smearing blood and face across the freshly cleaned glass.
“Oh, come on!” Eden grabbed his arm and shoved him down into one of the upholstered chairs under the bay window. “Why is he bleeding, andwhydoes he smell so bad?”
“I don’t smell anything,” Bruce insisted.
Eden glared at Ellery, herfriendwho should have known better than to show up with a Gates in tow. Maybe Bruce and Ellery had suffered head injuries, too.
Eden grabbed the first aid kit from behind the front desk and returned to Davis.
“My house is burning down,” he announced cocking his head so far to the side that his ear rested on his shoulder. Eden held him by the chin and swiped alcohol over the cut on his forehead.
“He’s mildly concussed,” Ellery reported. “There was a fire in his kitchen, and he fell and hit his head escaping.” She said all of that while staring holes in Bruce who didn’t seem the least bit perturbed.
The front door opened, and the chime tinkled announcing Deputy Layla’s arrival. The dogs, ardent fans of Layla, made a mad dash to welcome her. She strolled inside in uniform. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun under her hat. Swiping her sunglasses off her pretty face, she surveyed the lobby.
“Crap. It even smells in here,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Eden slapped a patch of gauze on Davis’s forehead and ripped the tape with her teeth. “Can I help you, deputy?” Friends since junior high, they were both respectful of each other’s careers. Eden called Layla deputy around the guests, and Layla never mentioned their sleepover shenanigans from junior high where they practiced kissing pillows that they pretended were boy band members.
“You’re really pretty,” Davis whispered, making puppy dog eyes at Eden.
“And you smell like a urinal that someone vomited burritos into,” Eden shot back.
“Isn’t she pretty, guys?” Davis said flopping to the side of the chair to stare blearily at Ellery and Layla.
“Beautiful.”
“Gorgeous.”
“She has a very symmetrical face,” Bruce agreed.
“So, what’s the situation?” Ellery asked Layla.
Layla consulted her notebook. “Well, Davis, I’m sorry to tell you that the kitchen’s a total loss. The fire crew was able to confine the blaze to just that section of your house, but you’re looking at forty-some thousand in damages.”
Bruce went pale and swallowed hard. “Forty-thousanddollars?”
“Bruce, can I see you outside?” Ellery hissed, dragging the older man out the front door by his sweater vest.
Davis closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against Eden’s hand. She snatched it away. Not only did she not want to touch Davis, but she didn’t want that smell rubbing off on her. She was already going to have to torch the chair he was sitting on.
“When can he go home?” Eden asked Layla.
Layla pursed her lips, knowing exactly how her friend felt about said stinking mess of a man. “Not anytime soon. The inspector’s gotta check the rest of the house for damage. And Davis isn’t going to like this, but it looks suspicious at this point.”
A trio of female guests wandered into the lobby. They were part of the Frances party of six, in town to do some holiday shopping and relaxing sans husbands and children. Eden flashed them a strained smile and gave a little wave. She was propping up a bloody man who smelled worse than asparagus pee while a deputy discussed the possibility of arson. This wasn’t the kind of hospitality her five-star Travel Diary-rated hospitality business provided.
“Who in the hell would set his house on fire?” she asked, dropping her voice to a low whisper. As far as she knew, she—and her parents—was Davis’s only enemy.
Layla cleared her throat. “About that—and I hate to do this, Eden—but what were you doing about an hour ago?”
Eden’s outraged gasp nearly took her knees out. “I beg your pardon?”
“Look, with your history with Gates here—The Incident and all that—I have to ask.”
