“Even though you don’t think you want to.”
“Don’t ask me why, but I feel like I need to do more for Melanie than what I’ve done for her so far.” I tried to turn to face him but Marcus held my head in place, so I was forced to talk to the mirror. “Besides, if I stop investigating now Anatoly will think it’s because he told me to stop. I can’t give him the satisfaction.”
“So you’re proving a point.”
“Kind of.”
“You realize that’s insane.”
“No, it’s not,” I insisted. “Do you remember what you told me right after I caught my dear ex-hubby screwing that dancer?”
“I said that he was an asshole.”
“Yes, but you also said that someday I would be an incredibly successful and famous writer and I would be able to flaunt that success in front of Scott. You said he would suffer every day of his life because he would know that he blew his chance to reap the rewards of my accomplishments and that I would gain an enormous amount of satisfaction from that.”
Marcus grinned. “And look at you now. C’est La Mort was on the New York Times bestseller list for five weeks straight. I am wise and all-knowing.”
“No, you’re not because Scott fell off the face of the earth so I have never had the chance to rub it in his face. He’s probably living like a king in some third world country where they have legalized gambling and women waving around I-will-hook-for-food poster boards. Living well is only a good revenge if those you’re trying to get revenge on know you’re living well.”
“And this is pertinent because…?”
“Because I don’t repeat my mistakes. I’m seriously pissed at Anatoly and I want to show him that I’m better at his job than he is. This is my chance to make him miserable and I just can’t pass up an opportunity like that.”
“Okay, right now you’re putting out a ‘Kathy Bates in Misery ’ kind of vibe.”
“I’m not crazy!” I snapped. “But I’ll admit that maybe I sound…well, a little bit less than sane. If I were to give one of my characters this motivation, Publishers Weekly would tear me apart. That’s why you need to help me come up with a good cover story. Melanie has left me five messages asking me to leave this whole investigation to Anatoly and I have to find a way to change her mind about that.”
“But aren’t you too busy for these kind of games? Shouldn’t you be writing a book or something?”
“Well, yeah. But, Marcus, did it ever occur to you that investigating this case is going to help me write my next book? What better way to research a cozy mystery than to start volunteering as a real-life amateur sleuth?”
“This has nothing to do with research.”
“Of course it doesn’t, but if anyone else asks me about this, that’s what I’m going to say. There! That’s my reason. Or does that sound dumb?”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, you’re way past dumb, now you’re moving toward idiotic.” Marcus plugged in a curling iron. “Honey, think about what you’re getting yourself mixed up in. You said it yourself, this murder could have been politically motivated. Eugene could have pissed off the wrong Democrat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with more conviction than I actually felt. “Democrats don’t kill people.”
“Are you sure about that?” Marcus asked as he parted my hair at the side. “Maybe this is the party’s new strategy for getting the support of the NRA. And then there’s that cat message. Sounds like code-speak to me and code-speak is something government agents are likely to use. You know how they talk—” he bent down so he was ear level and said in a low, dramatic voice “‘—the eagle has landed—shoot the moon.’”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s from an old Sean Penn movie…at least I think that’s how it goes. Nonetheless, the cat thing probably means that you’re dealing with a politician who’s coveting the support of fanatical animal rights organizations, and as it so happens, Ms. Brooke recently announced that she’s going to write a big ol’ check to help save a few endangered toads. You could be dealing with the next Stalin!”
“I probably should reserve judgment on Anne Brooke until I meet her, but I have to say, she doesn’t really strike me as the Stalin type.”
“She bears certain similarities,” Marcus said as he attacked my split ends with his sparkling silver clippers. “I saw her interviewed on Channel Two Morning News….”
“Didn’t you tell me last month that you were going to start dedicating your mornings to reading your favorite authors?” I asked.
“That was the plan, but somebody absconded with my Lee Nichols book before I had a chance to read it.”
I winced. “I guess I told you I was going to return that last week, huh?”
“Yes, you did, and I’m very cross about it. But back to Anne. I saw the interview, and girlfriend’s definitely on the paranoid side. She was complaining about being mistreated by the media, which you know is just another way of saying that she wants to control the media. Also, Stalin paid lip service to the teachings of Lenin, and in this interview Brooke actually quoted the lyrics of a song by Lennon from his Imagine album or something. And to top it all off, I heard that Brooke’s insurance carrier is State Farm.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Why is that important?”
“Are you kidding? Honey, where do you think Stalin sent all those poor peasants? To the State Farm!”
“Not the insurance company, you dork!”
“Still, it’s a sign.”
I watched as little snippets of my hair fell on the cream marble tile floor. “I’m going to do this, Marcus.”
He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know why I continue to fool myself into believing that you’ll ever take any of the advice I give you. You wouldn’t be you if you suddenly became rational.”
“Rational? This from the man who just likened the Beatles’ lead singer to the founder of the Communist Party?”
“Johnny wrote a whole song telling people to imagine a world where there wasn’t any religion and everybody shared everything—basically just a rockin’ version of The Communist Manifesto. But seriously, I worry about you, Sophie. I hate the thought of anyone hurting even one chemically treated hair on your head.”
“I won’t get hurt. I can do this…with a little help from my friends. Can I count on you to help me with this marginally important mission?”
Marcus stopped cutting my hair and pretended to consider the question. “Will I help you put your life in danger for no good reason whatsoever? Hmm, I’m going to go with no.”
“Will you at least help me think of a reason to give Melanie for my continued involvement?”
“Tell
