“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to get into how she really felt. “But I feel terrible for that woman.”
“They haven’t released her name. One of the neighbors said she was nice, volunteered at the hospital and dressed up as an elf at Christmas.”
“Of course!” she blurted out. He was killing her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Before she hung up, though, she added, “You won’t need to print anything about Owen then. Now that we know he’s not the killer.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t print your name at all.”
“What do you mean, ‘your name’? You’re not supposed to print any names or any story about him.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I only promised to keep your name out of it. His sordid past, too juicy to pass up. The ‘Brain,’ a killer. People eat that stuff up. Gotta go. They’re bringing the body out. Photo ops.”
She stood holding the phone for several more minutes, grappling with the cold truth. She was responsible for ruining someone’s life. The news turned back to the crime scene, showing what Dale had described: a covered body being carted out to a waiting ambulance. The lights weren’t on.
She took the car home, brewed up some chamomile tea, changed into a velour jumpsuit, and called Adrian. This was the hardest call she was going to have to make.
He didn’t answer, so she left a message. That was easier, but not the way she’d wanted to do it. “Adrian, it’s me, Kristy. I just spoke to Dale Soza, and I think he’s going to print the story about Owen. I’m sorry, so sorry. Please come over so we can discuss how we can do damage control. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it. I’m going to keep working on Dale, too, to change his mind. He’s busy with the Kiss and Kill Cupid story right now, so we’ve probably got a few days. Please, don’t ignore me. I know you’re angry, and you can fire me and write nasty comments about my online articles and whatever you need to do to feel better. But come over tonight so we can work on this together. If Owen wants to come, I’ll apologize to him in person. I owe him that. Okay?” She released a breath. “Right, you can’t answer because this is a message. Okay. Bye.”
She trudged into the kitchen to make five-cheese macaroni and cheese. Comfort food. Because that was the only comfort she was getting today.
Adrian sat next to Owen at the seediest bar he’d seen in a while. He didn’t know what to say once he’d relayed Kristy’s message to him. Owen had ordered another whiskey and chugged it. His chin was so low it nearly touched the rim of his glass.
The televisions were going, both channels featuring the Kiss and Kill Cupid story. Owen looked up at the screen, his eyes narrowed. “I could kill her.”
“You don’t mean that. She made a mistake, but I could hear it in her voice. She feels terrible.”
“Not as terrible as I feel. I have to go.”
Adrian stood the moment Owen did. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do myself in or anything. I just need to be alone.”
Adrian watched him wave down a cab, his gait unsteady. He had to let him go for now. Owen needed his stew time. But Adrian would be there for him later.
He thought of Kristy. He couldn’t be there for her. How could he forgive her for this? The cab pulled away, and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. Something wasn’t right.
The apartment filled with the scent of baking cheese and chocolate. Not together, of course. There was no chocolate ice cream in the house and, with Kristy’s reddened eyes and tear-streaked face, no way was she going out to get some. She found a bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet and pulled out her double boiler to melt them. No strawberries, alas, but she would make do with one banana and a box of Ritz crackers. If she got desperate, there was half a jar of sweet baby gherkins in the fridge. She was going to eat dessert first because the mac-and-cheese was taking too long.
She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! I left the handle sticking out. Berta, do you see this? Call the pot-handle police!”
Berta wasn’t there, thank goodness. Kristy was about to push the handle back over the stove but felt cranky enough to leave it as it was. “Here’s to you, Berta, wherever you are.” She sent her a raspberry.
The phone never left her side, and every five minutes she picked it up and had to restrain herself from calling Adrian again. He didn’t want to talk to her. She’d done enough, and what could she really do to help the situation now, except grovel? She would, but only in person.