Meow If It's Murder (Nick and Nora Mysteries) by T.C. LoTempio Page B

me.”
    Chantal shook her head. “That is because he does not know you,
chérie
, or how tenacious you can be.”
    “Oh, he knows me,” I spat. “He Googled me, can you believe it? Maybe it’s for the best. Working with him would be like climbing Mount Vesuvius when it’s getting ready to explode. No, wait, scratch that. Climbing Vesuvius would be easier.”
    Now Chantal laughed outright. “Surely you exaggerate?”
    I shook my head. “I wish. Basically he told me that because there were no eyewitnesses, there’s no reason to suspect Lola’s death was anything but a tragic accident. I brought up the fact that if a bit more effort had gone into questioning those aboard the yacht, perhaps their carefully matched stories might have crumbled a bit.”
    Chantal nodded in approval. “Good point.”
    I rubbed absently at my forehead. “One thing I found odd—he didn’t seem to know about Adrienne Sloane, or care too much after I informed him. He did want to know where I got all my information.” I chuckled. “I told him I had my sources—that seemed to satisfy him.”
    “So, what was the outcome? Is he going to help or not?”
    “He did agree certain aspects of the case might bear further investigation. We were interrupted, but he did say he’d like to discuss it further.”
    “So he’s going to try and get the case reopened?”
    I shrugged. “He said he’d call.”
    “And you do not think he will,” she prompted as I lapsed into silence.
    I gave my head a quick shake. “I’m not sure. I got the impression he considered my presence a nuisance, that I’m just another reporter out after a sensational story, out to exploit Kevin Grainger’s grief.”
    “Perhaps you should have told him the truth—that you only do this part-time now.”
    “It wouldn’t have mattered. Anyway, I told you—he Googled me. He knew all about me.” I sniffed. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t think Detective Daniel would be of too much help. He’s the kind of guy who thinks he knows it all, and they can be particularly frustrating, because, well, half the time they do . . . know it all, that is.”
    “I see.” Chantal’s lips twitched slightly. “Tell me—what does this Detective Daniel Corleone look like?”
    “Tall—six-two I’d guess—blond hair, not golden blond, but kind of an ash-blond, dirty blond, shaggy around the neck, no bangs, high forehead. Eyebrows that match his hair, and blue eyes—sort of a cross between sky blue and cornflower blue, and really bright. Tanned skin, like he spends a lot of time outdoors in the California sun. Probably hits the beach each weekend, chasing down beach bunnies. Broad shouldered, narrow waisted—man, he must spend a lot of time in the gym, too, to get those muscled thighs and his waist—what’s the matter? Why do you have that silly grin on your face?”
    Chantal shot me a look of mock innocence. “No reason.”
    “Oh yes, there is.” I lunged forward and gripped her wrist. “Out with it, missy.”
    She laughed. “It’s just that—well, it’s written all over your face. You’ve got a crush on this guy!”
    Nick’s eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled back, exposing his fangs.
    Chantal leaned back and crossed her arms. “See—even Nick agrees.”
    “The two of you are nuts, then,” I growled. “Why would you think that?”
    Chantal rolled her eyes. “
Chérie
, if you have to ask the question . . .”
    “Fine,” I grumbled. “While he might be physically attractive, his personality leaves a lot to be desired—or haven’t I mentioned the man seemed very full of himself and condescending?”
    Chantal just looked at me and shook her head. Ditto Nick, squatting at my feet.
    I let out a nervous giggle. “You guys are too much. I have one meeting with the guy and you’ve got me engaged already.”
    “Oh, not engaged,
chérie
. It is too soon for that. Going steady maybe.”
    I cut her an eye roll. “Trust me, I have no interest,