Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery by Melissa F Miller Page B

juddered to a stop with a loud thunk. He trailed me out into the hallway.
    “To answer the question posed, no, I’ve never been involved with a married woman,” he said to my back.
    I didn’t respond.
    We reached our room and I inserted the key card into the reader. Nothing happened. I yanked it out and tried again. Still nothing. I huffed out an irritated breath. Victor reached over and plucked the card out of my fingers, flipped it around, and stuck it in the reader. The green light blinked and the metallic click sounded.
    We were in.
    I pushed open the door and walked inside. To say that the deluxe king room was small was to vastly overstate its size. It was teeny. The bed dominated the room to the point where I thought Victor might have to squeeze between the bed and the dresser sideways. I could barely fit, and I wasn’t exactly broad-shouldered. Where on earth would a cot go?
    I sidled through the narrow space and pulled open the drapes. “Look at that. There actually is a view.”
    Victor made his way to the window set into the exposed brick wall and peered over my shoulder. A sliver of the East River peeked out from between the buildings across the street, gleaming with reflected light, like a dark silk ribbon. Beyond it, Manhattan’s skyline rose in the dusk.
    “What a city,” he breathed.
    I leaned back and rested my head on his chest. He pulled me closer. I relaxed into his arms, ready to unwind after the day we’d had. Then I remembered Mia Kim. I shrugged out of his grip, twisted my neck, and stared up at him.
    “Who’s Mia Kim?”
    His face closed like a door. “I told you, I don’t know the name. She must be a friend of Helena’s. I never met her.”
    I backed up another step and bumped into the rough surface of the brick wall. I kept my eyes glued on his. “I know you’re lying.”
    He jerked his head back like I’d slapped him.
    “I’m not …”
    I tilted my head and arched my left eyebrow only—a talent my sisters envied and had been trying to replicate, without success, since we were kids. I said nothing.
    “I didn’t …”
    He took a small step backward and lowered himself until he was sitting at the foot of the bed.
    “How?” he asked.
    “How do I know you’re lying?”
    He shook his head sadly from side to side. “Yeah.”
    “There’s a checklist of common lying behaviors—physical and verbal telltale signs. I had to learn them in order to work as a research assistant in the psychology department. You exhibited, like, all of them. You’re a terrible liar.”
    It was true, he’d been a textbook example. But I had no intention of ticking off which signs he’d shown. The ability to easily discern his truthfulness would be handy on an ongoing basis—or at least until we found Helena or figured out what had happened to her. I guess I shouldn’t assume there’d be any ongoing anything after that.
    He gave a sheepish, knowing laugh. “Helena always said I couldn’t lie to save my life.”
    I waited a beat. “So, Mia Kim.”
    “Mia Kim was—is—Helena’s therapist.”
    “Okay.” That still didn’t explain why he’d lied. I mean, at least half of New York City is in therapy. It’s not some dark, shameful secret.
    He cleared his throat. “She was pretty messed up when she got here from Rio. Being with Gabriel had done a real number on her self-esteem. She was depressed, thought she was worthless. I honestly believe Mia saved her life.”
    “Your sister was suicidal?” I asked gently.
    He nodded wordlessly and hung his head.
    I looked out the window at the lit-up skyline, jewels shining in the distance, and tried to think of something comforting to say. I wished Sage were here. She’d know the right words.
    “I’m glad this Mia Kim person was able to help her,” I finally offered.
    He looked up at me. “Me too. But there’s something else you should know.” He reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a square of paper that had been folded into