Page 18 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

You’d think feeling like utter crap would stop me from feeling horny but apparently not. I have a feeling I’ll still want that gorgeous man even on my deathbed.

I tear my gaze away from Danny and turn my attention back to his channel surfing, but as I do, I hear the doorbell ring.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Danny frowns.

“I don’t think so,” I reply. “The only people who know we’re home are Sonia, Maddie, your work, and mine.”

I grab my blanket and wrap it around my shoulders as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. Thanks to the shitty weather, the flat hasn’t stopped leaking, leaving it feeling permanently cold and damp. I can’t wait for us to find a new place.

Leaving him in bed, I navigate the accumulation of pots and pans of rainwater, which continues to grow the longer this storm goes on. If it wasn’t for the fact that Danny’s lease is up in a week, I’d suggest we temporarily move into his place until we find somewhere new.

I head through the flat and open the door, only to stare while my poor brain tries to take in the sight that greets me.

Chan stands at the threshold, wearing the tiniest pair of sequin knickers in the world while the rest of her is covered in a flesh-coloured body stocking glittering with crystals. Across her chest is a sequinned bra which matches the knickers, and there are feathers… oh my god, so many feathers. Huge magenta, orange, and red feathers spray like a fountain from a sequin skull cap covering her hair and fastening under her chin. From her bum is another brightly coloured explosion of feathers, fanning out like a peacock’s tail.

From what I can see, she’s wearing heavy stage makeup, but the bottom half of her mouth is covered in a pale blue surgical mask. In one hand, she holds a plastic bucket by the handle, and in the other is a huge sponge, like one you’d use to wash a car.

“Who needs a sponge bath?” she says brightly.

“Huh?” She’s so bright and glittery, I think my poor brain is a little mesmerised.

“I heard you were sick and Inspector Gorgeous is laid up with a broken leg.”

“Who told you that?”

“Dusty, I assume.” Chan shrugs elegantly. “There was a message scrawled on the mirror in my dressing room.”

I watch her chuck the sponge in the bucket and pick up a bag that was stashed next to the door and I step back to allow her into the flat. “She’s getting much better at manipulating corporeal objects,” I mutter, not sure if I’m impressed or annoyed that Dusty sent Chan over. Not that I don’t love Chan, but I’m not exactly feeling my most sociable right now.

I turn and shuffle toward the kitchen.

“Bloody hell,” I hear her mumble behind me. “It’s like an episode ofThe Walking Dead.”

“Thanks,” I reply dryly.

“Can you ask her not to use my favourite lipstick to leave a message next time?” Chan huffs and saunters past me on spiky five-inch heels. “It’s almost down to the nub now.”

“Uh-huh.” I stare at her legs; she’s wearing rhinestone gladiator sandals that lace all the way from her ankles to her knees, making her legs look even longer than usual. “Did I miss Notting Hill Carnival?” I ask as I follow her into the kitchen. “Please tell me you didn’t get on the tube dressed like that?”

“Oh, please.” Chan rolls her eyes and sets the bucket and bag down before peeling off her mask and throwing it on the counter. “Do you think I have no sense of self-preservation? What do you take me for? Ruby dropped me off. She was in a rush to get to an appointment, so I didn’t have time to change.”

“An appointment?”

“She says it’s for an anti-aging mud wrap facial,” Chan whispers conspiratorially. “But let’s just say that last time she went for one of these appointments”—she lifts her fingers and makes a quoty sign—“she came back and her lips were twice the size, and trust me, it wasn’t from giving a blow job.”

“What?” I’m lost. Chan picks up the kettle and leans over the sink to fill it.

“Fillers, darling.” Chan snorts and looks back over her shoulder at me. “I don’t know why she won’t just admit she’s had work done. It’s not like we don’t know.” She rolls her eyes and places the kettle back on its base, then flips the switch on.

“Hey, Chan,” Danny says, hobbling into the kitchen on his crutches. He pauses and eyes her outfit. “Did you get lost on your way to Vegas?”

She laughs delightedly and holds up a mug. “Coffee?”

“I wouldn’t say no.” He drops onto one of the kitchen chairs, grunting at the strain on his ribs.

I frown and take a seat next to him. “You’re supposed to be resting.” On the last word, my cough starts back up.

“So are you,” he replies and props his crutches against the wall.