Page 86 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“Hang on a minute,” Dusty says, her eyes narrowing on the painting. “That’s Paolo.”

“Who’s Paolo?” I ask.

“He was one of the temporary bartenders at The Rainbow Room last summer,” she says as she tilts her head, studying the picture. “I didn’t realise Brandy had painted him.”

“Brandy?” I repeat in surprise. “She painted that?”

Dusty nods, “I’d recognise her work anywhere. She may be a bitch, but she’s a talented bitch.”

I open my mouth to say something else, but there’s an unfamiliar buzzing, which I assume is our new doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” I tell Danny and head out of the room.

When I get to the door and open it, it’s to find Chan leaning against the doorframe, smiling smugly.

My mouth falls open, my eyes wide. I’m shocked, I’ve never seen her so… debauched is the only word that comes to mind. She’s wearing one of her tight black dresses, one strap falling off her shoulder sexily. Her feet are bare because the straps of her heels are wrapped around the fingers of her left hand. The other hand is grasping her pashmina loosely and letting the expensive-looking fabric trail along the floor. Her usually straight glossy hair is mussed up on one side, and her lipstick is smeared from the corner of her mouth.

“Where have you been?” I frown. “And what time do you call this? We’ve been worried.”

“Sorry, Mum,” she giggles as she slips through the doorway, draping the pashmina over my head as she passes.

“Chan,” I say sternly as I yank it off my head and follow her. “Where have you been?”

“Paris,” she says dreamily, then throws her arms up and twirls towards the living room.

“Paris?” I frown in confusion. “The cafe up Tottenham High Street?”

“Paris,France.” She tosses her shoes on the living room floor. “Hello, handsome,” she sings to Danny as she spins and then flings herself on the lip sofa like she’s Rita Hayworth.

“Um, hello, Chan,” he replies, his mouth curving in amusement. “Good night?”

“The best.” She hums in pleasure.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong with her?” Dusty hisses at me. “Is she drunk? Fix her.”

“Chan, are you drunk?” I ask.

“No.” She sighs happily and flings her arm over her head as she sprawls out across the love seat.

I turn to Dusty to find her glaring at me as if this is all my fault—which, okay, I may bear some of the responsibility because I thought it was a good idea for her to go on the date in the first place, but when it comes to her demeanour right now? I don’t have a bloody clue what’s going on.

“Don’t look at me,” I whisper back. “You know her better than I do.”

“Yes, I do.” She narrows her eyes as she studies Chan closely. “Holy shit!” Her eyes widen in realisation. “She totally slept with him! She had sex with Death!”

“You had sex with Death?” I blurt out and Danny’s eyes widen.

“I don’t think that’s any of our busines–”

“Shush,” Dusty and I both hiss at him as we hurry over to the sofa and drop to the floor next to Chan.

“Well, I wasn’t going to.” She gives another dreamy smile. “But I couldn’t help it. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” I reply. “Did you slip and fall on his dick?”

Chan giggles again and then lets out a satisfied exhale. “He’s just so…”

“Old?” I reply. “Immortal? Totally lacking in anything remotely close to human interactive social skills?”