Page 18 of Go First
“What stuff, Marcus?”
“Whale oil.”
"Okay.I hadn't expected that."
“Nobody would, would they?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The office was winding down for the night.Agents streamed out in twos and threes, laughter echoing in the marble-floored lobby, jackets slung over shoulders.Kate pushed through the glass doors in the opposite direction, a paper cup of bad coffee in one hand, her bag in the other.As always, the fluorescent lights inside buzzed faintly; the hum felt almost companionable.
She was tired.Bone-tired.But she’d rather be here than anywhere else.
Her phone buzzed.A text from her Mom.
The peaches at the store were terrible, so I got plums and pears for a compote.Also: you can have my voucher (attached) for a trim, wash and blow-dry @ Gianni’s.
Kate groaned aloud.She couldn’t decide what annoyed her more: the barely-concealed, if justified, judgement on the current state of her hair, or the dictatorial menu-decision. If she was going to be forced into a date with this guy, then she darned well wanted to decide what they were eating for dessert, and it wouldn’t be compote.
But actually, it wasn’t either of those things.It was everything.It was her Mom, landing this dinner-date on her without even asking if it was something she wanted to do. Managing her daughter’s diary as if she was nine years old.It was crazy.
And it simply wasn’t happening.No way.
She’d wait until tomorrow morning, when her mother was safely en route to the home of her good friends, the Mortimers.And then she’d send Mike a quick, friendly, apologetic cancellation.The job, the shift patterns, etc. Mike wouldn’t be heart-broken, Kate was sure about that.He was probably, like Kate, wondering exactly how this crazy old lady had steamrollered him into this situation.And he doubtless had something better to do with his Saturday evening.
He probably had a girlfriend.Kate wouldn’t have put it past her mother to have omitted this basic check.He would certainly be relieved when Kate cancelled.She pictured him, Mike, telling the girlfriend about the crazy neighbor lady trying to play matchmaker for her unmarriageable daughter.
She pictured the girlfriend laughing.She would have perfect teeth.A perfect body.All-American freckles…
Kate stopped still, shook her head, as if trying to shake this ridiculous line of thinking out of her ears.What the hell was the matter with her?
This was all her mom’s fault.
She put her phone away and headed for the bullpen.Marcus was still at his desk, surrounded by folders and empty coffee cups.He glanced up as she approached.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“Thanks.You should share notes with my mother.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Basically bullied this neighbor guy to come round for dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
“Marcus, just back me up.Don’t think about it.Just back me.Itisterrible and it isn’t happening.”
Marcus held up a hand in surrender.“Whatever you say.”He grinned, then tapped the open file in front of him.“I’ve been looking into whale oil.”
Kate dropped into the chair opposite him.“A niche interest.”
“True,” Marcus admitted.“Historically, whale oil’s been used for a bunch of things—lamp fuel, soap, margarine, matches… they even used it in car gear-boxes until the Seventies.And because it stays liquid in freezing temperatures, they use it in marine instruments, even watches.It stops metal getting rusty, too.”
“The miracle of Moby Dick, huh?”
“But here’s the kicker.”He leaned in, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear.“In Japan, it’s still used by certain craftsmen to preserve blades.Keeps them sharper than anything else.Sushi chefs.Surgeons.People who need a perfect edge.”
Kate’s fatigue ebbed a fraction.“Sharp instruments.Our killer’s knife.”