Page 108 of Off Plan

I cut him off with a wide-eyed glare.

“Fine!” He threw his hands in the air in frustration, spilling several drops of his drink in the process, and scrubbed at his brown hair. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fine.”

I forced a little smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

But just when I thought Beale would turn around, he made a sweeping motion toward the door like he’d follow me inside.

Damn it.

I opened the door to a jingle of bells and the sound of running water from Mr. Wynott’s indoor water feature—a three-foot circle of rocks and gurgling water set into the marble floor in one corner of the store’s entryway that I found ostentatious but adorable, rather like Mr. Wynott himself. Directly in front of us, a roped-off staircase led to the private floors of the house, and to either side of the entry, gingerbread-topped archways led into shelf-lined rooms. I headed left, and once again, Beale followed me.

Marius Wynott, kitted out in an immaculate three-piece suit, materialized from a back room somewhere, and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, Dr. Bloom!” He glanced at Beale, and his smile fell just a fraction. “Mr. Goodman. Can I help you?”

“No,” I said with false cheer. “Just poking around.”

Beale frowned. “Thought you needed to do something urgent.”

“Yes.” I pressed my lips together firmly. “I’m pokingurgently. You’re distracting me.”

“Were you looking for a book?” Mr. Wynott asked. “Or a chat?”

With my luck, Beale would stay and chatwithus. “A book,” I said. “I was so fascinated by the last book you recommended, I wondered if there was a sequel!”

Mr. Wynott’s wrinkled face fell somewhat. “But Doctor, they all died at the end.”

“Oh! Right, yes,” I agreed. “Silly me! So they did.” I wouldn’t know, since I’d been too busy to read more than the first chapter so far. “I meant more of a, um… a similar story?”

“Ah!” Mr. Wynott’s smile was restored. “I have a selection of them I can show you! Would you prefer—?” In some dark recess of the house, a phone began to ring. “Would you excuse me just a moment while I get that? Feel free to look around! I’m not sure you saw all of my collection last time you were here.”

“Sure! I’ll do that.”Shit. Shit, shit, shit.I was now officially Beale’s captive audience.

I strode purposefully to the other side of the entryway, to the small room where Mr. Wynott kept his glass cases full of Whispering Key memorabilia, and pretended to be fascinated.

“Well, look at that! Jacob Godfrey was a poet!Ode to Blackberry Season!”

“Mase—”

“Don’t you just love how he rhymestartandheart? And how he says he wants to lick the juice and spread the seeds on…” I peered more closely. “Oh, ew. This is vaguely pornographic. The man really loved his fruit, huh?”

“Mason. Please just hear me out. Two minutes and then I’ll shut up, okay?”

I clenched my iced coffee straw between my teeth. “Would you look at that! Asextant. I’ve always wondered how to use one of those.”

Beale grabbed my forearm and gently turned me from the case. “You point it at the horizon line, rotate the mirror until whatever celestial body you’re using to navigate by appears to hover over the horizon, then use that angle to figure out distance or time of day, depending.”

I blinked at him in surprise. “Oh.”

He sighed. “I’m actually not an idiot, Mason. And Fenn would kill medeadif he knew I was talking to you, so could you just listen really fast?”

“Beale.” I sighed and dragged him into the front room so we could sit side by side on the scroll-backed sofa by the window. Beale took up two seats to my one. “Iknowyou’re not an idiot. You know I consider you a friend. I just don’t want to talk about this.”

“Exactly what Fenn said.” Beale shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Fenn’s a mess. You’re a mess. And—”

“That’s crazy. I’m not a mess! I’m dealing with this whole situation perfectly fine.”

“Right.” He folded his enormous arms over his chest and looked pointedly at my outfit. “You’re fine.”

I glanced down at myself. Light blue polo shirt. Fitted slacks.Oh. One black loafer and one brown. I tucked my feet beneath the edge of the sofa.