Page 20 of Scripted for Love and Poison (Sol and Luke Mystery #2)

A little bit more than an hour later, Luke got out of a car in front of the police station in Beverly Hills.

Sol was already there. The moment he laid eyes on her, he almost forgot he was mad at her for hiding information from him.

She was dressed in her LA-staple combination of leggings and one of his garments on top—in this case a dark-gray denim shirt.

Perhaps it was because he liked seeing her wearing his clothes, but even if he knew she would be looking differently had her suitcase actually made it, she was still gorgeous and stylish.

“What took you so long?” Sol’s irritated tone took him out of his appraisal of her.

“I was in Long Beach. They have delicious pastries. Still no tea,” Luke grumbled. The lack of a decent English breakfast brew had been one of his objections to Los Angeles since landing there. “But let’s not get off track, should we? What the hell were you doing, talking to Jason Zit?”

“He’s a colleague!” Sol said defensively, and she had the gall of pretending she hadn’t been investigating Simon Smith’s case behind his back. “I talk to journalists all the time. I didn’t realize you’d assumed I would give you a regular update of all my professional dealings!”

“Now, cara, non facciamo i birichini,” he told her but realized that Sol hadn’t understood him. It happened sometimes when he spoke Italian to her. “Don’t get sassy.”

“Sassy! Sassy? One of my fellow critics is dead, and that’s all you can come up with, really?” Her tone sounded strained.

“I’m doing my best to stay cool and not get angry at you, because we both know you weren’t talking to Jason about your favorite films of the year or the increasing use of AI as a copyediting tool in your profession or whatever it is you talk about with your colleagues .

Were you or weren’t you asking him about Simon Smith’s disappearance, even when we’d agreed you’d stay out of the case?

” Luke had a smile on his lips, even if his tone was firm.

“I was,” Sol admitted. “But I was going to tell you. Plus, we didn’t agree I’d stay out of the case. You decided it.”

“Because I was worried! I am worried.” He was starting to lose his cool. “And look what happened?”

“Another critic bites the dust?” Sol said.

“If you want to really put it like that, yes,” said Luke. “First Simon, then Travis, and now Jason. But tell me, what are we doing here?”

“An officer Tom Owens called me and told me to come at my earliest convenience. He wants to ask me about my conversation with Jason. Do you think I should have brought a lawyer?”

“Do you have a lawyer in Los Angeles?” Luke asked.

“I guess I could call my divorce lawyer. But I really hated his guts by the end. I suspect he was not-so-secretly siding with my ex.” Luke could see she was pretending, even with herself, to be fine but was showing signs of anxiety.

She was biting at her hangnails and pacing back and forth in front of him.

“Wait, isn’t Geoff some sort of lawyer?”

“No, cara, he’s not a lawyer. Come here,” he told her, his voice warm.

“What?”

“I think I need a hug. You do too.” Luke surrounded her with his arms the moment she approached, and she rested her face against his chest.

“Aren’t you mad at me for not telling you about Jason?” Her eyes closed as she breathed in his scent and calmed down.

“There’s time to be mad at you after we talk to the police,” he told her.

“We?”

“That’s why I’m here. You have no lawyer, but your main squeeze, who’s a sexy London detective with no idea about California law, is here.”

“That’ll do,” Sol said, and then she processed everything he’d said. “My main squeeze ?”

“A surfer chap taught me that today,” Luke said as they slowly broke the hug and began walking closely side by side, their arms still touching. “After inviting me to bathe in coconut oil with him,” he added, trying to lighten the mood as they entered the police station.

“Do I want to ask?” Sol lifted an eyebrow in his direction.

“When we’re done with this.”

···

“Isn’t that Officer Hunky Dory?” Luke muttered to Sol in a whisper as they approached the same policeman who’d been at the entrance of Simon Smith’s building the day Luke and Sol went looking for him .

“I think so,” Sol replied, also in a hush as they were both now almost in front of an expectant officer Tom Owens.

“Officer Tom Owens?” Sol asked, making sure the man was the one who’d called her. “I’m Sol Novo.”

“ Detective Owens,” the policeman corrected her. “And you’d be?” he asked Luke.

“Private Detective Luke Contadino. You stood me up this morning, Detective Owens,” Luke told him. “And have been ignoring my calls since.”

Sol frowned. “He was the guy you were meeting this morning? Oh, he’s the one David put you in contact with ...”

Luke’s eyes were fixed on Detective Owens, only shy of intimidating. “Yes.”

“Did David Sparrow tell you to stand Luke up?” Sol asked the policeman accusatively, and Luke had to suppress a smile. He liked it when she got fiery on his behalf.

“Now, now, ma’am, please,” Detective Owens said. “I’m the one asking questions here. Why does your face look familiar?”

“Oh, I get that all the time. I have a very common face,” Sol said, and Luke was almost unable to stop himself from snickering.

The last adjective he’d use to describe her face was common .

But it didn’t look like Detective Owens had realized Sol had been the woman asking to get into Simon Smith’s building the day he was reported missing.

“If you will please follow me,” Detective Owens said, and he guided Sol and Luke through the maroon-carpeted second floor of the police station until they reached the door to a grim, small, windowless room with a table and some chairs in the middle.

“An interrogation room, really?” Sol said, and Luke heard the anguish in her tone .

“Standard procedure. We’ll have more privacy this way. After you.” Detective Owens indicated for Sol to get inside before him. Luke followed her closely.

“May I ask you in what capacity you’re here, Mr. Contadino?” Detective Owens asked Luke as they all sat around the table.

“Mr. Contadino is my legal counsel,” Sol said. Luke realized the anguish in Sol was probably only visible—and audible—to him. To people who didn’t know her, she could be perceived as the confident and slightly intimidating woman who always took over in these kinds of situations.

“Your legal counsel?” Detective Owens looked unimpressed.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Ice Queen Sol said.

Sol’s words about Luke’s legal experience weren’t completely misplaced or erroneous.

She knew that Luke had taken three years to complete a qualifying law degree when he first went to uni.

Of course, he’d never practiced or continued his education in that field, opting instead to intern in a private detective’s agency.

And he had absolutely no idea how different California law was from England’s.

Judging by what he’d witnessed so far, there was probably a law forbidding smart shoes from being worn at all times.

And there was a statewide ban so that baristas never left any room for milk while brewing tea.

“What’s happened to Jason Zit, then?” Luke said.

“You two are quite the curious duo,” Detective Owens said, and even if he’d been affable and smiling from the moment they’d met him, Luke was starting to feel they were rubbing him the wrong way.

“The police were called to the stretch of Beverly Boulevard between Detroit and Formosa at around noon today, as a Toyota RAV4 had crashed in front of the New Beverly Cinema. Mr. Zit, who had been at the wheel, was declared dead on the scene.”

“He had a car accident?” asked Sol.

“He did, but we don’t think the death resulted from the crash but the other way around,” Detective Owens said cryptically.

“I don’t think I follow,” said Sol.

“We think something happened to Mr. Zit that left him incapable of driving,” the detective explained.

“You think he was poisoned,” Luke declared.

“And why would you make such an assumption, Mr. Contadino?”

“That’s the kind of sharing of information I was looking to establish with you when we were supposed to meet this morning,” Luke said.

“Ah, quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things,” Detective Owens said.

“Was that a Silence of the Lambs reference, really?” Sol protested.

Luke shrugged. “Sorry if I didn’t get it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

“Kinda young, huh?” said Detective Owens, who was more around Sol’s age, referring to Luke.

“Now I know David definitely asked you to give Luke a hard time,” Sol said, and for the first time since she’d called him that day, it wasn’t anguish that Luke heard in her voice but actual anger.

“Enough of the chitchat,” Luke told Owens. He was starting to get tired of Officer Hunky Dory’s brand of pretend friendliness. “Why did you ask Ms. Novo to come in today?”

“Because she may have been the last person to see Mr. Zit alive,” said Detective Owens ominously .

“ One of the last people,” corrected Sol. “Emily was also there.”

“Emily?” asked Detective Owens as if the name sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it. He checked his notepad. “Ah, the wife!”

“Yes, Emily,” said Sol, irritated. It occurred to Luke then—they didn’t actually know Emily’s last name. “And I suppose that a giant house such as that must employ at least two or three people to help run it.”

“More like half a dozen between a housekeeper, two cleaners, one chef, one trainer, and a gardener,” Detective Owens said.

“And they were all in the house?” Luke asked.

“Now, now, Mr. Contadino. You’ll have to figure that out. I can’t tell you everything, can I? Not when you still haven’t fulfilled your part of the bargain. Quid pro quo.”

“Not a bargain,” Luke cut in. Detective Owens was grating on him.

“What were you doing at Mr. Zit’s house, Ms. Novo?” Detective Owens asked.