Page 44 of The Paternity Puzzle
“Lavender?” Royce scoffed. “The flower?”
“It’s a delicacy.”
“For birds and bees, maybe.”
“Be right back.” Sawyer darted from the room, and Royce heard the concern in his voice when he called Kelsey.
“Bad kids. Bad, bad kids,” Royce told them. “Your shenanigans might cause a trip the v-e-t.” Dolly would hate it, but Bones would soak up the adoration faster than they’d wolfed down the croissants.
Sawyer darted back into the utility room. “We’re in the clear. None of the other ingredients were toxic, but they might get upset stomachs from all the butter, so we’re not out of the woods completely.”
“You two aren’t gassing us out of our room tonight. You can sleep in your beds in the living room.”
“Yeah, what he said,” Sawyer told them.
“I’m going to make a bowl of ice cream. Do you want some frozen yogurt?”
“Yeah, but just a little. No toppings. I’ve indulged too much this weekend.”
“Watch it, or you’ll end up sleeping in the living room with Bones and Dolly.”
Sawyer laughed and followed Royce into the kitchen, where he picked up Royce’s tablet off the counter. “Kels helped me put together some design ideas for the nursery. Do you want to look at them and give me your thoughts?”
A warmth washed over Royce. It wasn’t just from the sappy look on his husband’s face or the gooey way Sawyer made him feel inside. It was the totality of the life they’d built and the dreams they were chasing. Royce cupped his neck and pulled him in for a hug. “Forget the ice cream. Show me your nursery ideas.”
Royce woke two hours before his alarm was due to go off. He lay there in the dark, listening for sounds to explain why he’d transitioned from sound asleep to wide-awake as if someone had flipped a switch in his brain. Their bedroom and the house beyond were completely quiet, aside from the soft breathing coming from his husband and roommates. He’d talked a tough game the previous night, but Bones and Dolly had still slept with them. Royce would need to work on effective discipline skills for fatherhood. The pets practically laughed in his face when he laid down the law, and he didn’t want to get the same reaction from a teenager someday.
He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, but to no avail. His brain was doing mental jumping jacks, and the rest of him either needed to catch up, or he’d feel out of sync for the rest of the day. If his mind was going to race a mile a minute, he should hit the treadmill and try to catch it. Royce eased from the bed, careful not to wake Sawyer or their pets, and slipped into the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. A full bladder and foul breath were not things he wanted to take with him on a run. He navigated their dark bedroom to remove underwear, socks, and a pair of shorts from his dresser but didn’t put themon until he stepped into the hallway and shut the bedroom door behind him. His running shoes and earbuds waited for him in the workout room, so he was ready to go after a quick stretch. Royce snagged a bottle of water from the mini fridge and hit the treadmill. He cranked up the music to drown out any intrusive thoughts and gave himself over to the movement his body craved. Royce much preferred weightlifting to cardio, but sometimes he just needed to stretch his legs like Forrest Gump.
He received an email notification on his phone somewhere around Montana and slowed the treadmill to a quick walk so he could cool down. But then Royce nearly tripped over his own two feet when he saw the email had come from the medical examiner’s office. Dr. Fawkes had new updates on the Matisse investigation. Royce turned off the machine and rode the belt like an escalator, stepping down when he ran out of room. He dropped onto the weight bench and logged in to the secure account to read his SPD emails. His smile grew with every result he read. The fingerprints on the pill bottle belonged to Julia and Alyssa. Julia hadn’t touched the liquor decanter or tumbler, but her prints were all over the smoothie glass and the spice grinder where the benzodiazepine residue was found. Julia had put the ground pills into her father’s green smoothie. Mommy dearest came along a while later and drove the final nail into his coffin when she plied him with scotch.
To be fair, she might’ve been telling the truth when she claimed to have only poured him one drink. But the doctor either continued drinking on his own, or someone had helped him achieve dangerous blood alcohol levels. What Royce needed to know was if Alyssa Matisse knew her daughter had slipped drugs into his smoothie. He searched the side effects someone might experience while taking benzodiazepine and read that the drug could cause extreme irritability in some people. It was possible and maybe even plausible that Alyssa had simply tried to calmher husband down with a drink and a suggestion he should do an activity he enjoyed. She came across as a woman who staunchly supported her husband, but that could’ve been an act. Having the irrefutable evidence didn’t immediately solve the case like it did on television. Royce would need to interview both women if he hoped to get to the truth, and they’d made it clear he’d need a warrant to do so.
“You asked for it, ladies,” Royce said to an empty room.
He smiled gleefully as he dialed Diego’s number. The young detective answered with a snarl. “Rise and shine, D. The Matisse case just caught fire, and we have a lot of work to do.”
Yvonne Miller’s soft brown eyes darted around Bytes and Brew as if searching for signs of the Boogeyman or one of the Matisse women. Royce was absolutely certain neither of them had even heard of the cybercafé, let alone stepped inside it. The woman practically vibrated with nerves, and he hated to cause her additional stress. Contrary to what he’d thought, Yvonne hadn’t been avoiding him on purpose. She’d explained in her text that she worked three jobs to support herself and her aging parents.
“We won’t keep you long,” Royce assured her. He already had enough information to obtain his warrants, so whatever she told them would just be icing on the cake.
“Thank you,” Yvonne replied. “I can’t afford to be late.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Diego asked.
Yvonne looked longingly at the menu, dropped her gaze, and shook her head.
Diego leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It will be my treat.”
Yvonne lifted her head. “Are you sure?”
Diego aimed his megawatt smile at her. “I might have to do some extra dishes or something.” At Yvonne’s confused expression, he winked. “My husband is the owner. Why don’t I sweet-talk him out of a couple of brews while you guys get started?”
“You know my order,” Royce said.
Yvonne ordered a salted caramel latte that made him think of Sawyer. His face must’ve betrayed his brain’s detour—most likely a dopey smile—because Yvonne asked if it was his favorite drink.
“No, but it’s an indulgence my husband can’t refuse.”