Page 43 of Time After Time

“Well”—I sit up and add a dramatic flourish to my voice—“in the spirit of being someone else for a night, I’d like to be Ariadne Oliver. I think she’s one of Christie’s most misunderstood characters. Sharp, intuitive, constantly underestimated.”

“Plus,” Latika chimes, “she writes crime novels and eats apples. I mean—goals.”

Soon, there are stories about costume soirees and everything that’s ever gone wrong during such parties.

“So he tells me that he kissed Candy Whatshernamebecause she was also dressed like a witch,” Aunt Tanya tells us all while giving her husband the stink eye. “Her outfit had a whole lot of lace while mine didn’t, so I can’t see how he could confuse us.”

“Christ, woman! That happened fifteen years ago, and you’re still whining about it?” Uncle Bob shakes his head in mock irritation.

Racquel, the housekeeper, announces dinner, and we all trudge to the dining room. I let the couples walk ahead of me.

I hold my niece’s and nephew’s hands and follow along.

“Is there a princess in the mystery dinner?” Anika wonders.

“I’m sure there is,” I promise her.

“And a Tank Engine?” Thomas looks up at me with solemn brown eyes.

“Oh, absolutely.”

He smiles happily like only a child can. “Cool!”

CHAPTER 12

Ransom

“Do you think I try to control the women in my life?” I ask Aksel.

We’re outside in the gazebo, bundled under thick blankets, boots up on the wooden railing. A fire pit crackles between us, making the pine logs hiss and throw shadows. Snowflakes drift lazily into the flames.

Aksel takes a sip of the small glass in his hand and groans, “What is this—paint stripper?”

“Bob says it’schacha. Georgian moonshine.”

“And it’s safe?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Aksel gives me a withering look. “I thought you were a neurosurgeon.”

“I am. So, if this makes your brain bleed, I can help you out.”

He takes another sip. “It tastes like regret.”

“Yeah. I think we’ll have epic hangovers tomorrow.”

He looks at the fire and releases a deep breath, then glances sideways. “You want to tell me why you’re drowning in self-analysis?”

I laugh, a low thing that doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Today,afterthe whole thing that went down in the cable car?—”

“Hey, we’re sorry, okay? If you love her, we’re all?—”

“I don’t love her,” I cut him off.

Now, he turns to stare at me. “Then…does she give good head?”

I all but choke on the chacha. “What?” I ask hoarsely.