“Aw, thank you.” Her smile was dazzling and he nearly forgot to swallow. “It’s yummy.”
“Right,” he said, gruffer than he’d intended. “It’s fine. Eat up. We need to get over to Queens soon, if we want to catch that inventor guy before he heads to work.”
“What’s his name again?” she asked around a mouthful of doughnut.
“Sam Heard. I called Daveed and he tapped a few connections to get me both the guy’s phone number and his place of employment.” Murph sipped his black coffee, glad for a change of subject. He didn’t do fluffy warm fuzzies this early in the morning. Truth, he didn’t really do them at all. But there was something about Shayma that made him want to try. Another danger sign, to be sure. “The more I find out about this guy, the more I think he’s involved in my sister’s disappearance somehow.”
“Really?” Shayma’s pretty, dark eyes widened. “You think he kidnapped Aileen?”
“No, not necessarily. But I’d bet good money he’s in cahoots with this EnKor company. Maybe with some kind of phony investment scheme for one of his inventions. There are just too many red flags. He claims to be an inventor, yet he’s never filed for a single utility patent. Plus, he works as an accountant at some venture capital start-up during the day. He’d certainly have access to all the high-dollar deals on the market and the means to tempt those companies into doing some less than squeaky clean business with him, if he wanted.”
“Wow. Perhaps Aileen caught wind of it and was going to report it all in her paper.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He finished his Danish then cleared away their trash. “If you’re ready, let’s do this thing.”
* * *
“You want me to get a manicure?” Shayma asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yes.” Murphy peeked around the corner of the brick building beside them then quickly looked back at Shayma. “No. I mean I want you to keep an eye on that woman that just walked into the nail salon, talk to her, see if you can find out anything.”
Frankly, nothing sounded better than getting off her feet and being pampered for a while, but Shayma refused to give him the satisfaction. In truth, she was tired. Their promising lead that morning for the mystery inventor had turned out to be a dead end. When they’d gotten to the Queens address Murphy had found in his sister’s computer that morning, it had been nothing but an empty warehouse. Murphy seemed to think that this only supported his idea that the inventor was somehow wrapped up in Aileen’s disappearance, though he’d not shared his details as to why with Shayma.
Now, they were standing in the freezing cold snooping on strange women with no rhyme or reason that she could see. And yes, perhaps Shayma was feeling a bit cranky, but that was beside the point. She narrowed her gaze on Murphy and frowned. “Why? Why should I talk to this woman? You think she wants to date you?”
Not that she cared who Murphy Coen dated. It was none of her business. She tamped down the annoying flare of jealousy inside her and gave him an impassive stare.
“No.” Murphy glanced back at her over his shoulder, his face brimming with annoyance. “She’s the receptionist for EnKor. I recognize her from the description Daveed gave me. If you can get her to talk, we might still have a way into their inner circles. Got it?”
Shayma exhaled sharply and tapped the toe of her shoe against the frozen pavement. “Fine. But afterward, we shop for Christmas decorations.”
Nose scrunched, Murphy faced her head-on. “What?”
“You heard me. Decorations. Your sister’s apartment needs to look jolly and festive for when she returns home.” She placed her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “That’s my offer.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then it looks like you’ll be getting a manicure yourself.”
Murphy scowled. “Fine. But hurry up and get your butt in there. I don’t want to miss our opportunity.”
With a nod, Shayma headed around the corner and into the tiny, crowded nail salon. The acrid scent of acrylic and nail polish remover mixed with the low murmur of conversation in both English and Vietnamese. A petite Asian woman at a work table nearby glanced up as the bell on the door rang. “Happy Holidays. What can we do for you today?”
Shayma did a quick scan of the salon and spotted the receptionist at a table near the back of the room. Luckily the only open seat available was at the table beside hers. “A manicure please.”
“Of course.” The Asian woman rattled something off in rapid-fire Vietnamese, then pointed toward the empty table in the back. “You sit. Someone will be right with you.”
“Thank you.” Shayma made her way back to the seat and shrugged off her coat to hang it on the rack nearby before taking her spot beside the receptionist. The woman glanced over as she sat and gave Shayma a bland smile.
Not usually one for small talk, Shayma said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Busy in here today, huh?”
The receptionist looked at her again before answering. “This is nothing. I was in here last week for a polish
change and there was a line outside.”
“Wow.” Shayma greeted the nail tech who commandeered her table then held out her hands for the tech to remove her current polish. “So, you’re a regular here then. You must live nearby?”
“No. Brooklyn. But I work close to this salon. They do good work and the prices are cheap, so I come here on my lunch hours sometimes for a quick polish change, like today.” She looked Shayma up and down. “What about you? First time here, I take it.”