“Your avoidance of me.”
Okay. He wanted a fight. Why disappoint him? “Yes, I was avoiding you, Parker. Can you blame me? After—”
She broke off when Mike appeared with a service tray. “Fresh peach cobbler,” he announced.
Parker’s scowl deepened. “How come there’s no ice cream?”
“Did you want it to melt before I could get it served? Jeez.” Mike deposited the tray on the table, then stamped back into the kitchen, muttering about how grouchy everybody had been today. He returned with a carton of vanilla ice cream, which he scooped over the steaming portions of cobbler.
“I’m having mine in my room,” he said, taking one of the bowls for himself. “There’s a Bette Davis film festival on TV tonight. If you need anything, you can fetch it yourself,” he said to Parker. “Maris, if you need something, just knock on my door. Upstairs. First door on your right.”
“Thank you, Mike. I can’t imagine that I’ll need to disturb you. The cobbler looks delicious.”
“Enjoy.”
After Mike left them, Parker attacked his helping of cobbler and ice cream as though he were angry at it. When he finished, he dropped the spoon into the empty bowl with a loud clatter, returned it to the tray, then rolled his chair over to the computer desk. “Do you want to read what I’ve been working on, or what?”
“Of course I want to read it.”
While the new pages were printing out, Maris ate her cobbler. Carrying the crockery bowl with her, she moved slowly along the crammed bookcase, surveying the titles in Parker’s extensive collection. “You like mysteries.”
His head came around. “If they’re well written.”
“You must think Mackensie Roone writes well.”
“He’s okay.”
“Just okay? You have the entire Deck Cayton series.”
“Ever read one?”
“A few, not all.” She pulled one of the books from the shelf and thumbed through it. “I wish we were publishing them. They sell like hotcakes.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Why do you like them?”
He thought about it a moment. “They’re fluff, but they’re fun.”
She nodded. “Millions of readers worldwide think so, too. The character of Deck Cayton appeals to both men and women, and why not? He’s independently wealthy. Detective work is just his hobby. He lives on a fabulous houseboat, drives fast cars, flies his own jet. He’s as comfortable in a tuxedo as he is in blue jeans.”
“And even more comfortable out of them.”
“You must’ve read the one about the murder in the nudist colony.”
He grinned devilishly. “My personal favorite.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Getting back to the character…”
Absently, she licked some dripping ice cream off her spoon. “Deck Cayton is well drawn. He’s charming, witty, good-looking. He’s—”
“A jerk.”
“Sometimes he is. With a capital J. But he’s been so engagingly written that a reader forgives his flaws. The author allows him to be human, and the readers appreciate and identify with that. And even though he’s armed and dangerous and tough-talking, Deck has an underlying vulnerability.”
“Because of his wife’s death.”