Well, at least, now I know why I’m here.
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” he answers. “Unless you have something you want to tell me.”
Just like that, the tension in my body returns.
Does he know that Jodie’s investigating Bart’s murder after all? That I’m helping her? Is this some kind of test?
I hold my shoulders straight.
“Like what?”
My father shrugs. “Another business idea you have in mind, maybe?”
“Not now. No.”
“Something about Jodie, then?”
I stiffen but play it cool. “You mean if she’s feeling better now? Yes, she is.”
“You’re not causing her any trouble, I hope. You used to play pranks on her, after all.”
I frown. “That was ages ago. I’m not a boy anymore.”
“No, you’re not,” he agrees.
So why does he still look pensive?
“I swear I’m not putting frogs in her bath or anything like that,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Well, it’s all good, then.”
The hell? Does he really think I’d do that?
“I’m leaving.”
I turn my back to him and walk towards the door.
“Wait.”
I pause.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell me?” my father asks. “Or maybe ask me?”
My eyes grow wide. He’s toying with me, isn’t he? He knows what Jodie and I have been up to. He might even know what Jodie’s thinking.
Should I just ask him outright?
I turn my body sideways to face him. Our gazes clash.
Dad, did you have Bart murdered?
And if he says no? What if he says yes?
I draw a deep breath. “Only if you’re feeling as good as you look. I’ve heard that transplant organs can sometimes do well for the first few days but then the body rejects them after a week or so. Somewhat like a couple doing well on the first few dates and then running into complications after getting to know each other, I guess. Are you alright? Are Bart’s organs still functioning excellently?”
Bart’s organs. I said that on purpose to remind him that they’re the reason he’s still alive so maybe he shouldn’t even think of hurting Jodie.
He nods. “They are. I’m fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
I leave the room. After reaching the end of the hall, I let out a sigh of relief at having survived. I realize I sighed too soon when I see Andrea waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
“How did it go?” he asks me with his usual grin.
What’s this? A second ambush? Another interrogation?
“Good,” I answer. “I can’t say much about it. I’ve got to get back to Jodie.”
“Still as fond of her as ever, I see.”
I stop in my tracks.
So Andrea knows. He’s as perceptive as ever. And annoying.
I look into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“I just want to ask you about the man who sold Bart’s car to that garage,” he says. “Are you sure you don’t know who he is?”
“No.”
“And does Jodie have any clue as to who murdered her father?”
My eyes narrow. “No. She hadn’t seen him in a while.”
“So you asked her?”
“No,” I answer at once upon realizing I nearly slipped. “I’m just saying there’s no point in asking her because they didn’t live together or see each other often.”
Andrea shrugs. “But he could have told her something.”
“I’m not asking,” I tell him. “Jodie doesn’t want to think about it, and I’m going to respect that.”
Andrea touches his chin. “Hmm.”
What? Does he think I’m not capable of behaving around Jodie, too?
“I’m leaving.” I continue walking.
“Good luck,” Andrea says.
I frown. With what? With the investigation that he actually knows Jodie and I are conducting? With Jodie?
At any rate, the sooner I get out of this house, the better.
~
When I get to the apartment, I expect to find Jodie with a wall full of sheets of paper and strings connecting them, just like an FBI agent on a case. Or at least locked up in her room, hiding from me. Instead, to my surprise, I find her in the kitchen with an apron on.
“You’re cooking,” I say as I get a whiff of butter, herbs, fish and potatoes.
“Yup.” Jodie turns to face me with a grin. “I don’t just defend the innocent, intimidate witnesses, annoy judges and beat the crap out of other lawyers. I can cook, too.”
I, too, grin. Of course she can. She can do just about anything she puts her mind to.
I take a peek into the oven. “What are you cooking?”
“Oh, just some grilled tuna with herbs, some buttered vegetables and garlicky mashed potatoes.”
So that’s what I was smelling.
I lick my lips. “Sounds like a feast.”
Jodie shrugs. “It’s just that I realized I haven’t actually had lunch even though I was at that fancy restaurant.”
“What? That douche-face didn’t get you anything to eat?”
“You whisked me away before he could,” she answers. “What about you? Did you eat at your father’s house?”
“No.”
And I realize I am hungry.
“Then join me,” Jodie urges. “The food’s almost ready.”