Dating Is Murder

“I’m wondering if you still have the pill you found under A

“Well, I’m not… sure. Why?”

I told her about the logo on Rico’s bedroom wall, and the pill Britta had given me. “Rico tried to recruit A

“God, that’s wild.” Maizie shooed the animal away. “And the police don’t know this?”

“No, but they will tonight. If I can pull it off.” If I had the pill, I told Maizie, I’d show it to Sava

I did not, of course, tell Maizie I’d be wearing an FBI wire. I’d do what I had to for Simon, then get Sava

Maizie replaced the top on a can of primer and wiped her hands on a towel. “I think I know where it might be-I’ll just run up to the house. Stay here, it’s freezing outside.”

I moved closer to the fire, and discovered the cat. He rolled around on a rag rug, as though doing spinal exercises. I said hello to him and he rolled away. He was still playing with his toy, batting it around gleefully. As long as it wasn’t a frog.

I used my cell phone to check my machine. One message. Rex Stetson, reporting about Kona winds and the Big Island volcano. The Honolulu airport crew was working to get the ash under control, but when they did, he’d be home, carrying his bride over the threshold.

My heart stopped. I looked at the cat. He was a big cat, but my African goliath frog could eat him for breakfast. An amuse-bouche. How could I call myself a professional? The Stetsons’ kitchen was a fright, and it was irresponsible of me to be here. I should be in Sherman Oaks painting the wall white, committing murder-suicide. Maybe there was still time. If Maizie found the pill fast, I’d drive back there, throw on the first coat of paint, and-

My cell phone rang. I answered. This was a mistake.

“Where the hell are you?” It was Simon, as angry as I’d ever heard him.

“I-took a cab home.” I couldn’t believe how feeble my voice sounded.

“Stay there. Don’t even think of moving. Don’t drive, don’t walk. Stay. In. Your. Apartment. The next time I call I want to hear you’re sitting in Esterbud’s car. Jesus Christ, he’s a federal agent, he’s there to protect you, not play hide-and-seek. You got that?”

My heart was racing, angry at him for yelling at me, angry at myself for reacting. What kind of whistle-blower would I make, going weak in the knees in the face of someone’s anger? I focused on the yellow cat, with its sudden energy, and reined in my emotions.

“Simon,” I said calmly, “tell Esterbud I’ll meet him at Fini at six. I think I’m capable of driving my own goddamn car to my own goddamn job. But thank you for caring.”

I pushed the end button on my cell phone, cutting him off mid-word. It wasn’t a nice word.

The yellow cat toyed with its little object, tossing it my way, chasing it, reclaiming it with the glee of a kitten. The first sign of real life I’d seen from him.

Why was Simon so flipped out, I wondered, turning off my phone. Was Sava

I went to the window. The light was fading. It was almost the shortest day of the year. In the distance I heard a high-pitched voice. Emma, skipping toward the Range Rover.

The outdoor lights popped on, the little ones that illuminated the footpath. The late afternoon was coming to life now: the singing of the child, the playfulness of the cat. He flopped onto his back, showing me his stomach as he played with his toy. I thought of the Oriental fire-bellied toad, Bombina orientalis, his body green for everyday life. When push comes to shove, he flips over, arching his back and exposing his red belly, threatening predators with poison.

How angry Simon had been. You never really knew someone until you pissed them off. People’s styles of rage were so personal. As individual as sex.

I felt like someone had kicked me. What was I thinking? My God, if I pulled it off tonight, my own evidence-gathering mission, we would never have sex. I would never kiss Simon Alexander again.

I had to sit to absorb this. There would be no going back. He would never kiss a whistle-blower, someone who’d gone behind his back, to the cops, to the press. But how could I want to kiss someone willing to sacrifice my friend A

But I did want to.

The room grew cold.

Emma’s singing was stopped by the slam of a car door and the sound of an engine starting. I moved to the fire, thinking of the song still going on inside the Range Rover. What was it about being three that made you sing the same song over and over?

Not three, though. Two and three-quarters. Fractions. Math. It was everywhere.

It’s strange how a mind works, how you can puzzle over something, a riddle, a song lyric, a poem… and then you relax and look away for a moment and things slide into place like thread across a loom, revealing the pattern you hadn’t seen before. Maybe that’s all math is, a design. Maybe if I’d done the math…

I thought of Emma saying, “Two and three-quarters,” and her mother saying, “Two and eleven-twelfths. Santa brought you to me,” and my own mother saying, “Christmas. Jesus was a Capricorn, didn’t you ever hear that?”

My breathing changed. The coldness in the pit of my stomach spread to my intestines and down my legs.

The yellow cat threw his toy in the air, the paws tossing it like a volleyball. It landed at my feet. I looked at it. It was a strange-looking thing, no bigger than a thumbnail, but thick. I’d been watching it for minutes, ever since I walked in, seeing something flash bright in the firelight. I reached down to touch it with my fingertip.

It was hard and dry and gray.

I drew my hand back.

It was an earlobe. The small, once soft end of an ear. In it was a gold stud earring. Embedded with a red gem. A ruby.

A gold stud earring I’d seen once before, worn by Rico Rodriguez.

I felt a burning in my eyes. The coldness inside me turned to nausea.

I heard the crunch of leaves outside. I saw the doorknob turn. I watched the door open and Maizie Qui