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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 145 из 205Look for clues.”
“Clues?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know, clues, ticket stubs, half-burned notes, leads.”
“Oh, those.”
“Quit grinning at me, Ronnie.”
She adjusted her sunglasses and did her best “cold” look. She's pretty good at it. Thugs have been known to shrivel at twenty paces. We would see how it worked on church members.
There was a small door to one side of the “altar.” It led into a carpeted hallway. The air-conditioned hush enveloped us. There were bathrooms to the left, and an open room to the right. Perhaps this is where they had … coffee after services. No, probably not coffee. A rousing sermon followed by a little blood, perhaps?
The offices were marked with a little sign that said “Office.” How clever. There was an outer office, the proverbial secretarial desk and etc … A young man sat behind the desk. Slender, short brown hair carefully cut. Wire-frame glasses decorated a pair of really lovely brown eyes. There was a healing bite mark on his throat.
He rose and came around the desk, hand extended, smiling at us. “Greetings, friends, I'm Bruce. How may I help you today?”
The handshake was firm but not too firm, strong but not overbearing, a friendly lingering touch, but not sexual. Really good car salesmen shake hands like that. Real estate brokers, too. I have this nice little soul, hardly used at all. The price is right. Trust me. If his big brown eyes had looked any more sincere, I would have given him a doggie biscuit and patted his head.
“I would like to set up an appointment to speak with Malcolm,” I said.
He blinked once. “Have a seat.”
I sat. Ronnie leaned against the wall, to one side of the door. Hands folded, looking cool and bodyguardish.
Bruce went back around his desk, after offering us coffee, and sat with folded hands. “Now, Miss …”
“Ms. Blake.”
He didn't flinch; he hadn't heard of me. How fleeting fame. “Ms. Blake, why do you wish to meet with the head of our church? We have many competent and understanding counselors that will help you make your decision.”
I smiled at him. I'll just bet you do, you little pipsqueak. “I think Malcolm will want to speak with me. I have information about the vampire murders.”
His smile slipped. “If you have such information, then go to the police.”
“Even if I have proof that certain members of your church are doing the murders?” A small bluff, otherwise known as a lie.
“Clues?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know, clues, ticket stubs, half-burned notes, leads.”
“Oh, those.”
“Quit grinning at me, Ronnie.”
She adjusted her sunglasses and did her best “cold” look. She's pretty good at it. Thugs have been known to shrivel at twenty paces. We would see how it worked on church members.
There was a small door to one side of the “altar.” It led into a carpeted hallway. The air-conditioned hush enveloped us. There were bathrooms to the left, and an open room to the right. Perhaps this is where they had … coffee after services. No, probably not coffee. A rousing sermon followed by a little blood, perhaps?
The offices were marked with a little sign that said “Office.” How clever. There was an outer office, the proverbial secretarial desk and etc … A young man sat behind the desk. Slender, short brown hair carefully cut. Wire-frame glasses decorated a pair of really lovely brown eyes. There was a healing bite mark on his throat.
He rose and came around the desk, hand extended, smiling at us. “Greetings, friends, I'm Bruce. How may I help you today?”
The handshake was firm but not too firm, strong but not overbearing, a friendly lingering touch, but not sexual. Really good car salesmen shake hands like that. Real estate brokers, too. I have this nice little soul, hardly used at all. The price is right. Trust me. If his big brown eyes had looked any more sincere, I would have given him a doggie biscuit and patted his head.
“I would like to set up an appointment to speak with Malcolm,” I said.
He blinked once. “Have a seat.”
I sat. Ronnie leaned against the wall, to one side of the door. Hands folded, looking cool and bodyguardish.
Bruce went back around his desk, after offering us coffee, and sat with folded hands. “Now, Miss …”
“Ms. Blake.”
He didn't flinch; he hadn't heard of me. How fleeting fame. “Ms. Blake, why do you wish to meet with the head of our church? We have many competent and understanding counselors that will help you make your decision.”
I smiled at him. I'll just bet you do, you little pipsqueak. “I think Malcolm will want to speak with me. I have information about the vampire murders.”
His smile slipped. “If you have such information, then go to the police.”
“Even if I have proof that certain members of your church are doing the murders?” A small bluff, otherwise known as a lie.