voice of reason they had in this crazy mess. Now…” I shudder. “God, Cooper. If there’s a strike, there’ll be no end to the trouble around here.”
Cooper looks thoughtful. “And who stands to benefit if there’s a strike?”
I glance up at him. “Who stands to benefit if there’s a strike ? No one. Are you crazy?”
“Someone always benefits from murder,” Cooper says, still looking thoughtful. “ Always. ”
“Well,” I say dryly. “I don’t see who’s going to benefit from having three feet of garbage piled up everywhere…and toilets backed up…and no security…because if the grad student union strikes, the housekeeping and security unions have to strike out of sympathy, as well. It’s part of their agreement. This place will be a zoo.”
“Private sanitation companies will have to pick up the slack,” Cooper says, nodding. “Private security and housekeeping companies, as well. Could be exactly what the owners of those companies were waiting for. Little mid-year pick-me-up.”
I gape at him while the meaning of his words sinks in. “Wait. You think…you think Owen’s murder was a MOB HIT?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be unheard of. It’s New York City, after all.”
“But…but…” I stand there, flabbergasted. “I’ll never figure out who killed him if it was a MOB HIT!”
Which is when Cooper drops his foot from the planter and swings around to grasp both my shoulders in a grip that, I won’t lie to you, hurts a little. Next thing I know, I’m pressed up against the red bricks Fischer Hall is made up of, my now mostly dry hair plastered against the circa 1855 plaque to one side of the front door.
“Don’t you even think about it,” Cooper says.
He isn’t shouting. He isn’t even speaking above a normal conversational tone, really.
He’s just very, very serious. More serious than I’ve everseen him. Even that time when I accidentally dried his favorite sweatshirt from college and shrank it to a size small. His face is just a few inches from mine. It’s so close, it’s blocking out the blue sky overhead, and the leafy green canopy of trees below that, and the satellite dishes on top of the news vans, as well as the line of taxis going by on Washington Square West, and the stream of students walking into the building, going, “What’s with all the cops over there on Waverly? Somebody jump, or something?”
“God,” I say nervously, noticing from Cooper’s razor stubble that he apparently hadn’t had time to shave this morning. And wondering what it would be like to run my hand across that razor stubble. Which is ridiculous, because I already have a boyfriend. Who proposed to me this morning. Well, practically. “I was only kidding.”
“No,” Cooper says, his blue-eyed gaze never leaving mine. “You weren’t, actually. And this one, Heather, you’re staying out of. This wasn’t a student. You didn’t even like the guy. This one’s not your responsibility.”
Dorothy. From Golden Girls . We’re both Dorothy, from Golden Girls .
It’s weird what goes through your head when the lips belonging to guy you’re in love with are just inches from your own. Especially, you know, when you’re sleeping with someone else.
“Um,” I say, unable to tear my gaze from his mouth. “Okay.”
“I mean it this time, Heather,” Cooper says. His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Stay out of it.”
“I will.” My eyes have, inexplicably, filled with tears. Not because he’s hurting me—his grip’s not that tight. Butbecause I can’t help thinking of Magda and Pete. How much time have the two of them wasted, when they could have been together? When really, all that’s kept them apart is Pete’s basic male cluelessness…and Magda’s female pride. I mean, if Pete likes Magda back. Which I’m almost sure he does. Maybe if I just tell Cooper how I feel…
“Cooper.”
“I’m serious, Heather. This guy may have been into stuff you have no
Cooper looks thoughtful. “And who stands to benefit if there’s a strike?”
I glance up at him. “Who stands to benefit if there’s a strike ? No one. Are you crazy?”
“Someone always benefits from murder,” Cooper says, still looking thoughtful. “ Always. ”
“Well,” I say dryly. “I don’t see who’s going to benefit from having three feet of garbage piled up everywhere…and toilets backed up…and no security…because if the grad student union strikes, the housekeeping and security unions have to strike out of sympathy, as well. It’s part of their agreement. This place will be a zoo.”
“Private sanitation companies will have to pick up the slack,” Cooper says, nodding. “Private security and housekeeping companies, as well. Could be exactly what the owners of those companies were waiting for. Little mid-year pick-me-up.”
I gape at him while the meaning of his words sinks in. “Wait. You think…you think Owen’s murder was a MOB HIT?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be unheard of. It’s New York City, after all.”
“But…but…” I stand there, flabbergasted. “I’ll never figure out who killed him if it was a MOB HIT!”
Which is when Cooper drops his foot from the planter and swings around to grasp both my shoulders in a grip that, I won’t lie to you, hurts a little. Next thing I know, I’m pressed up against the red bricks Fischer Hall is made up of, my now mostly dry hair plastered against the circa 1855 plaque to one side of the front door.
“Don’t you even think about it,” Cooper says.
He isn’t shouting. He isn’t even speaking above a normal conversational tone, really.
He’s just very, very serious. More serious than I’ve everseen him. Even that time when I accidentally dried his favorite sweatshirt from college and shrank it to a size small. His face is just a few inches from mine. It’s so close, it’s blocking out the blue sky overhead, and the leafy green canopy of trees below that, and the satellite dishes on top of the news vans, as well as the line of taxis going by on Washington Square West, and the stream of students walking into the building, going, “What’s with all the cops over there on Waverly? Somebody jump, or something?”
“God,” I say nervously, noticing from Cooper’s razor stubble that he apparently hadn’t had time to shave this morning. And wondering what it would be like to run my hand across that razor stubble. Which is ridiculous, because I already have a boyfriend. Who proposed to me this morning. Well, practically. “I was only kidding.”
“No,” Cooper says, his blue-eyed gaze never leaving mine. “You weren’t, actually. And this one, Heather, you’re staying out of. This wasn’t a student. You didn’t even like the guy. This one’s not your responsibility.”
Dorothy. From Golden Girls . We’re both Dorothy, from Golden Girls .
It’s weird what goes through your head when the lips belonging to guy you’re in love with are just inches from your own. Especially, you know, when you’re sleeping with someone else.
“Um,” I say, unable to tear my gaze from his mouth. “Okay.”
“I mean it this time, Heather,” Cooper says. His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Stay out of it.”
“I will.” My eyes have, inexplicably, filled with tears. Not because he’s hurting me—his grip’s not that tight. Butbecause I can’t help thinking of Magda and Pete. How much time have the two of them wasted, when they could have been together? When really, all that’s kept them apart is Pete’s basic male cluelessness…and Magda’s female pride. I mean, if Pete likes Magda back. Which I’m almost sure he does. Maybe if I just tell Cooper how I feel…
“Cooper.”
“I’m serious, Heather. This guy may have been into stuff you have no
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