The Angel of Eden by D. J. McIntosh Page A

“I took Loki out.”
    â€œIn your underwear?” I laughed.
    Bennet blushed. “Of course not. It’s raining. My jeans got soaked.”
    â€œYou could probably get away with it. All kinds of fashion statements in Madison Square.” I took a bite of the sandwich. Perfectly done, juicy Canadian back bacon, thickly sliced tomato— where had she bought such sweet tomatoes this time of year?—andlightly toasted brown bread. “You’re hired,” I said, “but I can’t afford as much as Strauss.”
    She smiled between enormous bites, finishing before me. We wiped our hands on paper napkins and sat with our coffees. After breakfast and its idyllic mood of domesticity, the world seemed to have come to rights again. The sense of doom from my sleep-paralysis episode had all but disappeared. Bennet’s next words spoiled that brief interlude in an instant.

Eighteen

    B ennet glanced at me as if afraid of my reaction to what she was about to say.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know whether I should tell you.”
    â€œNow you have to.”
    â€œIt’s probably nothing. I mean, how could he possibly know?”
    â€œNow you really have to tell me.”
    â€œIt’s Strauss. When I spoke to him last night he said a very strange thing. I don’t want to ruin your day or anything. The article about you I’m working on? He said it would end up being your obituary.”
    I choked a little on my coffee. “Seriously? That’s crazy. He likes to play with people, mind-fuck them. It’s what he does for a living.” Still, Strauss’s remark bothered me. Especially coming so soon after Tricia’s murder.
    Bennet reached across the kitchen table and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything but it freaked meout and I didn’t want to hide it from you. Not after what happened yesterday. We’ve got to be really careful.” She stood up and refilled my coffee. “So, tell me. What’s the mystery about your background Strauss is so intrigued with?”
    â€œIt’s not for the record—I don’t want it in the article. Okay?”
    â€œAgreed.”
    â€œAnd no talking to Evelyn behind my back.”
    â€œFine,” she said, a little exasperated.
    â€œMy half brother, Samuel—he was much older than me—brought me to New York from Turkey when I was three. Our father, who was Greek, fled after World War II and went to Turkey where he married my mother. They both died in a mining accident caused by an earthquake. That’s what I was told, but less and less of the story adds up. I don’t believe it anymore.”
    Bennet played with a curl of her red hair. “And at Gina’s, Strauss hinted he has some information about that.”
    â€œYes, but I don’t see how he could. Really, I think he’s just bluffing.” I took a last swig of my coffee and got up. “I’m going to hit the books for a while.”
    â€œI’ll set up my laptop in here then,” Bennet said. “Watching you will be too distracting.” She punctuated that with a flirty laugh. “Can I have your notes on those trips you took to Iraq?”
    â€œYeah, uh, hold on. Let me find them.” After scanning them quickly, I gave her my rough copies, enough material to keep her busy for a couple of hours. That done, it was time to source my own reading materials. I’d donated Samuel’s library to his university, except for some of the more important volumes, and kept all his journals. I looked through a couple of them now.
    But I found it hard to concentrate at first. Loki noisily batted her makeshift toys around with her nose on the hardwood floor and Strauss’s obituary line still disturbed me. The illusionist had acertain compelling draw, as a master hypnotist would, but I told myself it was simply an art he’d learned. No one could foretell