The Dickens with Love Read Online Free PDF

free.”
    I agreed, but then the whole day had an unreal, almost fantasy quality to it. Sort of like that Steve
    Martin movie, L.A. Story .I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the selections on the bar menu had suddenly wavered and morphed into secret messages meant only for my eyes. “This is how the other half
    lives.” I shrugged. “I suppose it’s how you live too, since you’re staying in the hotel.”
    He frowned—his normal expression with me—but was distracted by the female bartender delivering
    his drink.
    It was the loveliest cocktail I’d ever seen. Real flecks of apparently edible gold sparkled and floated in the sleek martini glass.
    “What is that?” I could hardly look away from the glittering concoction.
    “A Stardust.” He said it rather repressively, and I felt a flicker of amusement.
    “I’ll have one of those,” I told the bartender.
    “Did you want to run a tab?”
    I shook my head. While Crisparkle sipped his martini, I watched the bartender combine four parts
    vodka with one part of crème de cacao. I watched with all the attention of a man having to pass his
    bartender’s exam. It was easier than trying to make conversation with my companion. I wasn’t even sure why I’d thought sitting down with him was a good idea.
    Crisparkle seemed to have equal disinterest in conversing with me. He drank his cocktail and stared at the painting on the far wall, and I watched the bartender slowly empty the cocktail shaker into a martini glass. She slowly, ever so gently, added the sparkling Goldschlager, a cinnamon-flavored liqueur, so that gold flakes drifted slowly through the drink.
    She brought the magical-looking brew over to the table along with a small plate of gougères.
    “Compliments of the house,” she said. At my surprise, she joked, “The ocelot is paying.”
    “Oh. Right. Thank you.” I put my wallet away.

    www.samhainpublishing.com
    21
    Josh Lanyon
    Crisparkle observed me silently throughout this transaction. The bartender retreated and I took a sip of my drink. A bit sweeter than I liked, but interesting.
    He said abruptly, “It’s only fair to tell you that no one suggested you were involved in murder. In fact, no one actually said you were even suspected of knowingly participating in forgery.”
    “You didn’t have time to talk to many people.”
    “Enough. You’re not liked, but you’re respected. At least…”
    I grinned a crooked grin and selected one of the cheese savories. “I know what you mean,” I assured
    him. “It’s generally accepted that I have an instinct for the real thing.”
    “Why did you pretend, then, that you didn’t know my book is the genuine article?”
    “Because I don’t go by instinct anymore.”
    He waited for me to continue, but I had no intention of spilling my guts to the disapproving Professor Crisparkle. I raised my glass in a mock toast and finished off my drink.
    The frown grew more pronounced.
    “Are you driving?”
    “Eventually.”
    He was silent, then said shortly, “I probably owe you an apology.”
    “Don’t bother if it hurts that much.” His face tightened. I said, “Anyway, saving me from being
    mauled was apology enough.”
    Some internal struggle seemed to take place. “Evan Amherst of Amherst Rare Books said that you
    voluntarily cooperated with the police. That had you not helped them, Strauss would probably have got
    away with murder.”
    I curled my lip. “Yes? Well, the fact of the matter is that nobody likes a snitch.”
    He studied me for a long moment and then said slowly, quite gently, “You were hurt very badly,
    weren’t you?”
    I felt myself turn scarlet. Men do not say that kind of thing to each other. They just…don’t. I returned harshly, “I was very stupid. I deserved everything that happened to me.”
    “You’re very cynical.”
    “I have good reason to be.” This was my cue to exit. I pushed my empty glass away, shoved my chair
    back, opened my mouth to say