A Body to die for

Wanda.” Her blue eyes were really something by diner light. Okay, I decided.
    “You want in, you’re in. But one man’s dead. Someone out there would probably kill again to keep from getting caught. We don’t know who it is. For all we know, it’s Van Owen himself.”
    She seemed to consider my warning, but said, “I’m fine with danger.”
    Max shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t, Leeza.”
    “You’re the one who suggested it last night,” I reminded him.
    “That’s because I knew you’d never go for it.”
    “It’s unsafe for her, but just fine for me?” I asked.
    “Wanda, it’s totally different,” Max protested.
    “If Leeza got stabbed, it’d be worse than if I got stabbed?” I asked.
    “In a way, yes.” Max took a sip of water. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I’m not responsible for getting you involved in this business. But if Leeza got hurt, it’d be because of me.”
    “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”
    Leeza and Alex’s chairs scraped on the floor as they pulled away from the table. “We’ll be going now,” said Alex. He threw a ten on the table (not nearly enough to cover them, cheap bastard) and they left. I guess they were going to his place in the East Village. I turned back to Max. He was removing a twenty from his wallet.
    “Wanda,” he said as he dropped the money on the table. “I’m not in love with Leeza. One of the reasons why is because she could never handle what you’re asking of her. She’s not a strong person. And she’ll get hurt. That isn’t fair, and I don’t think you should be so eager to put her in that position. It seems to me that you wouldn’t mind if Leeza got hurt because that would probably get her out of my life and out of Alex’s life, too. And that scares me about you.” He had a point there. I didn’t have a snappy comeback for an astute, negative observation of my character.
    “Let’s just go,” he said and we split like a divorce.
    I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off. On the one hand, I appreciated Max’s respect for my abilities. On the other hand, how dare he act so nonchalantly about the possibility of my getting killed? Detecting was a dangerous business. I was, therefore, a dangerous woman. And did he care? Only when it came time to whip out a set of handcuffs for recreational purposes. On the other hand, if I got shot, he’d be alone. The specter of that should be so painful that Max might as well move to the Bottomless Pit of Denial. Santina, my surrogate mother over in Park Slope, told me that I should take it as a given that Max would prefer I wasn’t a shamus. She said that he hasn’t told me to quit out of respect. But I think that if he truly loved me, he’d tell me what he really wanted.
    On the four-block walk home, I wondered if I should act apologetic or depressed. I went with accusatory. “The least you could do is wait up nights, frantic, sweating. Praying that I’ll come home alive, or at least in big enough pieces.”
    Half of me hoped he’d say, “Big enough for what?” But instead he said nothing. Mr. Burpe wasn’t on the stoop that late. I said, “Burpe managed to crawl back into his cave.” An attempt at conversation, small-talky though it may have been.
    He fit the key into our front door. “I do wait up nights, Wanda,” he said. “I waited up last night.”
    “But not alone.” I smirked. “You had company.” Max pushed the front door open and we walked up the stairs. “'You’re really beginning to irritate me,” he said. The clunking of our shoes echoed in the hall. Otherwise, the building seemed quieter than usual. The octogenarian upstairs usually rattled around until midnight. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right here. And I didn’t mean my relationship.
    “Did you realize that you were talking down to me throughout dinner?” Max asked. “I don’t need that. Especially around Alex.” He unlocked our apartment door and pushed it open with a meaty fist.
    Syd, Max’s bathtub-dwelling tabby, raced past us into the hall. She’s never even poked her nose outside the bathroom before. She cowered in the hallway, completely terrorized. Someone was inside. I felt a presence as cleanly as a shower. I reached into my purse for Mama. With the other hand, I pushed Max against the wall outside. I whispered for him to keep quiet. Then loudly, I said, “Shit, honey. I forgot to get tampons.” They were the