Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

redone, the room was sleek and modern. It had granite counters, polished hardwood floors, and appliances that were large enough to prepare food for an army. Left to his own devices, Crawford mostly used the microwave. Lately, however, Terry had been taking cooking classes. It looked as though the shiny pots and pans that hung from a rack above the center island were finally beginning to get some use.
    “Coffee?” asked Terry. His own mug was already sitting on a counter.
    “Please.” I pulled out a stool and hopped up onto it.
    He opened a glass fronted cabinet, got out another mug, and filled it almost to the top. Then he carried it over to the Sub-Zero fridge. “Just milk, right?”
    I nodded.
    If I’d made coffee for Terry, I’d have added two sweeteners, no milk. We were close enough to be that conversant with each other’s personal habits; how had I ever imagined that he wouldn’t realize why I had come?
    “Where’s Crawford?” I asked casually.
    “Out.” He sloshed milk into the mug, then slid it toward me across the counter. “Running errands.”
    “Supermarket, dry cleaners?” I smiled as I asked the question. Crawford wasn’t the domestic type.
    “Something like that.”
    Terry slid onto a stool opposite and I sipped at my coffee. The flavor was deep and rich, with just the slightest hint of almond.
    “You like?” he asked.
    “I like.”
    “Good. Now tell me why you’re really here. And make it entertaining, if you don’t mind. I could use a little distraction.”
    “I have questions,” I said slowly, wondering what sorts of things Terry might be wanting distraction from.
    “So what else is new?”
    “You may not like these.”
    “Oh, please . Has that ever stopped you before?”
    No, I thought. Not really.
    “I want to know what’s wrong with Crawford,” I said.
    Terry’s expression was bland. “What makes you think anything is?”
    “Because I pay attention to details and I’m not stupid. I’ve seen him taking it easy with his entries and leaving shows early. He isn’t acting like himself. He hasn’t been for the last month.”
    “What if I told you that nothing was going on, that everything was fine?”
    “I wouldn’t believe you.”
    “You think I would lie to you?”
    Terry sounded genuinely offended, and I realized that if I persisted I might be pushing the boundaries of our friendship.
    “I think you would do anything you felt was necessary to protect Crawford.” Partly to mollify him, partly because it was true, I added, “It’s one of your better qualities.”
    Terry shook his head. He wasn’t appeased. “And yet you’re sitting in my kitchen asking me to betray a trust.”
    My stomach went hollow. “So there is something wrong.”
    “Crawford’s a very private person. You know that as well as anyone. He doesn’t talk about his personal problems and he certainly wouldn’t want me to. There may be an issue or two. Tests are being run, things are being looked at; that’s all I’m going to say. Crawford doesn’t want this to be a subject for discussion.”
    “Not even with friends?”
    “Not even.” Terry was firm. “In my place, you know you’d respect his wishes. How can I not do the same?”
    “You can’t,” I said softly. Even I could see that. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
    “No.”
    “You’ll let me know if that changes?”
    “I will.”
    “I’m holding you to that.”
    Terry laughed. “I never expected any differently.” He tipped back his head to finish the last of his coffee. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, do you still want your hair cut or was that just a clever ruse to get you in the door?”
    “Of course I want my hair cut. Can’t you tell?”
    I’d given him an opening the size of a barn door and I thought Terry would go for the easy insult. Instead he stared at me, narrowing his eyes. After thirty seconds or so, I began to get nervous.
    “What?”
    “Shush, I’m thinking.”
    He stood up, walked around the island, and placed his hands on either side of my head. His fingers tunneled gently back through my hair. Terry was so close that I could smell the faintly musky smell of his aftershave and see the smooth muscles of his chest through the sheer linen. Coming from another man, the touch would have felt intimate, maybe even erotic.
    But this was Terry we were talking about. As he lifted his hands and let the hair fall back into place, I glanced up. His eyes were focused not on me, the