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lounge; he’d already ordered me a Cosmo. I ran up to him, easily outpacing Nick and Jessica, and flung my arms around his neck so hard he rocked back in his chair.
    He kissed my temple and said into my hair, “Did you have fun shoe shopping?”
    “Oh my God, you would not believe it!”
    He flinched at “God,” rallied, then said, “I’ll believe it very well when the American Express bill comes.”
    “Well, I had to replace the one that’s stuck in the wall.”
    “Ah, so you only bought one pair,” he teased.
    Before I could give him a piece of my mind, or throw my drink at him, Nick and Jess were sitting down at our table. We’d all agreed to compare notes at the end of the evening. Interestingly, now that we were off Nick’s suspect list (not that I truly thought we’d ever really been on it) we were sort of a crime-fighting team.
    Maybe he’d hate us again when we all got back home. Maybe he still hated us but was using us to solve a murder, which would be very Nick-like (and cop-like). Or maybe hanging out with us was loosening him up a little. There was absolutely no way to tell.
    “You dirty rotten son of a bitch,” Nick started. Okay, maybe there was one way to tell. “You knew what her little errand was.”
    Sinclair actually giggled. Giggled. “Which did you like best, Detective Berry? Calm or Infinite?”
    Nick stuck a finger in my husband’s face, which was a good way to get bitten. “If I didn’t hate you with every fiber of my being before, I absolutely do now.”
    “Somehow,” he yawned, “I will try to recover from the remorse.”
    A pretty waitress—short, good figure, gorgeous green eyes, black hair—bounced up to our table. “Good evening, Majesties! May I bring your guests a drink?”
    “Hi,” I said, sticking out a hand. Startled, she shook it. “I’m Betsy. This is Nick and Jessica. She’ll have a Screwdriver, heavy on the vodka, no ice. He’ll have a Bud.”
    Her hand was clammy and almost uncomfortable to touch, but I held onto my smile and she looked weirdly gratified. “Right away, my queen,” she said, and flounced off.
    “That, uh, wasn’t the killer, was it?” Jessica asked.
    “I have been unable to locate the killer. Or if I have, I don’t know it yet. But that will change.” Sinclair looked grim. Well, grimm er . “Of that, I can assure you.”
    “So, no luck tonight?”
    “I believe I just said that.”
    “Told you I should have been there!” Nick said triumphantly.
    “Don’t gloat, hon, it’s unbecoming,” Jessica scolded him gently. “Besides, we were needed elsewhere.”
    He threw up his hands and sank back in his chair. “Shoe shopping!”
    “You don’t have to say it like you’d say ‘snake milking’.”
    “Given a choice,” he began, when the über-efficient waitress (I bet vampire speed came in handy when you were waiting tables) returned with drinks.
    “Thanks a lot, uh—” I squinted, but she wasn’t wearing a name tag.
    “Marcia.”
    “Thanks, Marcia. Just charge it to our room, okay?”
    “Oh, no.”
    “Uh . . . will you take a traveler’s check?”
    “I meant, your money is no good here, Majesty.” And she—God, this was so embarrassing—she actually went down on one knee and bowed her head to me. “You’re The One, the foretold queen, and you’ve rid us of Nostro and Marjorie in two years.
    My life is yours.” She looked up, green eyes twinkling. “Or, at the very least, I can pay for your drinks.”
    “Uh . . . that’ll be fine, Marcia.” I was so rattled I didn’t know what to do. Pat her on the head? Wave her away? Invite her to join us?
    Luckily, Sinclair did know what to do. “Your loyalty is noted and appreciated, Marcia. Now leave us, dear.”
    Quick as a snake, Marcia was on her feet and away from the table.
    Hmm. Maybe I should try that.
    “Just in time,” Jessica commented. “I was about to puke.”
    “ I didn’t know she was going to do that,” I snapped. “It was so