Sue Civil-Brown - The Prince Next Door

Serena stared after him for a moment, then caught Ariel’s glance. Her eyes slid to the still-open door. Of course.

“You’ve a bit of dirt on your face,” James-David-Cary-Bond-Niven-Grant said, as smoothly as if he were commenting on an expected afternoon thunderstorm.

Then he stepped back into his unit and closed the door, leaving both Serena and Ariel agape. Ariel paused for a moment, pursed her lips like Spassky pondering a chess move, and finally spoke.

“Ice cream?”

THIS REQUIRED A PLAN. And plans required ice cream. Conveniently, there was a quart of Godiva in the freezer, whispering her name. Serena scrubbed off potting soil and sunscreen—how had it gotten there? she wondered—while Ariel ladled out obscenely large bowls of frozen chocolate sweetness and fat. She also added chocolate syrup, in case the ice cream wasn’t sinful enough on its own.

Serena liked that idea—serious plans called for serious calories—and rooted around for whipped cream and a jar of maraschino cherries. And the shaker of chocolate sprinkles. And the ground cashews. In for a penny, in for ten pounds.

Five minutes later the two of them were sitting cross-legged on the living room’s plushly carpeted floor, one on each side of the coffee table. The first mouthful of ice cream carried enough chocolate that Serena figured she wouldn’t have PMS for the next year.

When the mouthful had melted into a frigid memory, Serena spoke. “Okay. Let’s talk about the creep next door.”

Ariel lifted both of her eyebrows. “About Mr. Maxwell?”

Serena felt her jaw drop. “You know him?”

“Well, not exactly.” Ariel scooped some more ice cream into her mouth and closed her eyes as she savored it.

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Serena could barely wait for the girl to swallow.

“Well,” said Ariel, fully a minute later, “I introduced myself to him one day. In the elevator.”

Now Serena was fully agog. It was one thing for a grown woman to take risks, but a girl Ariel’s age? “You spoke to a strange man in the elevator?”

Ariel shrugged. “Not exactly a stranger when he lives in our building.”

“Jeffrey Dahmer lived in someone’s building!”

Ariel looked at her as if to say, you poor frightened person. “He looks rather respectable, don’t you think?”

“No I don’t think. Nobody dresses like that around here. In London he would look respectable. Maybe even in France. But not here. Here he looks like a man who lives a pretense.”

Ariel frowned. “Do you really think so? He seemed perfectly nice to me.”

Ice cream forgotten—if only for a moment—Serena tapped her finger on the marble top of the coffee table. “Don’t you listen to the news, Ariel? What do they always say about the killer or the drug dealer? ‘He was quiet, kept to himself, never caused any trouble.’”

“Oh.” Ariel shrugged and took some more ice cream. “Well, he didn’t bother me. I said hi, told him my name, he told me his, and I welcomed him to Gull’s Rest. That was it.”

“You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“I don’t?”

Serena had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that those green eyes were laughing at her, but Ariel’s face merely looked interested.

She took another tack when she spoke again, hoping this fey young woman wasn’t speaking to every stranger she met in elevators. “Didn’t you hear what that weaselly man said when he left?”

“That he had Mr. Maxwell’s mother?” Ariel nodded and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin, erasing the evidence of chocolate syrup. “That was odd.”

“It was more than odd. It sounded like a threat.”

“True.” The young woman sat up straighter. “But it still doesn’t mean that Mr. Maxwell is up to any wrong. He might be a victim.”

“Hah. When I told him there was a man in his apartment and offered to call the police, he refused. Said he would handle it himself.”

“Hmm.” Ariel once again frowned. “That’s a strange response.”

“I think he’s a rogue. A dangerous rogue.”

Ariel nodded. “Probably a pirate. He looks like he’s fresh off the boat from Marseilles, doesn’t he? What with the peg leg and the eye patch and all….”

Trust youth to make an older person feel stupid, simply by pointing out the absurdity of the obvious. “Okay, maybe he’s not that dangerous. But something’s not right about him. You mark my words.”

Ariel, once again attacking her sundae with a gusto that would have shamed wolves, paused to speak. “Well heaven forfend that there should be anything not right about someone. Those perfect people are so hard to come by.”

“Okay, you win. He’s probably a perfectly ordinary, dime-a-dozen junior executive.”

“Anything but, I hope! God, how boring would that be?” The girl took another heaping spoonful of ice cream, laden with nuts, syrup and sprinkles. “But there’s a lot of room between boringly ordinary and dangerous rogue.”

Serena gave the girl her most serious look. “I,” she said, her voice weighted with significance, “am on vacation.”

Ariel looked up, chocolate staining one corner of her mouth, her unusual eyes suddenly looking very puckish. “And you can’t go on that naked cruise.”

“Clothing optional,” Serena corrected her.

Ariel shrugged. “Same thing.” She ate another huge spoonful of ice cream. Serena wouldn’t have guessed Godiva could go down quite so fast.

“It’s vacation,” Serena said again, ominously.

Ariel nodded. “And you need to get into trouble.”

“Right.”

“Okay.” That charming smile speared again. “A little trouble.”

“Certainly not enough to get me arrested.”

“Well, you didn’t get arrested last winter when I suggested you take that job playing Mrs. Santa Claus at the mall.”

“Only because I didn’t commit murder.”

Ariel laughed. “You sure raised a ruckus, though.”

In spite of herself, Serena had to smile.

“And,” Ariel added, “I’m sure there are quite a few parents who now take child-rearing more seriously.”

“I hope so, for the sake of civilization. But that won’t do this time, Ariel.”

“No, of course it won’t. It’s the wrong time of year.” Ariel put down her empty bowl. “I suppose you want to spy on Mr. Maxwell.” Her eyes danced. “He does have a job, you know.”

Serena felt her stomach sink. She didn’t want the man to have a job. That would ruin all her fun. How boring it would be if he were a loan officer. “How did you find that out?”

“I asked him,” Ariel replied complacently. Her eyes started dancing. “He’s an international art dealer.”

Serena’s eyes widened with joyous anticipation. Her heart leaped. “Do you have any idea how many illicit activities that could cover?”

Ariel laughed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“I didn’t really mean afraid. Just that I guessed you were going to say that.”

“Oh.” Serena settled back, satisfied. “Well, you know I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”

Something passed over Ariel’s face, at once amused and wise. “I won’t get in any trouble. Have I gotten into any trouble yet?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but there’s always a first time.”

Ariel rolled her fey eyes. “This won’t be it,” she said, as if the future were as clear to her as writing on the wall. “I know how to take care of myself. You might get into trouble, though.”

“That’s the point.”

Ariel leaned forward gleefully. “But it might be more trouble than you’re looking for.”

“Pish-tosh,” Serena said with a wave of her hand. “I can take care of myself, too.”