In the Driver's Seat

Chapter 6

Neal's loft, Manhattan, NY. December 21, 2003. Sunday morning.

The day had been filled with so much mental stimulation that Neal's mind refused to shut down and sleep. As a result, he was craving hot tea around 2am. There was a ritual to making a perfect cup of tea that he found calming. Often he didn't even drink it; by the time it was prepared, he simply breathed the fragrant steam and relaxed.

Tonight, he faced a quandary, because he hadn't purchased tea when he went grocery shopping. However, there was a fully stocked kitchen on the first floor, just waiting to be plundered. He chuckled, reminded of his conversation with Mozz about Beowulf, which had to be the reason he'd thought the word plundered. He should have asked if Mozz was on the side of Beowulf or Grendel.

Neal was wearing all black. Did that associate him with the bad guys? Personally, he still thought of his dark clothing as cat-burglar attire. His days of thefts were officially behind him, but it wouldn't hurt to practice his skills by going downstairs to look for tea. He was certain he could pull it off without waking June or Byron.

By habit, he'd made note of which stairs creaked when he'd traipsed up and down them throughout the day, and navigated now them in silence. He had excellent night vision and didn't need more than the light filtering through the windows and hallways to find his way to the kitchen.

The kitchen itself was the trickiest part to navigate, it was massive, dark, and unknown — Neal had never entered the room and didn't know his way around. Having made it this far, it should be safe to switch on the lights. Before he could reach for them, he heard a sound that was barely enough warning to squint his eyes so he wasn't blinded when the lights came on. "I'd never have known you were there if it weren't for the squeaky wheel," Neal said.

"I need to oil it," Byron said. "Or maybe it isn't worth the trouble. I'm losing my edge."

"Not as far as I could tell. I had no idea you were there until the last second. I guess I'm not as stealthy as I thought."

"If I hadn't been looking out the door of my room, I'd never have noticed you going by." Byron shook his head. "June would tell me to take one of the pills that's supposed to help me sleep, but I don't have many good days left. I want to be awake and doing things while I still can."

"I'm having a bout of insomnia myself. I thought making a cup of tea would help."

"Left-hand side. Upper cabinet, next to the sink."

Neal opened the cabinet and found several varieties. "Oolong. Do you want some?"

"Why not?" Byron wheeled over to a butcher-block table at the end of the kitchen island. The room was long but narrow, with quartz countertops that reminded Neal of glaciers — white with an underlying blue tone. The appliances were stainless steel, and the cabinets were the same rich brown as the paneling throughout the house.

Neal filled a kettle with water and turned on the stove. He leaned against the island and said, "That music room isn't just for looks. I could tell when we were moving them around that the instruments are well-loved. Which ones do you play?"

"We bought the piano for our daughters when they took lessons. I can noodle around on it, but the trumpet's my baby. When I met June, I was part of a jazz band playing in a club, and she filled in for our usual singer. Dream a Little Dream of Me. That's the first song we performed together."

June stepped into the room, wearing a royal blue velour robe and slippers. "It was the first song we danced to after our wedding, too."

"I hope we didn't wake you," Neal said.