“
He waved cheerfully, then opened the door, tripped over the threshold, and as his balance was already impaired, nearly went face down on the floor for the second time that day. He caught himself, hung on to the side of the counter, and waited for the pub kitchen to stop revolving.
With the careful steps of the drunk, he walked over to the cupboard to get out a pan for frying, a pot for boiling.
Shawn was singing in his break-your-heart voice, about the cold nature of Peggy Gordon. And with one eye closed, his body swaying gently, he dripped lemon juice into a bowl.
“Oh, fuck me, Shawn. You are half pissed.”
“More than three-quarters if the truth be known.” He lost track of the juice and added a bit more to be safe. “And how are you, Aidan, darling?”
“Get way from there before you poison someone.”
Insulted, Shawn swiveled around and had to brace a hand on the counter to stay upright. “I’m drunk, not a murderer. I can make a g.d. fish cake in me sleep. This is my kitchen, I’ll thank you to remember, and I give the orders here.”
He poked himself in the chest with his thumb on the claim and nearly knocked himself on his ass.
Gathering dignity, he lifted his chin. “So go on with you while I go about my work.” “
What have you done to yourself?”
“The devil cat caught me hand. Forgetting his work, Shawn lifted a hand to scowl at the red gashes. Oh, but I’ve got plans for him, you can be sure of that.”
“At the moment, I’d lay odds on the cat. Do you know anything about putting fish cakes together?” Aidan asked Darcy.
“Not a bloody thing,” she said cheerfully.
“Then go and call Kathy Duffy, would you, and ask if she can spare us an hour or so, as we have an emergency?”
“An emergency?” Shawn looked glassily around. “Where?
”
”