TITLE: A Conversation with Claire about Things She Shouldn’t Have Known About
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. (Well, not anymore. Jackasses.) I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.

“Good morning, Claire. How are things?” Lindsay greeted with what she didn’t realize was over-the-top cheer until Claire looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in silent curiosity.

“You’re in a morgue, Lindsay. Things are dead.”

“Well, I guess that’s good,” Lindsay joked, “since we are in a morgue. I’m not wearing my zombie fightin’ shoes.”

Lost somewhere in a hazy world where she didn’t feel like she was in the midst of human remains or really working, Lindsay absent-mindedly tinkered with the tools on Claire’s tray. Remembering something funny that Cindy had said during dinner the night before, she bit her lip trying to hold back the grin.

“Why didn’t you just walk in here humming “That’s Amore” and get it over with?”

The question cut straight through Lindsay’s floaty, light-headed sort of fantasyland, and returned her promptly to the present, where she found Claire looking up at her with more inappropriate glee on her face than the whole of San Francisco should have been capable of holding.

“What did Jill tell you?” Lindsay questioned.

“Nothing. She didn’t know anything. I mean, other than the fact that you were out alone with Cindy last night. And she did brag a little about her part in the events.”

“Of course she did,” Lindsay snarled, unsheathing her only secret weapon. “Did she brag about dating Denise? Because she’s doing that, you know.”

“She didn’t brag about it,” Claire admitted. “But she did tell me. She figured, if she didn’t, you would.”

And just like that, Lindsay watched the one weapon in her arsenal completely miss its intended target and return boomerang-like to smack her upside the head for being such a jackass. The fact that Jill knew that she was going to be a jackass about it and rushed to tell Claire that she was dating Denise, when it may have been something she wasn’t quite ready to share yet, worked instantaneously to make Lindsay feel like a jerk. Now, she owed one of her BFFs an apology… and a word of gratitude. Because, as it turned out, Jill’s little ploy with her she-devil girlfriend resulted in, what could be described as no less than, one of the best nights of Lindsay’s life. And certainly the best in recent history.

The Karvy flower. Of course Cindy’s favorite flower would be some rare gem that only bloomed once every eight years, and very few people had heard of outside of India and botany clubs. It would make sending a ridiculously large bouquet pretty much an impossibility, but Lindsay had to acknowledge it as yet another sexy quirk of the one called Cindy Thomas.

“I take it things went well,” Claire’s amused voice cut into Lindsay’s roving thoughts.

Clearing her throat as she looked up, Lindsay fought the urge to wave a sharp dissection instrument menacingly as she answered.

“It was just dinner, Claire,” she responded with intentional aloofness. “It all went down.”

“Are you being evasive?” Claire returned at once. “Don’t be evasive.”

“It’s none of your business,” Lindsay responded without inflection, as if it was just a point of fact and needed no emotion behind it.

Claire’s tone, on the other hand, came back sounding much like a mother who was about to backhand their kid for having a smart mouth. “It is my business. You made it my business when you came in here before talking about soul mates and the love of your life and your sex dreams about Cindy.”

“I never said sex dreams!”

“Believe it or not, I could fill in your dangling thoughts and get sex dreams. I’m not a nun.”

Lindsay’s lip jutted out poutily at Claire’s unshakable reasoning.

“And then you made it my business again by walking in here with that ridiculous smile on your face in the middle of a homicide investigation,” Claire tacked on just to be cheeky.

“It’s ridiculous to smile now?”

“For you. Rarely do your smiles mean random happiness. They usually mean something pretty specific has taken place that breaks your perpetual scowl reflex.”

“You really think I go around with a scowl?”

“Well, let’s just say you’re not predisposed to smiling,” Claire hedged, and Lindsay pouted harder. “So, did you make out?”

“What?” Lindsay snapped to attention.

“That was Jill’s question,” Claire responded. “I just promised to ask it if I got to you first.”

Just how in-depth Claire and Jill had discussed she and Cindy’s date… er, dinner, the night before, Lindsay wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“No, we did not make out,” she uttered.

“Ah, don’t look so disappointed, Linz. You’ve got years left on yours, and Cindy hasn’t even reached her sexual peak yet.”

Lindsay picked up the nearest non-sharp object and flung it in Claire’s direction, and, laughing, Claire dodged it like a pro.