A sigh. ‘No, Cody, I don’t want you to send me flowers. I was just checking it wasn’t you pissing about.’
He’s really confused now, and for some reason feeling he’s guilty of more than merely failing to catch a murderer.
‘I thought you said the flowers were from Parker?’
‘Well, that was the obvious conclusion. Of course it was. I mean, you thought so too, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Only…’
‘What?’
‘I got more flowers last night. They were left on my doorstep.’
‘Aw, that’s nice.’
‘Actually, no, it’s not. These flowers were dead.’
‘Dead? Why would he send you dead flowers?’
‘That’s what I wondered. So I rang him up.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He denied it. He said they were probably from you.’
And now Cody can understand her concern. She’d probably prefer to discover it was some kind of moronic joke on his part than to face up to the fact that her ex-fiancée may have sent her dead flowers, which is – let’s face it – straying into deranged stalker territory.
But she needs to hear the truth.
He says, ‘Me? No, Megs. Hand on heart. I didn’t send them to you.’
She goes quiet for a while. And then: ‘It gets worse.’
‘In what way?’
‘This morning, I found an envelope that had been put through my door.’
Cody decides Webley needs to have her spirits raised. ‘Don’t tell me. Dick pics, right?’
She stares at him. ‘Why would Parker be sending me dick pics?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Seems like a natural progression.’
‘From dead flowers to dick pics? Yes, Cody, that’s a very natural progression. You know, sometimes I wonder about you. No, this was even weirder.’
Cody’s mind is buzzing with possibilities, all of which he doesn’t think it appropriate to voice at this moment. Instead, he throws her a questioning glance.
‘Hair,’ she says.
‘Hair?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean a lock of hair?’
‘No. Much more than a lock.’
‘What? Not his whole head? He shaved his head for you?’
‘Not just his head.’
Cody cannot stop a snort of laughter escaping. ‘No way! Pubic hair? Parker sent you his pubes?’
‘It’s not funny, Cody. It really freaked me out.’
Cody resumes his serious face. ‘Sorry. You’re right. Are they… I mean, are they definitely his?’
‘How the hell would I know that? It’s not like they have a unique style to them or anything. They look like his. And I’m assuming he didn’t forcibly manscape some random stranger.’
‘Have you asked him? Did you call him up again?’
‘I tried, but he wasn’t answering. The only explanation I’ve got is a card that was in the envelope. It said that being without me is causing him to tear his hair out. I’m starting to worry about him.’
‘I’m not surprised. Call him again.’
‘What, now?’