Chapter 5

“Wh—No…yes. They were. Are. They were for the party,” Malcolm insisted, never once stopping to question why he was arguing instead of just removing the tray from the man’s hands.

“They were not,” the man repeated. “There was no fruit at that party.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. So he was a guest. Or a guest of a guest. He let the man walk past him with the tray and then slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Yes, well, it was still meant for the party. It’s not for handing out to random strangers. It was a mistake. But that doesn’t mean—”

“So pretty well it’s already paid for,” the man said, peeling back wrap and snagging the end of one of the skewers.

“By the people that booked the party, yes—”

The man twisted his mouth, stared off to the side in a pantomime of deduction, and pointed with the fruit. “So, kinda…It’s mine anyway?”

He began to wander down the middle of the kitchen, peeking around every walk-through he came to.