"I don't think I can recall the last man who cooked for me," Phryne mused as Jack set a plate down in front of her. The small bungalow he called home was exactly what she had expected. It was masculine, lots of dark wood furniture, green pillows on the sofa. The space was cozy and warm, filled with the scent that always seemed to linger on Jack's clothes and skin until Phryne got her hands on him.

"Mr. Butler will be hurt to hear so," Jack countered, seeing to his own plate before refilling her glass with wine.

"You know what I mean."

"It's a simple meal, but I thought we might give the residents of the Fisher household a break from not knocking before barging into a room."

They had been carrying on for nearly a month now and it seemed that privacy would be the most difficult aspect of the relationship. Poor Dot had been scandalized a number of times, Mr. Butler, Cec, and Bert had been less scandalized although equally embarrassed, and then there was Aunt Prudence who had now taken to loudly announcing her arrival as she came to every room they may be occupying. The only person to escape such scenes was Jane, who was smart enough to knock before entering. And Collins, who failed to notice that anything had changed at all, Dot was unable to tell him as she turned bright red simply thinking about the topic.

"I'm afraid I can only manage a few basic dishes."

"A few more than I'm capable of," Phryne shrugged, happily cutting into her steak. "This is delicious.

"I had rather intended to have you for dinner," Jack mused casually, watching for her reaction over the rim of his cup.

"Is that so?" Her eyes gleamed with delight.

"Indeed, something to keep in mind for dessert."

"I think I may be a bad influence on you, Jack."

"I wouldn't say bad."

Phryne cleared her plate quickly while Jack seemed to savor each bite, his eyes rarely leaving hers. It was clear what he was doing, after so many years of her teasing him it was suddenly his turn. With a groan she finally stood, putting her plate in the sink while Jack finally turned his attention to his half full plate. A moment later Phryne set a garment of silk and lace in the spot where her plate had been.

"Phry—" he began slowly.

"I've decided to go begin dessert on my own," she announced before disappearing down the hallway.

She would be the death of him.

His own plate remained on the table, completely forgotten as he followed her to the bedroom. The stars were aligning for them; Phryne was stripped bare, Jack down to his trousers, one long pale leg resting comfortably on either shoulder as he settled in for dessert. His mouth had just found her when—

Brrrrring Brrrrring

"You much be joking!" Phryne nearly shouted as the shrill tone of the telephone echoed through the small house.

"Sorry, Phryne," Jack managed to look apologetic but smirked as soon as his back was turned. For years the woman nearly drove him mad, it was only fair that turnabout would finally present itself.

"Constable Collins," Jack prompted the young man who seemed quite incapable of looking away from the lifeless body on the floor. The woman had been strangled and stabbed, left naked on the dining room floor in the house of a rather influential figure in the Melbourne underworld.

"Sir?" Hugh's eyes snapped up from the gruesome scene. The housekeeper who first came across the poor dear had covered the body with a white linen tablecloth. The redhead was terribly pretty, her long hair curled

"Has anyone located Mr. Caulfield yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Alan has taken refuge in his office in town," Phryne announced casually from the doorway leading from the kitchen.

"Miss Fisher, you're acquainted with Alan Caulfield?" Jack questioned, briefly wondering how this woman, who had been in his bed a mere hour ago, could still manage to surprise him.

"We've met in passing, my card found its way into his possession along the way," she shrugged.

"And he called you in to prove his innocence?"

"According to him Miss Joan Prendergast, of the Dublin Prendergast, was quite alive when she left Mr. Caulfield's bed last night. So he terribly surprised this morning when the maid called to inform him of a dead redhead in the dining room."

"I suspect Mrs. Caulfield wasn't as pleased with this development."

"As I understand it Mrs. Caulfield is currently out of town, hence her husband's guest. I trust you would like to speak with Alan?"

"Possibly the main suspect in this case given the size of the bruising around Miss Prendergast's neck? Yes, Miss Fisher, it would interest me to speak with the man before he has a chance to flee the city."

"Shall we?"

Hugh watched the pair bantering back and forth as they always had, walking towards the door. Something was different. There was a lessening of tension between his boss and Miss Fisher, a relaxed posture or softening of the eyes perhaps? Nah, it was just his imagination.

x-X-x

That's all for the Preston Affair, but The Prendergast Murder remains open…

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