“Oh,” she said, giggling. “I know Tristan. He’s a friend of a friend from London.” “Oh?” “Yeah.” Her voice was conspiratorial. “The next time he pisses you off, just say: ‘Chicken of the Sea.’ He’ll know what it means.” “Tell me!” I said, practically foaming at the mouth. “Is he allergic to fish? Is that how I bring him down?” “No, dummy, how amateur, and quite worrisome that you went straight to the option of murdering your nemesis, you psychopath. Besides, ever heard of EpiPens? Chicken of the C, the letter C, C for . . . oh well. I’ve said too much,” she said cheerfully, meaning she’d said
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