Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

Chapter 8

Dylan was appropriately fawned over by the ladies and put-’er-there’d by the men folk of the Wildoh community. With one exception — Harriet Appleton’s frown was pulled so tight her forehead looked permanently pleated. She didn’t greet the new security guard warmly. She didn’t shake his offered hand (and gave Wiggie a scathing look when he did). Harriet pointedly looked the other way.

You’d think Harriet would be delighted to learn that there was more security on the premises. After all, she was the latest victim. She should be thrilled to learn that there was someone besides Big Eddie and the ever-ready Deputy Almond to look after their interests.

Not the case.

Having already been introduced to Dylan earlier by Big Eddie, I didn’t rise with the group myself for a second introduction. But that worked well. Very well, in fact. Because from my vantage point (still at the crib table) I could watch everyone gathered in that recreation room and how they interacted with the popular new security guard.

People have no idea how much they communicate through non-verbal cues, and I’m not just talking about tone of voice or gestures. I’m talking about how close or how far they stand from others, their orientation to those in the group, their movements, posture, facial expressions. There’s so much to be learned from a lean. Surmised from a slouch. Grasped from a glance. Observed by an ogle.

And speaking of ogles….

Just as I was about to leave the rec room (it’s not that I was worried worried about my disappearing mother but I did want to know where she’d gone), Lance-a-Lot showed up again, announcing his arrival with that loud, musical truck horn of his.

Dylan was left hanging. Or rather, his hand was left hanging in mid-shake by a blue-haired lady from B Complex who made a mad dash toward the window, damned near taking Dylan out with her walker in her haste. Dylan stood there staring at the horde gathering for the Lance-a-Lot show. He looked a little bit dumbstruck, and maybe even a little bit put out.

What an ill-mannered bunch of biddies to abandon Dylan. If I wasn’t so busy elbowing my way past three grey-haired grannies, I’d have said something to them.

Fact-finding missions can be such a bitch.

Lance was at his usual full-mast attention. He gave his customary half turn with a smile. Flexing his butt cheeks for the onlookers, he made his way to the lake and dove in the water. Just like the last time, the ladies relaxed a little once he’d submerged himself, but they didn’t abandon their vigil at the window. Patiently they (okay, we) waited as he surfaced and dove, surfaced and dove. Finally, ten or twelve minutes later, Lance started making his way toward shore again, and the ladies came to full, vibrating attention. Lance emerged from the lake, the mesh bag of white golf balls he’d retrieved gleaming in the sun.

As if anyone was looking at those.

Lance drove off, giving his horn one more thrust. People then started to filter out of the recreation room, which was my cue to exit. My cue to go find Mother and see what was up.

“I don’t get it. What’s that boy got that I ain’t got?” Apparently, Big Eddie’s joke never got old. At least, not for Eddie.

Mrs. Presley and I passed Dylan on our way out the door. Grinning, she winked at him and he gave her an almost imperceptible little smile back.

“Lance-a-Lot?” He whispered, raising a questioning eyebrow.

I raised sheepish shoulders. “Dives for the balls,” I whispered back.

That eyebrow did not lower.

~*~

“I told you, Dix,” Mother said in her and-I’m-not-going-to-tell-you-again tone. “I was feeling tired. That’s it. I simply left.”

“But I didn’t see you leave. How could you have just….”

I was trying her patience. She looked at me with a hand on her hip and a tilt to her head.

I threw my hands up in resignation. “Okay. You just left.” But I couldn’t resist one long, dramatic sigh. Which of course she chose to ignore.

Katt Dodd was nothing if not mysterious. When Mrs. Presley and I had arrived back from the rec room, Mother was sitting on the sofa, tea in hand, soft music playing. I knew the tune. Love for this Desperate While, written by the late, great Peter Dodd himself.

She’d not sat for long after Mrs. P and I arrived. In fact she was up and making lunch in no time flat.

Oh, and yes, very shortly thereafter she was busy selecting my attire for the meeting with Deputy Noel Almond.

“What’s wrong with my own clothes?”

Mother looked at me as though I had three heads, and none of them were making any sense. “Come on, Dix. You can’t be serious. Wear that stuff on a date?”

“It’s not a date!” I protested.

“It’s a date.” For emphasis, she threw a black sequined halter-top at me.

Hot-potato style, I threw it back.

Okay, for the record, I am not opposed to flirty, drop-dead gorgeous clothing. Granted, my 71 year old mother had a more risqué wardrobe than I had (oh, God, even I know how bad that sounds). But still, I liked the stuff I’d brought with me to Florida (t-shirts, shorts, jeans, one blouse and skirt in case I needed to pose as a lady, Capri pants, more t-shirts).

Mrs. Presley was in the kitchen making her spicy pepperoni spaghetti — heavy on the garlic. When we’d been out shopping earlier, I’d made a quick dash in for the basics for Mother. Well, it looked like Mrs. P had dashed herself. She was making enough to feed a small army. Of course, I knew half of it would be heading Mona’s way. But like I said … army style. Yum. I loved Mrs. P’s spicy pepperoni spaghetti.

But my serving would have to wait till breakfast the next day. Not what I needed to be eating before a … non-date. Just as well, anyway. As wonderful as Mrs. P’s spicy pepperoni spaghetti is, when I eat it late at night, it’s been known to throw my sleep disorder into overdrive. Combine that and the stress of the current case, and who knows what Mother and Mrs. P would wake up to find?

Yet, I was glad she was doing the cooking right now. The last thing I needed was her and Mother both ganging up on me over my attire.

Mother held up a hot pink leather mini in her left hand, paired it with a low cut white sweater in her right. She looked at me hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

With a huff, she turned again to her over overflowing closet. “You’re not making this easy, Dix.”

Fine, I’d not packed for a date. But was this really a date date I was going on with Deputy Almond? More than likely we were heading to the nearest Starbucks and I’d be paying for my own Caffè Americano.

Was Noel Almond hot? Yes.

Flirtatious? Definitely had been.

Sexy? As hell.

Was he Dylan?

Shit.

Weirdly, strangely, oh God stupidly, I was thinking of Dylan Foreman and the other night. How could I not be? Not that it had meant anything. Not that it was going anywhere or that it should go anywhere.

So why didn’t I tell Dylan about this dinner meeting with Deputy Almond? Why hadn’t I gotten that message to him? I certainly could have, but I hadn’t.

Too damned many questions for one brain.

And let’s not forget that Deputy Almond wasn’t exactly sweet and kind to my mother. Granted, he’d intimated it was all part of the ‘plan’ to root out the real culprit, but still….

I know I complain about her, but she’s my mother. And Mother had assured me Noel’s interrogation wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. But my natural protectiveness toward her had kicked in.

“That security guard has a crush on you.” Mother was holding a blue blouse in her left hand now and smoothing her right hand over it.”

“Who? Big Eddie? Won’t Mona be jealous?”

“Don’t be funny, Dix. I’m talking about that new fellow. Dylan.”

I pffted my drink onto my chin. “You’ve got to be kidding.” I wiped my chin with the napkin she handed me. “That new guy? Dilbert?”

“Dylan.”

Well, now I was really glad Mrs. Presley was in the kitchen. She’d have had a field day.

But my interest was piqued.

The thing about my intuition … I got it from my Mother. So it was interesting that she’d picked up on this ‘supposed’ crush. Katt Dodd had a sense about these things.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” Mother continued. “Well, you’re just as observant about these things as I am, Dix. You must have seen it too.”

“I didn’t see him look over.”

“Of course he didn’t gawk. Not in any glaringly obvious way. But he glanced over at you. And these weren’t just glances. They held that second longer and went a little deeper. Every chance he got, too. And it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t a ‘where have I seen her before’ kind of look. It was one of those rare ones, Dix. That young man had that special gleam in his eyes when he looked your way. I’ve … I’ve not seen that look in a long time. But wow, when it hits, it’s magic.”

I was dumbstruck. Almost into silence. Mother still didn’t know Dylan was with me. And yes, all the time, more and more, I was feeling guilty as hell about keeping this secret from her. But it was for her own good. Especially now that Dylan had made his way onto the premises as security. Not that Mother would tell anyone on purpose. Not that she’d let the secret slip to Mona or anyone else. Probably. But for now, for her own good, it was better to let Dylan do his work without anyone else being aware of who he really was, including my mother.

Oh crap, I’d tell her as soon as I could.

“Come on, Mother,” I fished. “I’ve got to be … what? Five years older than the new security guy?”

“I’d say more like ten, Dix. Fifteen, maybe.”

Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

“But so what?” she said. “What’s a few years when it’s right? What the heck do the years matter when people fall for each other in this world?”

If she expected an answer … well, she wouldn’t be getting one.

Because I didn’t have one right then.

“Jumping the gun aren’t you a bit?” She had no way of knowing (oh God I hoped she had no way of knowing) how … close Dylan and I had gotten. How close I’d been to jumping a … gun of my own there.

“Life’s precious, baby. Life’s short. All I’m saying is we have to go for our happiness in the world. Try it. Trust it. Grab life by the balls and don’t let go.”

With that she handed me a red silk scarf.

By the time the doorbell rang, the place smelled to the ceilings of spicy pepperoni, tomato sauce, garlic and onions galore. Yes, it was wonderful. And also by the time the doorbell rang to announce the presence of the good deputy, I was dressed to the nines.

Mother style.

Sorta.

Not in the hot pink and low cuts that mother would have chosen had she had her way. We compromised. I half picked the outfit; she totally picked the shoes. I was wearing a gorgeous silk-screened tank, partly covered by a tiny, cropped Chanel-inspired jacket with a single button closure, and a pretty beige skirt that fell — thank you, Jesus — almost to the knee. Unfortunately, the only shoes I’d brought were low-heeled black ones. Mother, however, had just the answer — strappy, high-heeled Ann Klein sandals. Pale pink (to match the dominant threads in the woven jacket) and barely there.

Without the shoes, I looked kind of hip but polished. With the shoes….

Damn, I looked hot.

“I’m overdressed, Mother,” I whined behind her as she went to open the door. Mrs. P was already standing there, waiting. Wooden spoon in hand. ‘Kiss the kook’ apron tied around her twice. “Deputy Almond simply wants to discuss the case,” I said to them both. “Nothing more. Just two professionals discussing a case. This is not a date!”

Mother opened the door.

Shit! This was a date.

Deputy Noel Almond stood framed in the open doorway. The uniform was gone. No gun. No handcuffs (fur-lined or otherwise).

But my sharp PI mind did not have to take in these details to conclude that this was a date. No, the real giveaway was the box of chocolates he handed over to Mrs. Presley and the flowers he handed over to my mother. And extra flowers and chocolates, presumably for me.

Damn, that was … charming. If I were another woman, I’d probably be swooning. But (as I reminded myself) I was hard-assed Dix Dodd. Men were trouble, and I was immune to their charms.

Yep.

Even the really tall, handsome, muscular ones bearing chocolate.

Though if it was dark chocolate truffles … I could see myself slipping.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said, walking through the doorway. “Mrs. Presley, you’re looking lovely this evening. As are you, Mrs. Dodd.” He kissed firstly Mrs. P’s hand (she wiped it on her skirt).

Then he kissed my mother’s.

“Deputy,” Mother said dryly.

If Noel Almond caught the tone of my mother’s voice, he didn’t let on.

“Yes, you ladies are all looking lovely this evening.”

Well, duh, of course we were. But if he expected a titter and giggle or some fool thing like that, well he’d picked the wrong trio.

“Especially you, Dix,” he said handing me the flowers and chocolates.

I’m not one to get flustered by compliments. I snorted a half laugh. The flowers were nice — pink and white. Not too showy but not too small. And dammit, still alive even. And the chocolates … I stole a quick look. Ahhhh, dark chocolate truffles.

Knowing my black thumb, my mother quickly took the flowers from my hands. “I’ll just put these in water for you, Dix.”

“Say, Deputy,” Mrs. P said. “Got a question for you.”

Oh shit, this couldn’t be good.

Noel smiled. “What can I help you with, Mrs. Presley?” .

“Damn crosswords! I’m stuck again. I’m looking for a four letter word….”

Nope, definitely wasn’t looking good here!

“…. useful object used in construction trade.”

Noel’s forehead knit in concentration. He folded his arms across his chest and laid a manly knuckle to his chin. Then the a-ha moment. “I think you’re looking for a tool, Mrs. P.”

She tilted an ear toward him. “A what?”

“Tool,” he repeated loudly. “I said tool.”

She nodded in satisfaction.

Noel turned toward me. “Are you ready to go, Dix? I picked out a nice little French restaurant on the boardwalk. I think you’ll like it.” He held out his arm for me to take.

Oh, come on!

Play along, Dix, I silently reminded myself. The more cozy-cozy Deputy Almond felt with me, the more I could get out of him.

I took his arm. Yep. I took his strong, toned, sexy, all-man arm.

“You two have a nice time,” Mother said, politely.

I heard her and Mrs. P talking faintly as Noel walked me to the car. “Truffles, Jane?”

“Dark chocolate ones, Katt. Let’s eat them all before Dix gets back.”

Noel opened the door to his convertible. Now, I’m not one who’s easily impressed by cars. But having to go undercover in various modes of transportation from time to time, I do know a thing or two about them. I can change tires. I can check the oil, and yes, I even know how to connect booster cables without getting a shock.

And what I knew about Deputy Almond’s car was this: Number one, it was too freaking low to the ground for my dress-wearing comfort. (I’d be showing more than a little leg crawling into that baby and damned if Noel just didn’t keep holding the door open for me. And number two, this was one nice car.

Deputy Almond drove a Corvette convertible. Newer model. Custom painted. Leather seats so soft my ass just kept sinking down in it. And I thought getting in had been hard.

“You like the car?” Noel asked as he slid in behind the steering wheel.

“It’s very nice.”

Not too bad for a Deputy Sheriff’s salary.

The top was down and the warm Florida night felt nice on my skin as we drove along. Noel said the restaurant was nearby but I’m sure he took the scenic route to give me full appreciation of the city. And it was beautiful. Relaxing and calm. And the conversation was light and easy. The guy was charming. The guy was interesting.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I was kind of having fun. Fun in a professional PI, kick-ass way, you understand?

And after a fine meal and a couple drinks at the Maison Petite Colombe, well I was having even more fun.

“How was the shrimp?” Noel asked.

“Decadent.” And oh, and they had been. Broiled shrimp with herbed garlic butter. Sure as hell beat the McMeals I was used to. The burgers and fry lifestyle comes with the job. Comes with the late-night stakeouts and traveling quickly from town to town. It comes with the fast pace of the PI lifestyle. It comes with not being able to cook.

“You’ve got to try the desserts here,” Noel said. “They’re amazing.”

I had no doubt. I’d seen our waiter a few minutes ago at another table with his dessert-laden trolley. Rich éclairs, apricot tarts, chocolate mousse, tiramisu, and a dozen more confections — were displayed. These weren’t just desserts, they were works of art. Works, I had no doubt, that ran at least twenty bucks a pop.

“I’d love dessert, Noel. Thank you. But in the meantime,” I prompted. “Shall we talk about the case?” I waited a moment. No response. “Noel?” He had to have heard me.

“Just a minute, Dix.” Noel’s face took on a nostalgic appearance as he looked around the restaurant.

Yes, I’d noticed it … the last little while, Noel Almond had gotten a little more quiet. A little more subdued. Something was on his mind.

“Been a long time since I’ve been here.” He scratched a hand across his whiskered chin. His eyes took on a faraway look. “This is the place where I met her. This is where I met my Isabella.” Noel wasn’t crying. His eyes were not tearing up. But those baby blues were certainly misting over.

Isabella?

An old flame?

Was I jealous? God, no.

Miffed? Pfft! Hardly. (Heavy on the ‘pfft’, thank you very much.)

Curious? Yes of course. Curious as to why the hell men do that! Talk about old girlfriends on a date (there’s that D word again) with other women.

As if reading my mind, Noel smiled and said, “Isabella was a girl I met when I was six years old. I was six, she was eight. I came in here with my grandparents one sunny Sunday. My mother had long ago passed away, and Dad was a military man. Stationed away a good deal of the time. From the time I was six, my grandparents sort of raised me for the most part.”

“And you met Isabella when you were that young?”

“She was the first real friend I had. I was a short, dumpy kid. You know the type — big thick glasses, awkward. Tripped over my own two feet. Terrible at sports and geeky as hell. And well, with a name like mine….

He left that hanging.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Noel Almond? First it was Noel Nuts, for about ten seconds. Then it was No Nuts.”

“Th-they actually called you that?”

“Dumb, huh?”

“Oh,” I said, feeling the heat rush into my face. “Some people can just be so … immature.”

“They were just dumb. Dumb, showing off. Rude. No class. People who don’t know any better than to—”

“Okay, I get it!”

Geez, Mr. Chip on the shoulder or what? Just a name, dude! Chill! Then again, I’d sworn my mother to secrecy years ago (pinkie swear over cupcakes and Mountain Dew) as to keeping my real name a secret.

“But with Isabella I didn’t feel so alone,” Noel continued. He was staring into the candle now as if lost in his drifting thoughts. “She never teased about the way I looked. She just saw what a lonely kid I was and kind of took me under her wing. Isabella’s mother owned this place back then, and Isabella and I had free reign after school before it opened for the dinner rush. We did our homework together on a table out back. We danced on the dance floor.”

“Sounds like a good friendship.”

“It was for years and years. She was the only friend I ever had. The only one I ever needed in this lonely world of mine. Then she died. On her sixteenth birthday, Isabella was killed in a car accident.”

“I’m so sorry.”

And I was.

Buttttttttttt … I was sorry in a what-the-fuck, red flag way. My intuition was starting to niggle. I sat up straight. Something was going on here. I didn’t have a grasp on it yet, but it was near. The feeling had been fleeting, but it was real. I didn’t know what I was yet to clue in to, but holy hell, it was there. I stored that in my memory for later.

Noel did the man-tear wiping thing — the fingers to the bridge of the nose. Something-in-the-eye BS thing. He did the give-me-a-minute snort.

Oh, I’d give him a minute all right.

But if he expected a warm-fuzzy moment, well, to tell you the truth, I just don’t have it in me.

And if he was looking for consoling words … does suck it up count?

Yes, of course, I did feel bad about his lost friend. I’m not that hard-hearted. But I just wasn’t the right one if he was looking for someone to reach over and grab his hand. If he were looking for words or wisdom to make him feel better … well that waiter had seemed pretty sensitive. I was just about to excuse myself to the bathroom (I’d wait it out in there) when Noel shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been talking all night about me. I want to hear more about you.”

“Shouldn’t we be discussing the case?”

He smiled. “We’ve got plenty of time. The night is young. And I promise you, we’ll discuss the case. I just want to get to know you a little bit better. I’ve talked on and on about me. Tell me something about yourself.”

Damn. He’d hit upon my favorite subject. But still….

“Come on,” he coaxed. “One thing.”

“Okay,” I said. “I hate crosswords.”

“Now there’s an intimate detail! Does Mrs. P try to get you to yell phallic euphemisms too?”

I snorted a laugh. “Yep.” So the good deputy did know what Mrs. P had been up to.

“Seriously,” Noel’s voice lowered. “Tell me something about Dix Dodd.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Did you always want to be a private investigator?”

“God, yes. I was the kid who looked for every lost puppy. Taped half my parents’ conversations. If a friend or a boyfriend told a lie, I could catch them in it quick as a spider traps a fly. I remember when I first heard there was such a thing as a private investigator. I knew that was for me. Growing up when and where I did, that career choice wasn’t easy. Things were changing, sure, but it was still rare to see women in some professions. Private investigators were almost exclusively men. Society just wasn’t used to seeing women in that role.”

My mind drifted a moment to Jones and Associates. I was the first women they hired. I’d been flattered to be offered an apprenticeship there. Flattered and proud as hell. I really had thought I had a future there. Had worked my ass off. But I never got the real cases. Never got the juicy things, no matter how hard I worked. At the end of the day, I was never more than the office girl. As much success as I’d had since the Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen, the way I was treated at Jones and Associates still stung.

Someday, I’d sting back.

The ice clinked in the glass as I raised it to take a drink. A long one.

“But that didn’t stop you right? The fact that the field was dominated by men? That didn’t stop you from jumping in feet first.”

“Truthfully? It did stop me for a while. It’d be nice to say I went after my dreams right away, but life doesn’t always work that way. I second-guessed myself. Questioned whether or not I had what it took. Questioned whether it was worth it. Sometimes there’s a detour or two along the way in life.”

“Did your parents support your decision?”

I was leaning back in the chair at this time. Not leaning back with feet up on the table kind of thing. But leaning back comfortably. Noel crossed his arms and leaned back himself.

“Dad had passed on by this time—”

“I’m sorry.”

I waved him off with … well, a wave. Damned if I wasn’t warding off a teary-eyed moment of my own.

“Mother was fully supportive. Hell, half of what I learned … half of what I know … I probably picked up from her.”

“Was she a fingerprint expert?” Noel joked.

“No,” I chuckled. “Actually mother had an unusual career path herself.” I told Noel about Mother’s time on the road, about her being a magician’s assistant. Told him everything I’d told Dylan, except I didn’t make him think she was a stripper.

Dylan.

Wouldn’t have even thought of saying something like that to Noel. Kidding around like that with Noel.

“Your mother must have been a hoot to grow up with?”

“All of Peach’s and my friends liked her. Our birthday parties were the best. Oh, and when we got Mother in on a game of hide and seek — hell, more like when she got us in on a game — well, she always won. Hands down. Our yard wasn’t all that big. Not all that complicated. Peaches and I could never figure it out how she’d always manage to run back to the front step and yell ‘home free’ before we found her. A master of the disappearing — that was Mom.”

I was smiling as I reflected. As zany as she could and did get sometimes, it had been fun growing up with Katt Dodd for a mother. Even with Dad so sick, she’d made life fun.

That thought served to propel me back to saving her ass, as I’d come to Florida to do. “So about this case,” I began. “I’m thinking that Harriet Appleton has a gigantic stick—”

“From the sounds of it, your mother knows a lot of tricks.” The tone of Noel’s voice had noticeably changed as he interrupted. “A lot about pulling rabbits out of hats and flowers out of pockets. What about jewels from safes? Rings from jewelry boxes? What about breaking and entering?”

What the fuck? “Wait a minute. What I said was—”

“What you said was most of what you learned you learned from her. PI skills. I’m assuming you meant surveillance of empty properties, getting into and out of places other people couldn’t necessarily get into. And of course anyone who knew what to look for on a trail wouldn’t be likely to leave one behind now, would they?”

Okay, now I was pissed.

“Listen!” I snapped. “What I said, you slow-witted prick, was that Katt Dodd had been a great mother. That’s it!”

“A great mother with the skills needed to commit numerous thefts at the Wildoh and get away with them. One clever enough to, certainly. And one with the means. Hell, one with the means to commit murder and get away with it too, maybe?”

To add insult to insult (and injury if he didn’t watch himself, for I was that close to giving him a thorough ass-kicking right there) he was dialing his cell phone as he talked to me.

The fucker!

He’d used me. He’d lulled me the flowers and the candy and the aw shucks ma’am crap, and then he’d used me to set up my own mother.

Shit shit shit! The puppy dog eyes, sad tales of lost friendship. He’d totally played me. When I was supposed to be playing him!

“Smith!” he barked into the cell. “Deputy Almond here. Go ahead on the Katt Dodd arrest. The daughter confirmed her expertise. Yes, send a couple squad cars over there right now. Marked. I want sirens and lights. Let them know we’re coming. Consider her a flight risk. I want that woman in handcuffs. I’ll meet you at the station.”

He clicked the cell shut and pocketed it neatly. And he stared across the table at me.

“That’s all you got, Deputy? The praise of a first-born daughter?”

“How stupid do you think I am, Ms. Dodd?”

“Very.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“Rhetorical? Don’t say words you can’t—”

“Can’t what? Spell?”

“Can’t shove up your ass!” For emphasis I slammed my fist on the table.

He stood. “There was another theft this morning. Roger Cassidy had a diamond broach lifted. One he had bought for her granddaughter’s Christening next month in Miami. He discovered it missing this morning, right after the gathering at the Wildoh.”

“Ha! And that makes my mother the prime suspect? Simply because something’s gone missing? Wow, great detective work there.”

Noel smiled — damn him. “One of our officers found your mother’s watch at the crime scene. That makes her the prime suspect.”

Few things in this world shut me up.

That shut me up.

Deputy Almond rose. With a nod and a half wave, he signaled the waiter. From all appearances, he was already on the way to our table, but pushed the dessert cart all the faster when Almond signaled. “Yes, sir?”

“Put everything on my tab, will you, Joey? Oh, and coffee and dessert for the lady, and whatever else she wants. Or maybe she prefers another drink? She looks like she could use one, don’t you think, Joey?”

Joey was smart enough not to answer that question. “As you wish, Deputy. Anything the lady wants,” he dutifully answered.

Almond slapped him on the back before he turned to me again. “Thank you for the evening Ms. Dodd. It’s been … well, interesting. And educational.”

It took every bit of restraint I had not to get up and kick the shit out of Deputy Noel Almond right then and there. But my tingling toes were pretty determined to kick my own butt as well. He’d played me perfectly. Mirrored my posture as we’d talked. Nudging me more and more to talk about myself. Earning my trust. Chocolates and roses. Flattery (grrrrrrrrrrrr, that one stung the most).

But I’d fallen for it.

Yep, we both needed a good boot in the ass.

“There was no Isabella, was there?”

“Of course there was an Isabella. What kind of man do you take me for?”

“Swine variety.”

He feigned a hurt look. “I had a goldfish named Isabella when I was nine. Only lived a week though before it died. I flushed it down the toilet. Three times. Damn thing kept swimming back up!” Almond smirked. “Now I must be off.”

Oh Christ, people actually said that?

“Business at the station house, you understand.”

I glared at the back of Almond’s head as he headed toward the door. Despite my best efforts, it still didn’t blow up like a balloon and explode.

Damn!

“Can … can I get you anything, madam?” Joey asked, a little sympathetically and a little bit scared.

I thought for all of one millisecond. “Yes, Joey. Yes you can, as a matter of fact.”

He’d already taken a step toward the bar.

“I’ll take every dessert you have.” I stood. “Every damn one of them.”

Joey stopped mid stride and turned back to me. “I don’t think the Deputy wanted—”

Fuck what the Deputy wanted.

As quickly as I could, I started handing out desserts. There was a party of ten at a nearby table (wedding party rehearsal dinner — pity the fools). “Compliments of the Sheriff’s Department,” I said, setting the little plates down. “Here, have two.”

“Are you serious?” Bride-to-be asked (two foot hair — dead giveaway), through a forkful of pie.

“Well isn’t that nice,” a beautiful silver-haired woman said. “Thank him for me, will you, dear?”

Oh I would. Personally.

I was just about to start on another table and hand over the chocolate cheesecake when I realized, ‘am I nuts, this is chocolate cheesecake’ and I shoved two pieces instead into the over-sized purse I’d brought along (yes, I did think to grab a linen napkin from my table to wrap the cheesecake in thank you very much).

All in all, it took me no more than thirty seconds to unload the trolley completely at this and another couple nearby tables.

Shit! Thirty seconds! I had to get out of there now.

“Five bottles of your finest champagne, Joey, no ten!” I yelled. “Over to the wedding party.”

The group shouted a collective “Hurray!”

Okay, the desserts, it looked like I would be getting away with (well, they were already forked into — not much Joey could do about that now) but the champagne?

Joey’s face was growing redder by the moment. “Now I know the Deputy wouldn’t want—”

“And tip yourself thirty percent!”

Joey stood still for all of one heartbeat before he started for the bar. “Well, the Deputy did say anything the lady wanted.”

I hightailed it out of the restaurant and spotted Deputy No Nuts (yep, no freakin’ nuts in my dull-knife castrating fantasies!) just getting to his car. And in my mind all I could hear was Mrs. Presley’s chastising voice: “Give me a four letter word for this situation, Dix.”

Fuck!

“Hey, Nutless!” I yelled, not so much to make myself heard over the distance so much as to enlighten everyone in the parking lot. “You’re driving me to the station!”

Yes, I would have preferred a cab, but I couldn’t waste the precious time.

Smirking, Almond waited and opened the door for me. I yanked it out of his grip, slammed it closed, and opened it again for myself. I got in. Deputy Almond was still smiling as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Why were men such pricks? Why had I let Almond play me like that?

And oh, shit. What had my mother’s watch been doing at the crime scene?