Deputy Almond watched him go and didn’t say a word until the door had swung completely shut behind Big Eddie’s retreating form. Then he turned to me, “Okay, Dix Dodd. Where’s the missing ring?”
Okay, I moved my knee away.
“Whoa, Deputy, I just got in town, remember? You think I stole that ring? Is that the way law and order works down here? Can’t solve a simple crime so you lay it on the first newcomer to wander in? What are you going to try to pin on me next? The Kennedy assassination? Maybe I’m the one who killed the Black Dahlia? Mind you, I’m a little too young to have committed those crimes, but what the hell. Are you so damned incompetent that—”
He smiled.
Crap.
“No, I don’t think you stole Harriet Appleton’s ring. Never thought it for a moment. What I think is that you’ve watched everyone in this room for the last few hours, just as I did. Maybe better than I did. You’re a trained PI, and from what I hear from my Ontario contacts, a pretty good one.”
Ontario contacts? I wanted names, numbers and a great big pack of thank you notes.
“Why the hell do you think I left you out here so long?”
“Whoops. My bad.”
Leaning back easily in his chair, he ran a hand along his lightly whiskered chin.
I bit down on the half grin (mine, not his, more’s the pity) that threatened to break through. Hell, if Deputy Noel Almond got any more relaxed, he’d be undoing his belt buckle.
I bit down harder. God, Dix, get a grip. This is the same unsmiling man who just finished grilling your mother. The man who thinks she had something to do with the disappearing jewels, if not the disappearing Frankie.
“How much did you lose to Mona Roberts in crib?”
“Six bucks.”
“She let you off easy.”
“You know her?”
“I know everyone here. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Why I’ve not solved these thefts or the matter of the missing Frankie Morell. I’m too close maybe, and that’s why I need your take on things.”
Damn, felt good to be appreciated. As did the idea that he might be keeping somewhat of an open mind about whodunnit. “Well, here’s what I think—”
He stood. “Nope, not now. I have to get some paperwork done, head back to the Appleton apartment one last time, stop by to see Big Eddie, then get to my office to type up these notes.” He waved a handful of sheets of yellow legal paper in my direction as if proving the point. “We’ll talk tomorrow — give you time to mull things over, sort out your own thoughts.”
That was weird. “You want me to come by your office?”
“No, I’ll stop by here. Say about seven. In the evening. And it would be best if we didn’t talk here. Wouldn’t want to make the residents suspicious. Wouldn’t want to blow your cover. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out to dinner somewhere.”
Okay, if this was a date, it was setting up to be the strangest date I’d ever been on. But was it a date? Or was it an interrogation? Shit!
“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be ready at seven.”
“Great, it’s a date.” He stood.
Did he mean date date? Or did he mean business date? Did I want it to be a date date?
Of course, if it were, if the attraction was mutual, surely I could use that to my advantage, or rather to Mother’s advantage.
“Looking forward to tomorrow night,” he said.
I smiled. I’d be cool, but not coy. Smart, but not sassy smart. Confident. Poised. “I’m looking forward to it to, Deputy Allman. Almond. Deputy Almond.”
Jesus Christ! I’m an idiot.
My face burned, and Almond grinned from ear to ear.
“Just call me Noel,” he offered, setting a warm hand on my shoulder. “That’s probably easiest.”
Noel. That I could handle.
With a grin, he turned and walked away. I watched him — every rippling muscle in his wonderful physique.
Yep, that I could handle.
Chapter 5
Mother tried. She really did. And I knew it was for my sake as well as Mrs. Presley’s that she kept the smile on her face. Chin up; shoulders back. That was Katt Dodd. I’d seen that smile when Dad was so sick all those years ago.
That wasn’t the smile I wanted on my mother’s face.
But when Mrs. P suggested we all go out for dinner, an invitation that under normal circumstances Mother would never decline, she put on her bravest face … and declined.
“Don’t put yourself out cooking, Katt,” Mrs. P had said. “Let’s get supper out on the town. Dix’s treat.”
“Oh, Jane, please let me cook something special. I just love to cook. We’ll go out tomorrow night.”
“Okay, but how about we head out to bingo afterward, Katt? Dix would love to drive us.”
“You know, Jane, I love bingo … but just not tonight.”
As she nudged my mother with one fun-filled suggestion after another, I could see what she was trying to do. Could see how she was trying to cheer my mother up. She didn’t really give a rat’s ass about going out this evening. Yes, she loved bingo (and she’d brought along a six pack of dabbers and three multi-colored hair bingo trolls to prove it). And yes, she did remind me of my promise — a.k.a. bribe — to take her to bingo before we left Florida. But a night out wasn’t foremost on her mind this evening. Mrs. P was simply trying to get Katt Dodd’s mind away from all her troubles.
I admired these women, and got a lump in my throat just watching the kindness between the two of them. They both tried for the other. That easily, they’d become friends. And that thoroughly and that loyally.
But that was women for you.
Speaking of loyalty, Mona Roberts called Mother repeatedly. Not to play crib this time. She first asked if we all wanted to go for a walk later on. Mother declined. She called a second time and offered to cancel her golf lesson with Big Eddie scheduled for the early evening to come over and visit. Mother insisted she not cancel.
“Hit that orange ball right across the lake, Mona!” Mother told her.
Mona called a third time, and asked Mother to put her on speakerphone.
She asked, ‘How many Harriet Appletons does it take to change a light bulb?’
None of us knew.
“Can’t be done. Even light bulbs run like hell when she says she wants to screw them.”
Yes, it was lame. It was awful. But we laughed like hell.
Mother invited Mona over for supper then. Mona accepted.
The meal was great (Mom’s cooking rivals the talents of a cordon bleu chef, whereas my cooking rivals Chef Boyardee). I couldn’t help but notice, though, that Mother scrimped on the olive oil and the cut of steaks was not the finest that she usually bought. The wine, which she’d sent me out to fetch, was passable (hey, it had a cork; that had to count for something), and as the evening went on, the conversation was lighter. Kind of fun.
On my wine run, I’d called Dylan. I needed him to check up on a few things for me. He had the equipment to do it at the Goosebump Inn, of course, He had the time. And not surprisingly, he’d already made some local connections to cash in on.