“The Queen is nice and cool.’’ I was taunting him. “No bugs, either. Plus, you get ice cream. Who doesn’t like ice cream?’’
“I haven’t had any dinner yet,’’ Martinez grumbled.
“There’s no bad time for ice cream. You can pretend it’s an appetizer. I’m pretty close by. I’ll head over, grab a booth, and wait for you.’’
“It’s going to take me awhile to get there,’’ he said.
“No problem. I’ll grab a Himmarshee Times to read. That should kill six or seven minutes. Then maybe I’ll ask around. See if anyone saw anything strange the night Mama found Jim Albert’s body in her convertible.’’
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.’’
“Why not? I’m good at it. How else would I have found out tonight that Emma Jean was cheating on that fiancé she cried so hard over losing?’’
I interrupted his sputtering on the other end. “Wow. My phone battery’s just about to die. See you at the Queen.’’ I immediately turned off my fully charged phone. Mama always says it’s best to leave men wanting more.
The sound of my voice brought Emma Jean’s cat out of hiding to investigate. It jumped onto the VW’s front trunk, staring at me through the windshield.
“Go on, kitty. Get off.’’ I didn’t want to scare the poor critter by starting the car. I tapped on the glass with the keys. The cat batted at the shiny silver on the other side of the windshield. Hitting nothing but glass, it looked at me accusingly—like I’d dangled fish jerky and snatched it back at the last minute. Sitting back on its haunches, it blinked luminous blue eyes.
“Don’t worry. Emma Jean will be coming home soon.’’ Did I believe the reassuring words? “We’ll take good care of you, one way or another.’’
I wondered how Mama’s Pomeranian would adjust to a feline presence. The confident way this cat acted, it wouldn’t give an inch of ground to Teensy.
“Shoo.’’ I hissed, waving my arm out the window. The cat just stared. I finally got out and lifted it from the car. “I promise, you won’t go hungry.’’ A sweat droplet rolled off the tip of my nose and plopped onto the cat’s neck. “And you definitely won’t go cold.’’
I ruffled the sweat-dampened spot on its fur. A bright red collar with rhinestones encircled the cat’s neck. No surprise, considering Emma Jean’s flashy fashion sense. Looking closer, I saw a name engraved on a silver charm shaped like a heart.
“Wila. Pretty name. Well, I may see you tomorrow.’’
I set her gently on the ground. “Take care of yourself. There are wild creatures in these parts.’’ I flashed on the feeling of being stalked by who knows what near Ollie’s pond. Just thinking about it raised the hair at the back of my neck. I slid back into the car. The cat still sat and stared.
If Wila could speak, what would she say? Would she echo my warning to her?
Be careful out there.
More than a few women turned their heads to follow Martinez’s progress through the Dairy Queen. After a pit stop to wash up in the men’s room, he was wending his way to my table. One girl even put down her plastic spoon and turned around backwards in her booth. She was drooling over the view from the rear, much to her boyfriend’s displeasure.
Martinez might have been a brooding model off the pages of GQ magazine. His filthy loafers and muck-splattered slacks detracted a bit from the effect, though.
“I see that smirk. What’s so funny?’’ He slid across from me onto a seat made of orange molded plastic. Not waiting for an answer, he launched in. “What did you mean about Emma Jean? And why the hell did you turn off your cell phone?’’
“That phone’s been giving me trouble. It died just as we were talking.’’ I was glad the phone was in Pam’s glove box, where he couldn’t check the full battery indicator. “According to Donnie Bailey’s mom, Emma Jean was running around on her fiancé. We don’t know yet who the other man was. Ice cream now; more details after.’’
He waved his hand like he was dismissing the idea of ice cream.
“C’mon, my treat.’’ I stood up. “What can I get you?’’
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a Dairy Queen.’’
I grabbed hold of the top of the booth for balance, staggering in the face of the incomprehensible. “Never? Not even once?’’
He shook his head, taking a small pad from his top pocket. He extracted a pen, and lined it up on the table, perfectly parallel to the pad’s right side.
“Are you going to take my confession? I’ll admit it: I eat too much ice cream.’’
There was a tiny shift in his frown. It might have been the start of a smile. Hard to tell.
I returned with two small hot fudge sundaes—no sense in spoiling dinner with large ones—and plenty of napkins. He was studying framed posters of frozen treats on the wall above our booth. Meanwhile, his real-life sundae was starting to melt.
“You need to get started on that.’’ I spoke around a mouthful of sundae. “The hot fudge will moosh up the ice cream and make a mess.’’
He looked at the towering creation like he didn’t know where to start. “Did you intentionally ask them to empty the whole can of whipped cream onto the top?’’
“Worried about your figure?’’
He ran a hand over his flat stomach. My fingers tingled as I imagined my own hand resting there. I clutched the sundae spoon tighter.
“Actually, I’ve lost weight since I came here,’’ Martinez said. “I miss Abuela’s cooking.’’
“Was Abuela your girlfriend?’’
He laughed and settled for plucking the cherry off the top of the sundae. “It means ‘Grandmother’ in Spanish. She’s eighty-nine and still going strong; stands at the stove for hours every day.’’ He got a dreamy look on his face as he chewed on the cherry. “Picadillo to die for. Arroz con pollo. Plátanos.’’
“Say what?’’
“Some of my abuela’s specialties: Ground-up beef; rice with chicken; plantains, which look like bananas.’’ He put his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You’ve never had Cuban food? You’ve really led a sheltered life, haven’t you?’’
“No more so than you. How could you have missed all this?’’ I spread my arms, encompassing the brown tiled floor, the plastic trays, and the tinny voices of customers in the drive-thru microphone as they tried to decide what they wanted.