Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply

by Wendy Delaney

I could handle a little drool, especially when the jaws it hung from weren’t wrapped around my ankle.

  “Good boy!” She turned to me. “We’re working on obedience training.”

  Not hard enough.

  I forced a smile and took a sip of bitter tea.

  Mrs. Divine took a seat on the love seat opposite me and set her cup on the coffee table between us. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I really can’t stay.” I added my cup to the table. “I just wanted to stop and say hello.”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. I’ll call him on his cell,” she said, pushing away from the love seat. “Then, you two—”

  “Please don’t.” Really. As I edged my way to the front door, Bruno growled like someone was absconding with his dinner. “I’m heading south for the ferry, so I’ll look him up later this afternoon.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but—”

  “It would be great to get together with Wesley, too. Do you know if he’s still living in the area?”

  Mrs. Divine pursed her lips. “You have been out of touch. Wesley’s in jail.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the background check I’d run, Jackson Divine seemed squeaky clean on paper. Stir in the facts that he had changed his name, worked where he could prey on the affections of elderly women, hung out at a knife fight that placed him in the vicinity of a murder, and had a best buddy serving eight months in the county jail for selling anabolic steroids to high school kids, and Jake seemed considerably less than divine.

  When I returned to my desk, I ran a records check on Wesley Straitham. The former high school athlete turned steroids dealer had been a houseguest of the county since June. He’d also had prior possession charges that had landed him in jail for several days at a time. None of which overlapped with any date of death for anyone on my victims list.

  I leaned back in my chair and reviewed all the notes I’d scribbled for the last two hours. I had five suspicious deaths, four with strong family connections to the senior center where a matchmaking Virginia Straitham and Jake Divine had a personal and professional connection, and both had a personal relationship with Wesley Straitham, who had drug connections.

  Since the biggest threat I could pose to anyone was to yell ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’ I needed a big cop with a big gun.

  My favorite cop had already told me that he was otherwise engaged tonight, but he had to come home sometime. Fortunately, my grandfather’s den made the perfect stakeout location for Steve’s driveway.

  Despite a less than stellar first day on my diet, my stomach was growling, and I had a few hours to kill, so I tucked my note pad into my tote and headed for my car with a choice to make. I could go home to the possible fate of having to make polite dinner table conversation with my biology teacher, or I could go to Duke’s to glean the latest gossip and get a free meal.

  Some decisions aren’t that tough.

  Five minutes later, I walked in on the big mouth bass serenading a young Japanese tourist with the last tinny chorus of Don’t Worry, Be Happy. The giggly girl wanted me to take a picture of her with the plastic fish. I didn’t mind obliging. It felt like the most normal thing I’d done all day.

  Hector, Duke’s night cook for the last eleven years, was behind the grill. “Hey, sweet thing,” he said, lifting his silver streaked goatee in a chin salute.

  Since Hector Avocato was happily married with six granddaughters and I welcomed the distraction of some harmless flirtation, I didn’t tell him where he could stick his sweet thing.

  I plopped down on a barstool near the grill. “How’s life, Hector?”

  “Life is beau-ti-ful,” he said, emphasizing every syllable. “Just like you, mi querida.”

  I blew out a breath, feeling like every ounce of frustration of the last week and a half had burrowed into my aching shoulder muscles. “You’re very good for my ego.”

  He winked. “I know how to treat my women.”

  Most of his women were under the age of ten.

  I stared at the burger patties sizzling on the grill and thought about the grams of fat in each greasy one.

  Damn, I hated that I cared.

  He flipped one of the patties. “You hungry?”

  “I’ll make myself a salad in a minute.” As soon as I mustered up enough energy to move.

  The silver bell over the door jingled, and I peered through the cutout window, half-hoping I’d see Steve. Instead, I met the gaze of Kyle Cardinale.

  He arched his eyebrows in surprise and then gave me a little two fingered wave—not exactly an invitation to join him for a cup of coffee, but I’d been flying without a net most of the day. Why stop now?

  I grabbed a couple of mugs and carried a carafe to where he sat alone at the counter. “Coffee?”

  He nodded. “What are you doing here? Moonlighting?”

  “I help Duke out from time to time.” And have most of my meals here when my mother was in town.

  While I filled our cups, I admired how his black henley showcased the broad shoulders his white lab coat had been hiding. Very fine shoulders.

  “What?” he asked with a quizzical smile.

  “I haven’t seen you out of uniform before.”

  “Hope I’m not disappointing you.” He winked—the second man who had playfully winked at me tonight.

  I was fairly certain that Kyle didn’t have six granddaughters, and nothing about the way he’d been looking at me since the day we’d met felt like harmless flirtation. Maybe it was time to lift my ban on Italians.

  I rested my elbows on the counter, locking gazes with him. “Trust me, I’m not disappointed.”

  I’d just lobbed the ball into his court, an easy set up line to gauge his interest.

  Instead of keeping the volley going, Kyle’s gaze went to the wall clock above the big mouth bass, then he shot me an awkward smile as he reached for a menu. “I guess I should decide what I want.”

  Yeah, that would be a good idea. Clearly it wasn’t me.

  “So,” I said after I shifted my libido back into neutral. “What can I get for you?”

  “Two turkey hoagies with the works. Better hold the onions. Chips instead of fries, to go.”

  “Two? They’re pretty big.”

  Nodding, he broke eye contact. “Yeah.”

  Oh. He had ordered for two.

  I had to say something to cut through the wall of tension between us. “Going out on the boat?”

  “It’s a nice night. Good wind from the Northwest.”

  Not a bad evasive answer. He skillfully omitted any mention of his sailing partner for the evening, but it told me everything I needed to know. “Enjoy. I’ll get your order to the kitchen.”

  I picked up my coffee mug, tacked Kyle’s order to the aluminum wheel, and scampered past Hector like a rabbit beating a retreat to the nearest hole.

  “What happened?” Hector asked. “I thought the doctor was a … special friend.”

  “Well, you were wrong.” Because all my special friends appeared to have other plans with their special friends.

  I grabbed a carving knife from the wall rack and blew off some steam on a head of lettuce.

  “Ay-yi-yi! Remind me to not piss you off tonight.”

  It was too late for that.

  “You know what? Screw this.” I added the chopped lettuce to the plastic bag filled with prepared salad in the refrigerator and pointed my knife at the grill. “Will you throw another burger down for a patty melt? And I’d like extra cheese with that.”

  His eyes went to the knife. “Maybe this isn’t the time to mention it, but I thought you were on a diet.”

  “Fine! Skip the extra cheese.”

  “Mi querida, that’s not what you want.”

  “You’re right. I want that extra cheese.”

  He gently took the knife from my hand. “You need to get out of the kitchen and do something else for at least an hour.”

  “Come on, Hector. I’m hu
ngry.”

  “Since you were just waving a knife around like you’re looking for a fight, I’d say you’re also ticked off.” He pointed the blade at me. “Never eat when you’re sad, mad, or glad. That’s what I always used to tell my clients when I worked at the health club.”

  Great. All I needed was another person to help me count my calories.

  “That’s how I met Sandy.” He beamed with pride. “She’s maintained her weight for twenty-eight years.”

  Impressive but depressing. Lately, I didn’t seem capable of staying the same weight for twenty-eight hours.

  “So, believe me when I tell you—no sad, mad, or glad.”

  Right. That about covered all my waking hours so I’d be taking off these thirty pounds in no time.

  Hector set the knife in the sink. “Go take a walk to work off some of this …”

  “Pissiness?”

  “You said it, not me. It’s a beau-ti-ful evening. Go to the marina and come back when you don’t need to hurt my lettuce.”

  And look like I’m stalking another doctor? “No marina.”

  He pointed at the back door. “Go somewhere else then. Get your body moving. When you come back, if you still want a patty melt, I’ll make you a patty melt.”

  “You’re a good guy, Hector. Although right now, you’re really annoying.”

  “That’s my specialty. Annoying my women.”

  * * *

  An hour later, the top of my right big toe had a blister from where my sandal had rubbed it raw, and I had at least ten painful blocks ahead of me to get back to Duke’s—all downhill. I’d left my tote and cell phone in my kitchen locker, so calling Donna or Rox to beg a ride wasn’t an option.

  I limped my way toward Broward Park, a tree-lined green space in the residential neighborhood that used to house mill workers and their families but in recent years had given way to pricey bay view condos. The park featured a jungle gym and slide for the kids and, fortunately for me, wooden benches for the adults too tired to stand and watch them. It was after seven so the dogs in the park outnumbered the kids. I was in no mood to get chummy with any of Bruno’s cousins, so I sat my sorry ass down on a bench under the canopy of a massive Douglas fir, took off my sandals, and inspected the damage.

  After a few minutes of the sun on my face, a warm breeze fluttering through my hair, and the sound of children’s laughter in my ears, I no longer cared that one of the boats I saw sailing on Merritt Bay was Dr. Cardinale enjoying his evening away from the hospital with someone other than me.

  Maybe the reinstatement of my ban on Italians was just as well. I already had a pesky matter of five murders on my mind, and my mother didn’t seem to be leaving town anytime soon. I really didn’t need to pile on the additional aggravation of dating someone prettier than me.

  I breathed in the scent of burgers barbequing in the picnic area and my stomach growled in response. I was ten blocks away from a salad with fat free dressing or a grilled chicken breast sandwich with no mayo. Just ten blocks and one stupid blister that impaired my sustained effort at tranquility, not to mention my ability to walk without cursing in the vicinity of small children.

  Rubbing my big toe, I stared at the street and watched an old Camaro rumble by.

  Damn! That was Little Dog’s car. I could have hitched a ride to Duke’s.

  Since George was an assistant peewee football coach with Steve, that signaled the end of practice. I fastened my sandals to be ready to stick my thumb out at the next Duke’s regular who drove by.

  I didn’t have to wait long. In the distance I saw Steve’s F150 gleaming like gun metal under the slowly setting sun. I stepped to the curb, and a nanosecond later I could see that Steve had a blonde next to him in the passenger seat.

  “Great.” I started walking. With any luck he was gazing into Heather’s baby blues and didn’t notice me.

  Five seconds later, Steve pulled up to the curb, pacing me. “Need a lift?” he asked.

  I painted a smile on my face and kept moving. “No, thanks.”

  “Are you sure? You’re walking funny.”

  “Really, I’m fine.” And might have felt even better if Heather’s son, Robby, hadn’t been craning his neck at me from the crew cab like they had slowed to watch a train wreck.

  Move on. Nothing to see here.

  “Where’s your car?” Steve asked.

  “Duke’s,” I said, trying to ignore my blister.

  “So, you walked up here?”

  Some detective. I stopped in my tracks and fixed my gaze on Steve. “Yes, I went for a walk. Is that okay with you?”

  “Those aren’t exactly walking shoes.”

  “They’re very comfortable.” At least that had been true an hour ago.

  Steve narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”

  I’d take a bullet first. “Absolutely.”

  I stepped back to the sidewalk. Hoping that he’d get a clue and spare me from looking any more lame than I already did, I picked up my pace. After several painful seconds, I watched Steve turn right at the corner of the next block. Going to Heather’s house for a nice family dinner? How cozy.

  A half hour of cursing and two benches later, Duke’s kitchen screen door banged shut behind me.

  “Querida, you had a good, long walk,” Hector said with a nod of approval. “How do you feel?”

  “I’ll have my patty melt now.”

  * * *

  The second I stepped through my grandmother’s back door, my mother pounced on me like a pit bull on a pork chop. “If you have any plans for Saturday, cancel them.”

  Given how today had gone, it was a safe bet that a hot date with Kyle Cardinale wasn’t in my immediate future. “What’s Saturday?”

  She blinked at me. “Your grandmother’s eightieth birthday.”

  What kind of granddaughter was I? I’d forgotten all about it. “Are we going out to celebrate?”

  “Something much better.” She spread her arms as if she were about to break into song. “We’re having a dinner party here!”

  Since it had been over thirty years since my mother had risked losing a manicured fingernail in a kitchen, I didn’t need to guess who would be doing the cooking.

  “Mom, I have no time to prepare for a big dinner party.”

  “It’s not going to be a big elaborate thing. Your grandmother made it very clear that she doesn’t want that. We’re going to have a barbeque.”

  “We?”

  Her mouth split into a dazzling smile. “You and me and Barry!”

  Criminy. Searing flesh with Barry Ferris and my mother. Not at the top of my list of fun party ideas.

  I slipped the handle of my tote over the back of a kitchen chair, my mind racing for an escape route out of this culinary disaster zone. “It might rain. Let’s just go out to a restaurant.”

  “Nonsense, it’s supposed to be beautiful all weekend, and a private dinner party here will be much more fun.”

  “For whom?” I mumbled under my breath.

  “We can have all sorts of wonderful barbeque-y things. Some nice salmon, maybe some oysters on the half shell.”

  “Oysters? I thought you said Gram didn’t want anything elaborate.”

  Marietta’s smile vanished without a trace. “Okay. So, no oysters.” She picked up a notepad and pen from the kitchen table. “There are plenty of other yummy things we can have.”

  Looking over her shoulder, I scanned her list of yummy things, and it read like we’d be hosting a wedding reception—and it had better not be another one of hers. “How many people are coming to this soiree?”

  “I thought twelve was a perfect number,” she said, flipping the page to a short list of names—mainly family and my grandmother’s close friends. Of course, Barry Ferris was numero uno.

  “Fewer would be okay, too,” I said, reading Steve’s name at the bottom of the page. “Like eleven.”

  “Oh, no. There’s no symmetry with eleven.”

&
nbsp; A barbeque without symmetry. What was I thinking?

  “Besides,” she added. “I’ve already prepared the invitations.”

  I watched as my mother rifled through a stack of white embossed envelopes and set aside the one addressed to Barry Ferris. She handed me the rest. “If you wouldn’t mind delivering these tomorrow since we’re a little short on time.”

  I didn’t have the energy to remind Marietta that she could borrow Gram’s car and deliver her invitations herself, so I chose the path of least resistance. “Fine.”

  “One last thing. Let me give you this.” She tore out a page from her notepad and handed it to me. “It’s really just a few ideas for the menu, but that should get you started.”

  Either the fat from my patty melt had clogged the arteries to my brain or I’d lost the ability to understand my mother without the Southern accent. “Started with what?”

  “Your shopping list for the party, silly.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Planning Gram’s birthday party with Marietta was making my molars hurt, so after I changed into a pair of faded blue jeans and a navy slouch shirt, I grabbed my car keys and drove to the Red Apple Market to find my happy place with a bag of peanut M&Ms—just a small one since I was on a diet. I also grabbed a loaf of whole wheat bread. I didn’t want to look like a fat chick desperate for a candy fix.

  “That’s not dinner, is it?” Steve said, standing in line behind me.

  Shit. “No.” I glanced down at the box of Cap’n Crunch and the six-pack of Budweiser in his hands. “Is that yours?”

  I regretted the question as soon as it popped out of my mouth, especially since he was probably on his way home from Heather’s.

  A smile played at his lips. “It’s more like dessert.”

  Knowing Heather hadn’t served him dessert registered a blip on my joy meter, not that I should care.

  After an uncomfortable silence, I carried my groceries to the door and waited to find out if Steve was heading home. I needed an opportunity to tell him everything I’d learned about Jake Divine and this was as good as any.

  “How are you doing?” Steve asked as he approached, glancing down at the raw skin on my big toe.

  I should have hidden the evidence and not worn my flip flops. “It’s nothing.”