Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

“So, what’s up?” she asked. “Family issues? Are your parents okay?”

I’d already told her about the book fair cancellation, so there wasn’t much use in pretending that was what had drawn me to her restaurant hours ahead of the time I usually showed up on Sundays. “It’s Tucker,” I said, and her face went quiet.

Around us, the kitchen staff kept on doing kitcheny things. Misty, the head chef I’d greeted on my way in, kept slicing big bits of meat into smaller bits. The two seasonal hires, a middle-aged woman and a young man, both of whom I had yet to meet, continued to chop whatever it was they were chopping. Harvey placed a perfectly presented bowl of ice cream and a spoon in front of me and wafted away.

“So . . . ?” Kristen asked.

I picked up my spoon. Not so very long ago, when I was washing windows, I’d been sure I was making the correct decision. So how was it that now I was waffling? I picked up the spoon and shoved a far too big bite of sugary goodness into my mouth.

“Broke up with him,” I said through the ice cream. Speaking with my mouth full was a transgression my mother would never have tolerated, and one I did try to avoid ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, but somehow telling Kristen I’d ended a semi-long-term relationship with my mouth stuffed full of her food made it easier.

She muttered something I didn’t quite catch. “What was that?”

Kristen grinned, showing her teeth, white against the tan she’d accumulated in Key West. “I said it’s about time. You’re far too good for him and he didn’t deserve you. No, don’t go all sympathetic and say your schedule was just as wacky as his and half of the problems were your fault, because I won’t believe any of it.”

A small smile tickled one side of my face. “You won’t?”

“Not a chance. How many times did you make plans with him and then cancel? Zero, I bet, yes? Yes. And how many times did he make plans with you and then cancel? No, don’t start using your fingers and toes to count, because I’m sure you don’t have enough digits.”

“It wasn’t just that,” I said, shoveling in another bite.

“No, it was also because he thought his job was the one that counted. And that attitude was turning into whatever he wanted was what counted, whether or not it had to do with his job.”

I blinked at her. She was right and I’d never seen it. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I am the best friend ever.” She thumped herself on the chest.

Once again, she was right. If she’d told me what she really thought about Tucker, I would have gone all defensive and stuck to him just to prove her wrong. It was a part of my personality I didn’t care for, and someday I’d try harder to do something about it.

“So now you can go out with Ash Wolverson,” Kristen said. “You want me to call him, or will you?”

“Give me a couple of days, okay?” The idea didn’t sound horrible; matter of fact, it sounded quite good, but I knew that jumping out of one relationship and into another wasn’t the best idea. I pushed my bowl toward her a couple of inches. “Want some? I hear it’s the best in town.”

“Do I get my own spoon?” she asked.

“You can have mine,” I said, handing it over, “if you don’t mind sharing.”

She gave me a light elbow in the ribs. “I can share if you can share.”

I nodded and started to feel a little better. I would probably shed a few tears in the night, but between Kristen’s friendship and Eddie’s purrs, I had the feeling that I’d be smiling again soon.

• • •

“Hey, Minnie!”

My right foot had been poised to step onto the dock that led to my houseboat. Rafe’s call, however, startled me enough that I tripped on the small break between concrete sidewalk and wooden dock. I stumbled forward a few steps and saved myself from falling into the drink by grabbing a piling.

“Hey, Stumble Toes, you all right over there? Got a favor to ask you.”

I blew out a breath. There was no good reason for me to be annoyed at him—he probably hadn’t intended to surprise me—but I was still on edge about Tucker and men in general and my irritation level was close to the surface. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, walking back toward his house. When I got close, I asked, “What’s up?”

“Got a question.” He was on his front porch, waving something at me, but in the evening’s dusk, I couldn’t see what it was. “It’s a girl thing.”

“And I’m the only girl you know?” I asked, climbing up the front steps. Last summer they’d been old and weathered. Now they were solid and sturdy and freshly painted a bluish shade of gray.

“Nah.” He grinned. “You’re just the handiest one. Look at these and tell me what to do.” He held out a small rectangular stack of cardboard pieces at me.

I put my hands behind my back. “Nothing doing. No way am I going to help you choose what color to paint your house.”

“Not the whole house,” he said, fanning the samples out into a rainbow of colors. “The outside is easy. It’s the inside that’s hard.”

I squinted at him. “And you think I can help? I haven’t chosen a room color since I was eight and painted my bedroom dark green because I’d just read The Children of Green Knowe and wanted my room to match the cover of the book.”

Rafe looked at the paint samples. “Yeah? How did that turn out? I mean, that’s probably the stupidest reason I ever heard to pick a room color, but dark green might be okay, somewhere.”

My annoyance rushed back. “If you think I’m so stupid, why are you asking me anything? If you want decorating advice, talk to Holly Terpening. She’s all over paint colors.” I stomped down from the porch and was off into the night’s gloom before he could say another word.

• • •

My sleep that night was accompanied by a few tears, but by the time I woke up, I was mostly ashamed at how I’d treated Rafe. He hadn’t deserved to be on the receiving end of my little hissy fit, and I needed to tell him so.

“Would a phone call do?” I asked Eddie as I washed out our cereal bowl.

He was back to sitting on the dashboard, but he turned his head a millimeter when I asked the question.

“To apologize to Rafe,” I explained. “Can I just call? Or better yet, send him a text?”

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh and jumped to the floor. He padded the length of the kitchen, down the stairs, and into the bedroom, where he jumped up onto the bed he’d vacated five minutes before.

“Fine,” I said to the sink. “I’ll go over there at lunch.” Somehow I’d ended up with a cat who held me to the same moral code that my mother did. “Not fair,” I muttered, but then started smiling inside, because maybe it was, in fact, eminently fair.

The thought kept me amused all morning, which was good, because it was a day that needed all the amusement it could get. Recalcitrant computer programs, a water leak in the book return, and not a single response to my frantic calls for a new author to headline the book fair didn’t make for a happy Minnie.

I pushed out the door at lunchtime and sucked in a breath of fresh air. It felt so good that I pulled in two more, and then had to stop myself before I hyperventilated. Refreshed, I headed up the hill to the middle school and to Rafe’s office, where I knew he would be at his desk, eating a bologna sandwich with mustard and mayonnaise on white bread.

“When’s the last time you had anything different for lunch?” I flopped into his guest chair. “Kindergarten?”

He gave me an affronted look. “I’ll have you know that just last year I ate a turkey sandwich. Right here at this very desk.”

“Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want you to get into a rut.”