Diced

by Deany Ray

  There is was again, that word. I couldn’t look at Alex. Why did people just assume? “No, he’s not my…Oh, well, never mind.”

  “I’ve told him to follow up with his personal physician as well as an allergist.” The doctor winked at me. “Sometimes these guys get so busy that the women in their lives have to keep reminding them to take care of their health.”

  “Well, I’ll stay away from shrimp,” Alex promised him. “I prefer a nice, big steak. And if apple pie won’t hurt me, then I guess I’m good.”

  As we walked out to the parking lot, it hit me: We didn’t have a car. “I guess we need to call a cab,” I said, fumbling for my phone.

  Now that I knew Alex was okay, embarrassment had set in to replace the panic. He’d come to my home for dinner. And the dinner could have killed him. It was mortifying.

  “The cab is on the way,” I told him, hanging up the phone. The car could take us both home. His car, of course, was at my house, but we’d deal with that later.

  The breezeway was nearly empty, and the night had turned much colder. I’d had no time to grab a coat, and the dress, with its thin cotton fabric, didn’t offer much in the way of warmth.

  Suddenly, I felt the soft heaviness of a jacket wrapped around my shoulders. I glanced up at Alex.

  “You were shivering,” he said very softly. “Should we wait inside?” In his face, I saw concern. He still looked kind of wiped from the shrimp that tried to kill him, and he was worried about me?

  I shook my head. “I’m good.” The warmth was coming from a place inside of me more than from the jacket. I pulled it closer like a hug; the jacket smelled like him.

  “Well, look at us,” I said. “Last time we were here, it was me who was the patient.”

  That had been another crazy chapter in the short career of Charlie Cooper, private eye. That case had put me on the scene of an exploding van. And a worried, handsome cop had been sitting by my bed when I opened my eyes in this same hospital. He’d stayed there the whole time, staring at me so intently, like he thought that I might break. It was a favorite memory tucked into a bad one.

  However, things had gone right back to normal when I’d see him around: a little bit of teasing, a wave across the room, a warning to be careful. Mixed with daydreams about the way his hair fell softly in his eyes, the way his chest swelled in his white shirts that showed off his tan complexion.

  “That time was so much worse,” he told me now. He looked down at the pavement, sad even at the memory. “I could have lost you, Charlie.”

  Something stirred inside me. Shy, I watched the ground. “This could have been a bad one too. According to that doctor. He said you could have died. By eating dinner at my house.”

  It struck us both as funny. Laughing made him look healthier, almost like his old self. It brought more color to his face.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Some hot-shot detective you are. You’re always warning me about the dangers on the job. And then you’re almost done in by a piece of shrimp.”

  He held back a chuckle. “Assailants armed with automatic weapons? That’s the easy stuff. You got to watch those seafood platters.”

  Then he let loose with a booming laugh, and his laughter was infectious.

  “And the appetizer plate!” I said, laughing so hard at that point that I was close to tears. Now everything seemed funny. “My mother must have stacked up thirty sausage balls on that tiny plate she handed you to eat.”

  He wiped tears of laughter from his own eyes. “Your mother! She’s so sweet. But there is just no way that anyone could have eaten all of that.”

  “Well, it’s just as well, I guess, that you filled up on appetizers. Since you had to rush out during dinner.”

  That started us up once again. After his last gasp of laughter, he looked me in the eyes. “I hope your mom’s okay. I know that she feels bad. And it really was delicious, except for…”

  He found that so funny that he couldn’t even finish what he was about to say. So I finished for him. “Except for the part that almost killed you.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. That was kind of bad.”

  “My father’s famous seafood platter.”

  “Even more famous now.” He shook his head. “Etched forever in my mind.” He paused. “Hey. Speaking of absurd, how’s your business going – your technological consulting? Blown up any laptops? I keep waiting for reports of a big explosion in your part of town.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. Actually, we do have a customer, I’m sorry to report.”

  He laughed. “Do you really?”

  “Well, it was bound to happen. We didn’t think it through. We have a guy with a broken laptop and we have no idea where to even start to try to fix the thing.”

  He shook his head and looked at me with amusement. “Charlie. Charlie Cooper.”

  Hmm. I had never really liked my name until I heard him say it.

  We fell into silence, catching our breath from all the laughter. But a part of me was shaken still. “I was so afraid,” I whispered. “That you wouldn’t be okay.”

  “I know,” he told me softly. “I felt the same way last time we were here – when I thought you were hurt badly.” Gently he reached out and pushed away a strand of hair the wind had blown across my face. “Are you warm enough?” he whispered.

  Our faces were so close that I could smell his good, clean scent mixed in with his cologne. Before I could realize it, his lips were on mine, warm and lingering. I think I just melted. His lips were soft and the kiss was tender. I let out a low moan as his hand clenched my waist. He pulled back and smiled almost shyly.

  As he leaned in for another kiss, a loud group of visitors stepped out into the breezeway. A woman called out to the others in a nasally voice that filled the air around us. “Well, he’s still ornery as ever, giving the nurses fits. I guess that’s a good sign, right? That he’s getting better, like the doctor said.”

  “Where did we park the car?” another woman asked. “I feel like we’ve been here all day.”

  Alex put his hand on my back, leading me over to the side so the group could pass. The cab pulled up just then, spoiling any chances that I could feel the touch I longed for: his face next to mine, our bodies pushed together.

  As the cab traveled down the emptied streets, we sat close in the back seat. At one point, he let his hand rest softly on my own, and both of us had grown quiet. I could still feel the kiss as I looked out the window at the streets of Springston, shining in the streetlights. I let myself imagine what might have happened next if not for the interruption; if the cab had taken more time to make its way to us.

  Soon we were at my house. Alex squeezed my hand. Then he grinned sheepishly. “Well. Thank you for the dinner?”

  I smiled. “Oh, yes. It was lovely. We hope you’ll come back soon.”

  He walked me to the door before returning to the cab. Standing on the doorstep, he looked at me intently, like there was something else he was about to say. But he seemed to change his mind. He reached out to touch my cheek and straighten up my glasses, sending a shot of warmth through my whole body. “Stay out of trouble, Cooper,” he said quietly, giving me a wink. “And don’t go messing with my case.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  ***

  The next day the geriatric rock and rollers woke me up at seven. No use turning over to try to sleep some more. Although, how I would have loved to burrow underneath the covers and think about the night before: how very gently he had been as he touched his lips to mine, the way his hand felt warm against my back underneath the jacket.

  The music grew even louder, and I wondered if my mother had even slept at all. By the time I’d gone to bed, she was in a baking frenzy, putting together a basket of every kind of sweet: cupcakes, cookies, lemon bars. It was, of course, for Alex. Her heart was in the right place, but had she thought it through? Did he really want more food from the Cooper kitchen?

  Now, I, on the other hand, cookie queen that I w
as, was absolutely up for a morning lemon bar. I sampled it. Just perfect.

  My mom had also left a plate of sweets for me and the family. There was also a note to say that my dad and Brad would take the basket to that poor young man and drop off his car, too.

  My mom and I had sat up for a long time at the kitchen table once I’d made it home last night, and I’d promised her a thousand times that her dinner guest was fine. “It was no one’s fault,” I told her. “How could you have known?”

  She’d sniffled, teary eyed. “Well. I do hope that he’ll come back.”

  Sitting at my kitchen table and devouring another lemon bar, I wondered if Marge and Charlie might be awake and up for breakfast. I had a story that they’d love to hear – starring Alex and his swelling face. The best part of the evening, I’d keep to myself. For now, that was just for me.

  I sent them a text, amping up the intrigue to lure them out to breakfast. Although, I don’t think that we needed a particular reason to have breakfast out in the town.

  Meet me at Jack’s at 8? Much drama at dinner last night. Details over waffles.

  Drama made me hungry. Being broke and all, it was good that the local diner was my family’s place.

  The text did the trick, and soon I was seated with my friends at our favorite booth, with a window to the parking lot and the rising sun. It also was a table with a view of the kitchen where you might just catch a glimpse of a certain fry cook – who Marge said she was completely done with, had just about forgotten. But she always wore her lipstick when we went to Jack’s, and she always took the seat with the best view of the kitchen.

  I told them the story, complete with hand motions and imitations of my family as I acted out the scene. Marge’s eyes grew wide as she sipped her coffee. I had just described the way that Alex found his friend on speed dial and handed me the phone.

  “No way! He did not,” Marge said.

  Celeste shook her head. “I knew that you were worried about last night and that dinner. But who’d have thought it would end with an ambulance?”

  “I’m just glad that Alex is okay,” Marge said.

  “Yeah,” Celeste said. “He’s a pain in the butt, but I don’t wish him any harm.”

  As I told the story and relived the whole thing, I felt relieved once again that nothing worse happened to him.

  “That was quite a night you guys had,” Celeste said, taking a sip of her orange juice.

  “Speaking of rough nights, tonight’s another big one.” Marge cut into her waffle. “The Bumpy Cashew Bar!” she squeaked. “Are you ready, team? I have a feeling we’re gonna break this case wide open. And it all begins tonight.”

  “I’m hoping we’ll see something there,” Celeste said thoughtfully. “I’ll bet there are people at that bar who’ve spent some time with Stanley.”

  I poured more cream into my coffee. “Hey, I have an idea. Last night was really long, then I got woken up at seven by my mother’s class. And on top of all that, tonight’s a working night. So, for now, let’s do something fun, something to relax.”

  Marge squeaked so loud, I think my eardrums burst.

  That’s how we found ourselves window shopping at the mall. I found the cutest low heels that would go great with my new blouse. Next paycheck, I’d come back. (And hope they were on sale). We passed a home goods store and Celeste winked at me before she turned to Marge. “Oh, look, this store has cooking stuff. I bet they have oven mitts like the ones you loved so much at Deborah’s.”

  Marge just rolled her eyes. “That’s a bad memory right there.” She looked closer and her eyes lit up. “Let’s go in and look, though,” she said. “I bet they have a fondue set. Wouldn’t that be fun to buy?”

  “Fondue?” I asked. “What made you think of that?”

  Marge sighed. “I’m just so tired of boring dinners. I want to put my food on little sticks and dip it into cute pots filled with chocolate or with cheese. Why just eat a sandwich when you can do a thing like that?”

  “She’s got a point, I guess,” Celeste said as we walked into the store.

  It was a fun day at the mall. Marge bought the fondue maker and invited us to dinner soon. Plus, she bought cute placemats. To go with the cute pots.

  The talk of fondue made us hungry, so we stopped in at the food court for Chinese dumplings and fried rice. Then we caught a movie, a sci-fi detective flick.

  “This might give us ideas,” Marge said as the credits rolled.

  “Not really,” Celeste said with sarcasm in her voice. “Our case is kind of different. I’ll bet there’s no buried treasure that will make everything come clear and lead us straight to Stanley.”

  “And we won’t be chasing spaceships either,” I said.

  “Which is just too bad,” Marge said as she watched the screen with longing. “Don’t you just hate that?”

  ***

  The Bumpy Cashew looked ordinary. Nothing about its bland appearance would tip anybody off that it might hold the secret to Springston’s latest mystery. A long wooden bar ran along the right side and scattered wooden tables filled the center of the room. About half of them were occupied.

  I looked around the setting for anything unusual, for something out of place. Couples held hands and whispered while rowdy groups laughed loudly. Most tables held half-empty pitchers of beer and dirty plates. It wasn’t even 8 pm, but by the sound of the raucous voices, some of the Cashew patrons were on their way to being blitzed. Most of the crowd was young. Did they look like gamblers? How did gamblers look?

  Celeste grabbed my arm and talked quietly. “Okay, keep your eyes open.”

  “Yeah, let’s scope out the scene,” Marge squeaked.

  To the far right in the back, I noticed a small door. A guard was stationed right beside it. The guy was absolutely huge. I wondered if that was the back room where people went to gamble.

  “Check it out,” I whispered, nodding my head toward that door.

  “Aha.” Celeste let out a long breath.

  “We need to get in there,” Marge said.

  “First, let’s get some drinks,” I said. We had to fit in. Besides, I was still shaken from the night before. There were perks to the job, like ordering a gin and tonic. It was the only career that I could think of where drinking on the job was not only okay, but was sometimes a requirement.

  We headed to the bar, which had gotten moderately crowded.

  “Did you check out the bartender?” an older man whispered to his friend. “She’s looking mighty fine in that pink top.”

  “And she makes a mean whiskey sour.” His friend held his drink up in a toast. “She makes ‘em nice and strong.”

  While I pondered what to order, I heard a voice that sounded out of place. “What can I get you, good sir? Wait, let me take a guess. I look at you and I think I bet that man would love a really good dry martini. Such a sexy drink.”

  Marge, Celeste and I stopped in shock.

  This could not be happening.

  It was my mother.

  Chapter Ten

  Celeste stared at me, confused. “I think I hear your mom. I think she’s behind the bar.”

  “Yoo hoo! Girls!” my mother called, waving to us happily, a bottle in her hand.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked as we got closer.

  “With all the excitement, I never filled you in. I was named a winner! You remember – the contest for my cocktail class? To work at a real bar, show off the things I’ve learned. Isn’t this fabulous?”

  I could think of another word. I hoped she didn’t plan to set any drinks on fire. I didn’t want to ride in an ambulance two nights in a row. I wondered if the girls might have a sweater I could get out of the car. That tank top was too…revealing. It was bad enough she’d worn it at our house with the oldsters. But this was out in public. With patrons who weren’t too old to stay awake.

  “I’ll be with you in a second,” she said to the three of us. Then she turned into a flurry of taking orde
rs and pouring drinks and sliding them to patrons with a wide smile on her face.

  Two young guys walked up beside us to order more drinks for their table. They watched my mother, fascinated. “I wonder if she’s single,” one of them asked his friend.

  “No! She certainly is not,” I said with a forcefulness that surprised both him and me.

  Marge seemed gleeful to see my mother making magic with the bottles of all colors stocked behind the bar.

  “What drink do I look like?” she called out to my mom. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

  What I wanted was the comfort of the same old gin and tonic that I always got. I’d had it with surprises. No more surprises, please.

  My mom was everywhere. Not only did she ask Alex to our house for dinner, (shouldn’t that have been up to me?) but now she was serving drinks in the very bar where the secrets of Stanley Bickford might be hidden in a side room.

  Still, I had to admit that she made a kick-ass drink. Best gin and tonic that I’d ever had. And was I really sorry she’d engineered the evening that had ended with that kiss? Maybe mother did know best. Although the dinner could have killed the guy before he made the first move.

  However, now she was making our jobs harder on this undercover gig. Like it wasn’t bad enough trying to figure out how to get into that room where the gambling supposedly was. Of all the bars in Springston, why did they have to assign my mother to The Bumpy Cashew?

  She rushed back over to us. “It’s so good to see you girls!” she said.

  This wasn’t good. This was the opposite of good. The last thing that we wanted was attention. And as long as we were talking to the hot new lady mixing drinks, all eyes were on us. Barbara Cooper drew a crowd. It wasn’t just the tiny top that drew attention to her. She was asking people questions; she had a way of making conversation that made people feel important.

  Once we all had our drinks, I ushered Marge and Celeste further down the bar, away from all the eyes that were trained upon my mother.