“Cole, when some people grow older, their bones are more fragile,” Bree told him. “I’ve also heard that they’re more prone to infection.”
“You didn’t know Elsie. No germ would dare take her on. It would lose.”
“I’m not arguing.” She settled the phone in a comfortable position between her chin and shoulder. Once it felt secure, she snagged a bottle of body lotion that smelled like vanilla. She poured a healthy dollop into her palm and began smoothing the rich lotion down her leg. “I’m merely playing devil’s advocate.” She began rubbing lotion into her other leg. She again heard the rustle of sheets from his end. The question of what he wore to bed entered her mind. She ruthlessly pushed it out before mental images started to take over.
“But you still feel the deaths weren’t what they’re reported to be?” His voice dropped to a murmur.
Bree rubbed lotion into her arms. The spicy fragrance of vanilla filled her nostrils. “Yes, I do.” Automatically her voice lowered to a throaty purr.
Maybe it was the late hour. Or the fact she was in bed. She didn’t know the man very well, but right then, she felt as if they were sharing something intimate. She sat up straighter and threw back her shoulders.
“I just wanted you to know I read the reports and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do some double-checking.” She sought to put distance between them by giving off official vibes. “I think what happened was people tended to look at the deceased as being of an age where it wouldn’t be a surprise if they died—for one reason or another.”
“But it happens,” he pressed.
“Yes, sad to say, it happens. And as I said, I’ll see what I can do.”
“And I thank you for that. Good night, Fitzpatrick.”
She heard the soft click, then listened to the steady hum of a disconnected line.
“Damn him,” she muttered, clicking the button and setting the phone back in its cradle. “I was supposed to hang up first.”
Jinx lifted his head and uttered a soft whine.
“Not you,” she assured the dog, who was lying quietly on his spot in the hallway. “You’re one of the very few males I can trust. He’s one of the many males who likes to mess up a woman’s life.”
Jinx plopped back down and closed his eyes.
Bree tossed the extra pillow to one side and slid all the way under the covers. She didn’t care that she hadn’t picked up the papers or that they were falling to the floor. The late hour had finally caught up with her, and she knew she would be asleep within three minutes.
Then why was it more than an hour before she finally fell asleep?
“Nice article, Detective,” a man called out as Bree walked down the sidewalk. He gave her a wink.
“Thank you.” She could feel her face turning red.
It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned the article Cole had written about her.
When Bree saw her picture on the front page of the paper and began reading the article, she’d assumed it would be a straightforward piece on the new cop in town.
What she forgot was that Cole Becker was the author.
While he’d detailed her qualifications as a law enforcement officer, he’d also brought up her single status.
Response at the station ranged from positive to pointed comments as to whether she was there as a detective or sex symbol. She thanked people for the former and ignored the latter.
She hadn’t intended to use her lunch hour to run errands, but she wanted some time outside after spending the morning finishing up paperwork. Picking up coffee was at the top of her list of things to do. Irene told her the best place was the Coffee Spot.
She easily found the shop and entered.
“I’m just taking a wild guess here, but I bet you’re our token female detective,” the woman standing behind an old-fashioned wood counter said in greeting. While the shop displayed the look of another era, the espresso maker, coffee bean grinders and trio of coffeepots kept it firmly planted in the present. The owner looked chic with her tan suede skirt ending several inches above her knees and a russet knit top that could have been painted on her lean torso. Her long nails and lips matched her top.
The rich music of Tchaikovsky seemed appropriate for the surroundings.
Bree paused long enough to breathe in the rich aromas of coffee and baked goods. Her mouth watered even as her brain warned her the treats might taste wonderful but they would only end up on her hips.
“And here I thought it would be easy to stop in and pick up a pound of coffee,” she said, examining the glass containers holding a large variety of coffee beans. “I’m in coffee heaven.”
“Coffee heaven. I wish I’d thought of that for the name of my store. Honey, no one comes in here for just a pound of coffee.” The proprietress walked over to one of the pots, poured some of the dark liquid into a mug and brought it to the counter. Along the way, she placed a rich-looking pastry topped with chocolate curls on a plate. She set both on the counter. “Welcome to Warm Springs. I’m Greta Watson, owner, clerk and cleaning woman for the Coffee Spot.”
Bree eyed the pastry filled with rich custard. “I’m not so sure I should accept.”
“It’s not a bribe,” she assured her. “I do this for everyone new to town. I find it’s the best way to advertise that I carry the best coffees and pastries you’ll ever find.”
Bree picked up the pastry and nibbled. The combination of flaky pastry, custard and chocolate seduced her tastebuds. A sip of coffee, a rich French Roast, turned out to be a perfect balance.
“I think I’m in love,” she moaned, setting the pastry back on the plate, which had an old-fashioned design in keeping with the store’s decor. Bree felt this was a place where one could come in and be soothed by music and chocolate. The coffee was turning into a nice added touch.
“Of course you are,” Greta said confidently. “The Coffee Spot is known for its goodies.”
Bree finished the pastry in record time and wiped her fingers on a napkin before she did the unthinkable and licked them clean.
“What kind of coffee are you looking for?” Greta asked.
“What I thought about and what I’m seeing here says I’ll be getting something entirely different than I’d planned,” Bree confessed, reading the labels. “French Vanilla sounds perfect for breakfast. What’s Holiday Treat?”
“Cinnamon, a little clove. It’s pretty much considered a Christmas coffee,” Greta replied. “A lot of my customers like it all year round, so I’m now carrying it all the time. Chocolate coffee for those special days when we can’t get enough of it.” She lifted a delicately arched brow. “You name it, I either have it or know where I can get it.”
Bree chuckled. “Sounds like a drug dealer I once met. Throw in a half pound of the Holiday Treat, too.”
“Whole bean or do you need it ground?” She began scooping beans onto a scale.
“Whole bean.” Bree began exploring the back of the store, studying coffee cups that ran the gamut from delicate designs that wouldn’t look out of place in a formal dining room to the large and functional for serious coffee addicts. “I wonder if they’d mind my working out of here,” she murmured.
“I’d never complain.” Greta grinned as she poured a cup of coffee and lifted it to her lips. “All those lovely coffee drinkers in town have me using a lot of black ink in my books. So what do you think of our fair community? How are your kids settling in? Most especially what do you think of Cole? Although, knowing how he can be, you’d probably want to take the Fifth.”
Bree laughed at Greta’s last sentence and prudently ignored it. “Warm Springs seems like a lovely town. The jury’s still out as far as the kids are concerned.”
Greta nodded knowingly. “Still not enough amusements. Mainly no mall close enough to use as a hangout. Understandable. I heard your oldest son is hot looking, your daughter has cute clothes but an attitude—” her expression silently apologized for the statement “
—and your youngest is very polite.”
“They weren’t happy about the move,” Bree explained.
“Considering the large number of senior citizens in the area, we do offer lots of sports activities for the kids. But it must be difficult when they’re used to having so much more around them. There are times when I get antsy for some nightlife. That’s when I close up the shop for a couple days and drive into San Diego or one of the beach cities for some fun.”
“I would think your customers go into major withdrawal when you’re gone,” Bree commented.
“No, it just makes them buy more when I get back.” She secured the bags and smoothed on each a black-and-gold label with graceful script stating the coffee’s flavor. “Bless their little caffeine-addicted hearts.”
Bree walked up to the counter and pulled out her wallet.
“I’ll put you in our coffee club. You receive a free pound for every ten pounds you purchase,” Greta explained, punching in keys on her register.
“Sounds like a plan. How did you end up in Warm Springs?” Bree asked.
“I married the former mayor five years ago,” she replied. “He already lived out here and I thought it would be a nice place to open a coffee store. Luckily, it’s done well from the beginning. Liam passed away two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bree said sincerely.
“He was only fifty when he died,” she told her. “Poor man was hospitalized when his flu took a turn for the worse. There were complications.” Her smile dimmed a bit. “Liam was a wonderful man.”
Bree nodded, understanding that kind of pain.
“I needed something to keep me busy after he was gone,” Greta said, smiling as if she read her thoughts. “Liam had owned one of those small companies that larger ones like to buy. He made a tidy fortune and decided to retire. He was very active in charity work before he died.”
“But you needed more,” Bree guessed.
Greta nodded. “Very much so. They kept me on their mailing lists. And invite me to their lovely formal functions. They probably hope I’ll put them in my will,” she confessed with a twinkle in her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter. “Stop by here or the Shear Desire if you want the latest gossip,” she advised, also naming one of the town’s hair salons.
“Maybe I should take notes so I can keep everything straight,” Bree said with a poker face.
“Whatever works.”
As Bree later left the Coffee Spot, she knew she had met someone who could easily turn into a friend.
While putting her purchases in her vehicle, she straightened up when she noticed the German shepherd’s alert posture.
“So that’s your partner.”
She turned around to find Cole standing on the sidewalk. She blamed the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach on the aftereffects of the chocolate-and-custard pastry she’d consumed.
“Don’t you ever work?” she asked.
He looked around him. “I run a newspaper, which means I write about the people in the area. The best way to find out news is to walk around town.” He jerked his head in her direction. “Do I get an introduction?”
“As long as you don’t try to pet him. Jinx, Cole. Cole, Jinx.”
“Jinx?”
“He was born on Friday the thirteenth.” Bree leaned against the door. “What’s your excuse?”
His smile may have been slow in coming but was no less devastating. “I’ve got one better. I was born February 29.”
“Ah, a leap year baby. Women would love that birthday because they’d only count those years.”
“Greta give you one of her killer pastries?” he asked out of the blue, while keeping his eyes firmly focused on her face.
Bree couldn’t remember a man so intent on her.
“Yes, why?” she asked warily.
Cole stepped forward until he stood right in front of her. The scent of soap and man filled her nostrils.
“Because you have a chocolate smudge right—” he used his forefinger to touch a corner of her mouth “—here.”
Bree’s mouth dried up like the Sahara as she watched him put the chocolate dot into his mouth.
“I could have taken care of it with a moistened towelette,” she said once she finally regained her voice.
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Wouldn’t have done the job as well as I could,” he murmured. “Time to give up and have dinner with me.”
This was familiar ground to her. As long as she kept her mind on delivering a firm “no” she would be just fine.
“I am a widow with three children,” she answered. “I don’t have time to go out.”
“Sure, you do,” he said, undeterred. “Just because you’re a widow and a mother doesn’t mean you can’t go out with a grown-up every so often. Believe me, that’s all it would be.”
“How considerate of you to let me know how things would be,” she mocked.
He shrugged. “That’s me. Considerate to the core. So how about dinner tonight?”
“As the saying goes, Becker, when pigs fly.”
He looked upward and past her. His broad grin was her first warning. Her second was watching the slow ascent of his hand, the forefinger pointing upward. Feeling as if she was moving in slow motion, she turned around and tipped her head back.
A biplane flew overhead with a banner flapping behind it.
No matter how many times she told herself what she saw was a mistake, she knew it wasn’t.
The banner was bright pink and shaped like a smiling pig. The message You’ll Go Hog Wild Over Allie’s Country-style Bacon was tacked onto the pig’s tail.
“Damn, I should have said not until hell freezes over,” she muttered as she turned back around.
Cole looked a little too victorious. “What a world we live in,” he murmured. “Did you ever think we’d see a flying pig?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you set me up,” Bree said evenly.
“Maybe someone’s on my side.” He tipped his head to one side, looking too engaging for her peace of mind.
“Tomorrow night, dinner at my house, six-thirty,” she said before she could rethink her invitation. “Take it or leave it.”
Cole nodded and started to move off. “And maybe while we’re washing the dishes, we can discuss my theories.”
“Don’t push your luck, Becker,” she warned him. “You’re coming over for dinner only.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, as he ambled off.
Bree watched him walk away and knew she’d just stepped into a mess of trouble. Her hunch was confirmed when she saw Greta looking out the window with a big smile on her face. She waggled her fingers in a wave.
“You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” Bree muttered, waving back. “What he doesn’t know is dinner at my household isn’t all Beaver Cleaver nice.”
What she didn’t see was another pair of eyes watching her. They weren’t amused one bit.
“You’re dating?”
Bree winced at the strident sound of Sara’s voice.
“This is not a date,” she said for what she believed was the hundredth time. “Mr. Becker is merely coming over for dinner.”
“He’s a man and you’re a woman,” her stepdaughter said stubbornly. “You’re both single. That means a date.”
“Not with you three chaperoning.”
Sara fixed her with a look that informed her she was not pleased with her comeback. “How can you do this?” she hissed, her body quivering with indignation.
Bree took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Sara, you will be polite to Mr. Becker and that is all I’m saying on the subject. Now where is Cody?”
“Out in his precious tree house. Did you know he put a sign on it saying Everyone Keep Out?”
“He needs something he can call his own. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want to climb up that tree.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
“Why
can’t you lay off him for more than five minutes?” David demanded of his sister as he entered the kitchen. Before he realized it was a bad idea, he was put to work slicing Italian bread into thick slices and covering them with butter and garlic. “The kid isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s outside playing and staying out of our hair.”
“I’m glad to see the two of you keep an eye on him,” Bree said sarcastically, opening the oven door to check on the lasagna. “David, once you finish the bread, please call Cody inside so he can get cleaned up.”
David slid open the patio door leading to the backyard. “Cody, get in here for dinner!”
Bree resisted the urge to cover her ears. “Thank you, David. I would have had to use a bullhorn to get the same effect.”
“He’s coming,” he said, not picking up on her sarcasm.
“I won’t like him,” Sara insisted, blending ingredients for salad dressing.
“Then don’t.” Bree started to smile, then masked it before it bloomed.
Cole would never know what hit him.
Never date a woman with kids.
That was a rule Cole had adhered to from the time he started meeting single mothers. They had to worry about finding a baby-sitter. A simple sneeze could cancel a date. Kids looked at him as if he was either their next daddy or the devil incarnate. Even worse, there was no privacy at the lady’s house when it came to some fun and games.
The Fitzpatrick kids belonged in an entirely new category.
David, the oldest, looked at him as if he knew every one of Cole’s secrets. Sara smiled and was polite, but a little aloof. Cody, the youngest, who had his mother’s eyes, looked at him curiously, as if Cole was some alien being to figure out.
Jinx looked at him as if he was to be the main course—for the dog.
“Mr. Becker owns and runs the newspaper in town,” Bree said as she introduced him to the trio.
“You’re the one who wrote the article about our mom,” Sara announced with her usual dramatic flourish.
“Drama queen,” David muttered under his breath, earning a warning look from his mother.
Small-Town Secrets Page 9