Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel
Page 28
“I thought we were just going to do hot dogs.” She peered into a smaller, separate sack. “Candles?” she said, astonished. “We’ve never had candles when we barbecue.”
“We do tonight.” Mitch busied himself getting the gas barbecue grill started, but he seemed uncharacteristically jittery.
He pushed a wrong button, and it took him three tries to get the grill going. He dropped a steak and had to take it inside to wash it off. He accidentally bumped into the sparkling juice Cate had just opened, and only her quick grab saved it from a crash to the concrete patio.
Cate went inside for plates and silverware and paper napkins. Octavia didn’t often want to go outside, but tonight she followed Cate out to the patio. There, she found Clancy under the table and snuggled up beside him.
But a feeling like a lump of moldy garlic bread clumped inside Cate as she watched Mitch put the steaks on the grill. She’d figured out why he was so jittery. He’d set up this candlelight and steak dinner as a break-it-to-her-easy backdrop for the news he was about to drop on her. He was leaving Eugene as soon as the transition period was over.
It’s been great knowing you, Cate. Let’s keep in touch.
But he was nervous about dumping that on her. What did he think, that she’d break into hysterical tears or have a hissy fit, complete with steak-knife attack and a cannoli jammed up his nose?
No way. She might cry later, but for now she’d be the epitome of grace and poise. Although she’d really have to work at it, she realized when she found herself jamming a carrot stick instead of a spoon into the macaroni salad.
Okay, she wasn’t going to let him do it this sneaky way. He was arranging and lighting the candles now. She determinedly made her tone conversational rather than confrontational, but she finally asked the question directly.
“Have you decided yet which job you’re going to take after the transition period ends?”
“Well, uh—”
Clancy’s back thumped against the underside of the table when he suddenly jumped to his feet. Octavia yowled indignantly and raced for the back door. Clancy streaked across the yard, barking as if he were after a band of outlaws.
The table jiggled when Clancy hit it. The candle Mitch had just lit fell over. It landed in the paper napkins. Flame flared. It caught the sleeve of Mitch’s shirt. He yelped and clamped a hand over the flame. It flared around his fingers.
Cate grabbed the closest available form of fire extinguisher. She dumped sparkling apple juice on his shirt and hand and candles.
“There,” she said. “No harm done—”
Clancy’s bark suddenly went silent. Then a small yelp. Then …
The Smell.
Oh, the SMELL.
“Skunk,” Cate gasped.
Mitch raced across the yard to the back fence. The skunk was still holding its ground. White stripe down its back. Tail arched. Clancy rolling on the ground and making whimpery noises.
Mitch grabbed him and pulled him back over to the patio area. The skunk faded into the night, but the smell came with Clancy.
“I’ll get the hose and we can wash him off,” Cate said.
“We need shampoo too.”
Cate got a bottle of her gardenia-scented shampoo, and together they washed Clancy, sudsing him from floppy ears to skinny tail. Sudsing themselves too. Finally she turned off the hose. Clancy wagged his tail. If any scent of gardenia clung to him, it was overpowered by the stronger smell of skunk.
“I’ve heard tomato juice will work,” Mitch said.
Cate went to the kitchen. She returned with a bottle. “I didn’t have any tomato juice,” she apologized. “But here’s a bottle of ketchup.”
So they doused Clancy with ketchup and washed him again.
By that time, another scent had joined the wet dog and skunk/ketchup blend. Burned steak.
Mitch let go of Clancy and ran to the grill. Too late. Blackened leather was all that remained.
Mitch turned off the burner, and they both surveyed the scene. Burned steak. Empty bottle of sparkling juice. Dead candles. Wet, smelly dog. Wet, smelly people.
Mitch plopped onto a bench at the picnic table. “This isn’t what I had in mind,” he muttered.
“You never did answer my question.”
“What question?”
She picked up an olive and tried to make her tone casual. “About what you’re going to do when the transition period ends.”
“I’m coming out of this with a rather respectable chunk of money. I was waiting until I knew how much there’d be after taxes.”
“You should have plenty for making a new start, then.”
He looked at her as if puzzled by her suddenly tart tone. “So I’ve been thinking. How would you feel about my buying into Kinkaid Investigations?”
The question was so not what Cate expected that she choked on the olive. He jumped up and patted her on the back.
“And you’d become a private investigator?” she asked when she could finally speak.
“That’s what I had in mind.”
“But you hate my being a PI! Why would you even consider being one?”
“I don’t hate it,” he protested. “I’ve had my doubts, sure. But it seems to be a part of you.”
“Like a big ugly wart on my nose?”
“That’s a rather crude way to put it.”
“But it’s there. Being a PI is a part of me.”
“I realize that. I figured it was time to go along with that old saying, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. I think my computer skills could be useful in the PI business. And I’ve had a little PI experience helping you.”
Oh yes, Mitch had computer skills. And she had to admit he’d been helpful.
“And I see PI work as a worthwhile way to use those computer skills,” he added.
“You’re serious about this?”
“Quite serious.”
Cautiously, she gave the possibility further thought. A two-person company could accomplish much more than a one-person one. It would make surveillance work easier. They could back each other up in tense situations. A big influx of money would make it possible to open a professional office downtown. And there was Mitch’s expertise with a computer.
But.
“You’d be like I was with Uncle Joe and Belmont Investigations. You’d have to be my assistant.”
Mitch nodded. “I can live with that until I get my own license. Then we’d be partners.”
Partners. She saw another problem.
“I suppose you’d want a name change. Kinkaid and Berenski Investigations?”
“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Surely you aren’t thinking Berenski and Kinkaid!”
“Actually, I thought Berenski and Berenski would be nice.”
“Berenski and Berenski?” she repeated blankly.
He groaned. “I tried to do this romantic setting. Great food. Candlelight. Sparkling drinks.”
“For a business proposition?”
“For a proposal! A marriage proposal. Mr. and Mrs. Berenski. Instead … this.”
His wave of hand took in ruined steaks, dead candles, empty sparkling juice, wet dog, wet Cate, wet self. He reached over and wiped something off her ear.
Cate looked at the blob on his fingertip. Ketchup.
“I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of it,” he said. “I’ve never done a proposal before. And I sure never intended washing a dog in ketchup as a centerpiece of the evening.”
Cate swallowed. “The candles were a really nice touch.”
He looked at his burned sleeve. “Thank you.”
“The sparkling juice and steaks too.” She took a deep breath. “Except I’ve never heard any actual marriage proposal.”
He looked surprised. “I love you, Cate Kinkaid,” he said almost fiercely. He dropped to a knee in front of her. “Will you marry me? As soon as possible.”
“The knee is a great touch.”
“Thank
you.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Berenski? I like it. I like Berenski and Berenski Investigations too. Let’s do it!”
Clancy came out from under the table and shook water all over both of them before he plopped down at their feet. Octavia padded over and started washing him industriously.
“Now you’ll be around when the garden starts producing,” Cate said. “Hey, maybe you’re marrying me for my carrots.”
“Whatever.”
He pulled her to her feet and kissed her. Two wet people. One wet dog. One dog-washing cat.
One great kiss.
Hey, Lord, you did it, didn’t you! Whatever plans we make, you have better ones.
With a proposal like this, Cate could hardly wait for the wedding.
Lorena McCourtney is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of dozens of novels, including Invisible (which won the Daphne du Maurier Award from Romance Writers of America), In Plain Sight, On the Run, Stranded, and Dying to Read. She resides in Grants Pass, Oregon.
Website: www.bakerpublishinggroup.com/revell/newsletters-signup
Twitter: RevellBooks
Facebook: Revell