by Norah Wilson
“I didn’t see him look over.”
“Of course he didn’t gawk. Not in any glaringly obvious way. But he glanced over at you. And these weren’t just glances. They held that second longer and went a little deeper. Every chance he got, too. And it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t a ‘where have I seen her before’ kind of look. It was one of those rare ones, Dix. That young man had that special gleam in his eyes when he looked your way. I’ve … I’ve not seen that look in a long time. But wow, when it hits, it’s magic.”
I was dumbstruck. Almost into silence. Mother still didn’t know Dylan was with me. And yes, all the time, more and more, I was feeling guilty as hell about keeping this secret from her. But it was for her own good. Especially now that Dylan had made his way onto the premises as security. Not that Mother would tell anyone on purpose. Not that she’d let the secret slip to Mona or anyone else. Probably. But for now, for her own good, it was better to let Dylan do his work without anyone else being aware of who he really was, including my mother.
Oh crap, I’d tell her as soon as I could.
“Come on, Mother,” I fished. “I’ve got to be … what? Five years older than the new security guy?”
“I’d say more like ten, Dix. Fifteen, maybe.”
Grrrrrrrrrrrr.
“But so what?” she said. “What’s a few years when it’s right? What the heck do the years matter when people fall for each other in this world?”
If she expected an answer … well, she wouldn’t be getting one.
Because I didn’t have one right then.
“Jumping the gun aren’t you a bit?” She had no way of knowing (oh God I hoped she had no way of knowing) how … close Dylan and I had gotten. How close I’d been to jumping a … gun of my own there.
“Life’s precious, baby. Life’s short. All I’m saying is we have to go for our happiness in the world. Try it. Trust it. Grab life by the balls and don’t let go.”
With that she handed me a red silk scarf.
By the time the doorbell rang, the place smelled to the ceilings of spicy pepperoni, tomato sauce, garlic and onions galore. Yes, it was wonderful. And also by the time the doorbell rang to announce the presence of the good deputy, I was dressed to the nines.
Mother style.
Sorta.
Not in the hot pink and low cuts that mother would have chosen had she had her way. We compromised. I half picked the outfit; she totally picked the shoes. I was wearing a gorgeous silk-screened tank, partly covered by a tiny, cropped Chanel-inspired jacket with a single button closure, and a pretty beige skirt that fell — thank you, Jesus — almost to the knee. Unfortunately, the only shoes I’d brought were low-heeled black ones. Mother, however, had just the answer — strappy, high-heeled Ann Klein sandals. Pale pink (to match the dominant threads in the woven jacket) and barely there.
Without the shoes, I looked kind of hip but polished. With the shoes….
Damn, I looked hot.
“I’m overdressed, Mother,” I whined behind her as she went to open the door. Mrs. P was already standing there, waiting. Wooden spoon in hand. ‘Kiss the kook’ apron tied around her twice. “Deputy Almond simply wants to discuss the case,” I said to them both. “Nothing more. Just two professionals discussing a case. This is not a date!”
Mother opened the door.
Shit! This was a date.
Deputy Noel Almond stood framed in the open doorway. The uniform was gone. No gun. No handcuffs (fur-lined or otherwise).
But my sharp PI mind did not have to take in these details to conclude that this was a date. No, the real giveaway was the box of chocolates he handed over to Mrs. Presley and the flowers he handed over to my mother. And extra flowers and chocolates, presumably for me.
Damn, that was … charming. If I were another woman, I’d probably be swooning. But (as I reminded myself) I was hard-assed Dix Dodd. Men were trouble, and I was immune to their charms.
Yep.
Even the really tall, handsome, muscular ones bearing chocolate.
Though if it was dark chocolate truffles … I could see myself slipping.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, walking through the doorway. “Mrs. Presley, you’re looking lovely this evening. As are you, Mrs. Dodd.” He kissed firstly Mrs. P’s hand (she wiped it on her skirt).
Then he kissed my mother’s.
“Deputy,” Mother said dryly.
If Noel Almond caught the tone of my mother’s voice, he didn’t let on.
“Yes, you ladies are all looking lovely this evening.”
Well, duh, of course we were. But if he expected a titter and giggle or some fool thing like that, well he’d picked the wrong trio.
“Especially you, Dix,” he said handing me the flowers and chocolates.
I’m not one to get flustered by compliments. I snorted a half laugh. The flowers were nice — pink and white. Not too showy but not too small. And dammit, still alive even. And the chocolates … I stole a quick look. Ahhhh, dark chocolate truffles.
Knowing my black thumb, my mother quickly took the flowers from my hands. “I’ll just put these in water for you, Dix.”
“Say, Deputy,” Mrs. P said. “Got a question for you.”
Oh shit, this couldn’t be good.
Noel smiled. “What can I help you with, Mrs. Presley?” .
“Damn crosswords! I’m stuck again. I’m looking for a four letter word….”
Nope, definitely wasn’t looking good here!
“…. useful object used in construction trade.”
Noel’s forehead knit in concentration. He folded his arms across his chest and laid a manly knuckle to his chin. Then the a-ha moment. “I think you’re looking for a tool, Mrs. P.”
She tilted an ear toward him. “A what?”
“Tool,” he repeated loudly. “I said tool.”
She nodded in satisfaction.
Noel turned toward me. “Are you ready to go, Dix? I picked out a nice little French restaurant on the boardwalk. I think you’ll like it.” He held out his arm for me to take.
Oh, come on!
Play along, Dix, I silently reminded myself. The more cozy-cozy Deputy Almond felt with me, the more I could get out of him.
I took his arm. Yep. I took his strong, toned, sexy, all-man arm.
“You two have a nice time,” Mother said, politely.
I heard her and Mrs. P talking faintly as Noel walked me to the car. “Truffles, Jane?”
“Dark chocolate ones, Katt. Let’s eat them all before Dix gets back.”
Noel opened the door to his convertible. Now, I’m not one who’s easily impressed by cars. But having to go undercover in various modes of transportation from time to time, I do know a thing or two about them. I can change tires. I can check the oil, and yes, I even know how to connect booster cables without getting a shock.
And what I knew about Deputy Almond’s car was this: Number one, it was too freaking low to the ground for my dress-wearing comfort. (I’d be showing more than a little leg crawling into that baby and damned if Noel just didn’t keep holding the door open for me. And number two, this was one nice car.
Deputy Almond drove a Corvette convertible. Newer model. Custom painted. Leather seats so soft my ass just kept sinking down in it. And I thought getting in had been hard.
“You like the car?” Noel asked as he slid in behind the steering wheel.
“It’s very nice.”
Not too bad for a Deputy Sheriff’s salary.
The top was down and the warm Florida night felt nice on my skin as we drove along. Noel said the restaurant was nearby but I’m sure he took the scenic route to give me full appreciation of the city. And it was beautiful. Relaxing and calm. And the conversation was light and easy. The guy was charming. The guy was interesting.
Okay, I’ll admit it. I was kind of having fun. Fun in a professional PI, kick-ass way, you understand?
And after a fine meal and a couple drinks at the Maison Peti
te Colombe, well I was having even more fun.
“How was the shrimp?” Noel asked.
“Decadent.” And oh, and they had been. Broiled shrimp with herbed garlic butter. Sure as hell beat the McMeals I was used to. The burgers and fry lifestyle comes with the job. Comes with the late-night stakeouts and traveling quickly from town to town. It comes with the fast pace of the PI lifestyle. It comes with not being able to cook.
“You’ve got to try the desserts here,” Noel said. “They’re amazing.”
I had no doubt. I’d seen our waiter a few minutes ago at another table with his dessert-laden trolley. Rich éclairs, apricot tarts, chocolate mousse, tiramisu, and a dozen more confections — were displayed. These weren’t just desserts, they were works of art. Works, I had no doubt, that ran at least twenty bucks a pop.
“I’d love dessert, Noel. Thank you. But in the meantime,” I prompted. “Shall we talk about the case?” I waited a moment. No response. “Noel?” He had to have heard me.
“Just a minute, Dix.” Noel’s face took on a nostalgic appearance as he looked around the restaurant.
Yes, I’d noticed it … the last little while, Noel Almond had gotten a little more quiet. A little more subdued. Something was on his mind.
“Been a long time since I’ve been here.” He scratched a hand across his whiskered chin. His eyes took on a faraway look. “This is the place where I met her. This is where I met my Isabella.” Noel wasn’t crying. His eyes were not tearing up. But those baby blues were certainly misting over.
Isabella?
An old flame?
Was I jealous? God, no.
Miffed? Pfft! Hardly. (Heavy on the ‘pfft’, thank you very much.)
Curious? Yes of course. Curious as to why the hell men do that! Talk about old girlfriends on a date (there’s that D word again) with other women.
As if reading my mind, Noel smiled and said, “Isabella was a girl I met when I was six years old. I was six, she was eight. I came in here with my grandparents one sunny Sunday. My mother had long ago passed away, and Dad was a military man. Stationed away a good deal of the time. From the time I was six, my grandparents sort of raised me for the most part.”
“And you met Isabella when you were that young?”
“She was the first real friend I had. I was a short, dumpy kid. You know the type — big thick glasses, awkward. Tripped over my own two feet. Terrible at sports and geeky as hell. And well, with a name like mine….
He left that hanging.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Noel Almond? First it was Noel Nuts, for about ten seconds. Then it was No Nuts.”
“Th-they actually called you that?”
“Dumb, huh?”
“Oh,” I said, feeling the heat rush into my face. “Some people can just be so … immature.”
“They were just dumb. Dumb, showing off. Rude. No class. People who don’t know any better than to—”
“Okay, I get it!”
Geez, Mr. Chip on the shoulder or what? Just a name, dude! Chill! Then again, I’d sworn my mother to secrecy years ago (pinkie swear over cupcakes and Mountain Dew) as to keeping my real name a secret.
“But with Isabella I didn’t feel so alone,” Noel continued. He was staring into the candle now as if lost in his drifting thoughts. “She never teased about the way I looked. She just saw what a lonely kid I was and kind of took me under her wing. Isabella’s mother owned this place back then, and Isabella and I had free reign after school before it opened for the dinner rush. We did our homework together on a table out back. We danced on the dance floor.”
“Sounds like a good friendship.”
“It was for years and years. She was the only friend I ever had. The only one I ever needed in this lonely world of mine. Then she died. On her sixteenth birthday, Isabella was killed in a car accident.”
“I’m so sorry.”
And I was.
Buttttttttttt … I was sorry in a what-the-fuck, red flag way. My intuition was starting to niggle. I sat up straight. Something was going on here. I didn’t have a grasp on it yet, but it was near. The feeling had been fleeting, but it was real. I didn’t know what I was yet to clue in to, but holy hell, it was there. I stored that in my memory for later.
Noel did the man-tear wiping thing — the fingers to the bridge of the nose. Something-in-the-eye BS thing. He did the give-me-a-minute snort.
Oh, I’d give him a minute all right.
But if he expected a warm-fuzzy moment, well, to tell you the truth, I just don’t have it in me.
And if he was looking for consoling words … does suck it up count?
Yes, of course, I did feel bad about his lost friend. I’m not that hard-hearted. But I just wasn’t the right one if he was looking for someone to reach over and grab his hand. If he were looking for words or wisdom to make him feel better … well that waiter had seemed pretty sensitive. I was just about to excuse myself to the bathroom (I’d wait it out in there) when Noel shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been talking all night about me. I want to hear more about you.”
“Shouldn’t we be discussing the case?”
He smiled. “We’ve got plenty of time. The night is young. And I promise you, we’ll discuss the case. I just want to get to know you a little bit better. I’ve talked on and on about me. Tell me something about yourself.”
Damn. He’d hit upon my favorite subject. But still….
“Come on,” he coaxed. “One thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I hate crosswords.”
“Now there’s an intimate detail! Does Mrs. P try to get you to yell phallic euphemisms too?”
I snorted a laugh. “Yep.” So the good deputy did know what Mrs. P had been up to.
“Seriously,” Noel’s voice lowered. “Tell me something about Dix Dodd.”
“What do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “Did you always want to be a private investigator?”
“God, yes. I was the kid who looked for every lost puppy. Taped half my parents’ conversations. If a friend or a boyfriend told a lie, I could catch them in it quick as a spider traps a fly. I remember when I first heard there was such a thing as a private investigator. I knew that was for me. Growing up when and where I did, that career choice wasn’t easy. Things were changing, sure, but it was still rare to see women in some professions. Private investigators were almost exclusively men. Society just wasn’t used to seeing women in that role.”
My mind drifted a moment to Jones and Associates. I was the first women they hired. I’d been flattered to be offered an apprenticeship there. Flattered and proud as hell. I really had thought I had a future there. Had worked my ass off. But I never got the real cases. Never got the juicy things, no matter how hard I worked. At the end of the day, I was never more than the office girl. As much success as I’d had since the Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen, the way I was treated at Jones and Associates still stung.
Someday, I’d sting back.
The ice clinked in the glass as I raised it to take a drink. A long one.
“But that didn’t stop you right? The fact that the field was dominated by men? That didn’t stop you from jumping in feet first.”
“Truthfully? It did stop me for a while. It’d be nice to say I went after my dreams right away, but life doesn’t always work that way. I second-guessed myself. Questioned whether or not I had what it took. Questioned whether it was worth it. Sometimes there’s a detour or two along the way in life.”
“Did your parents support your decision?”
I was leaning back in the chair at this time. Not leaning back with feet up on the table kind of thing. But leaning back comfortably. Noel crossed his arms and leaned back himself.
“Dad had passed on by this time—”
“I’m sorry.”
I waved him off with … well, a wave. Damned if I wasn’t warding off a teary-eyed moment of my own.
“M
other was fully supportive. Hell, half of what I learned … half of what I know … I probably picked up from her.”
“Was she a fingerprint expert?” Noel joked.
“No,” I chuckled. “Actually mother had an unusual career path herself.” I told Noel about Mother’s time on the road, about her being a magician’s assistant. Told him everything I’d told Dylan, except I didn’t make him think she was a stripper.
Dylan.
Wouldn’t have even thought of saying something like that to Noel. Kidding around like that with Noel.
“Your mother must have been a hoot to grow up with?”
“All of Peach’s and my friends liked her. Our birthday parties were the best. Oh, and when we got Mother in on a game of hide and seek — hell, more like when she got us in on a game — well, she always won. Hands down. Our yard wasn’t all that big. Not all that complicated. Peaches and I could never figure it out how she’d always manage to run back to the front step and yell ‘home free’ before we found her. A master of the disappearing — that was Mom.”
I was smiling as I reflected. As zany as she could and did get sometimes, it had been fun growing up with Katt Dodd for a mother. Even with Dad so sick, she’d made life fun.
That thought served to propel me back to saving her ass, as I’d come to Florida to do. “So about this case,” I began. “I’m thinking that Harriet Appleton has a gigantic stick—”
“From the sounds of it, your mother knows a lot of tricks.” The tone of Noel’s voice had noticeably changed as he interrupted. “A lot about pulling rabbits out of hats and flowers out of pockets. What about jewels from safes? Rings from jewelry boxes? What about breaking and entering?”
What the fuck? “Wait a minute. What I said was—”
“What you said was most of what you learned you learned from her. PI skills. I’m assuming you meant surveillance of empty properties, getting into and out of places other people couldn’t necessarily get into. And of course anyone who knew what to look for on a trail wouldn’t be likely to leave one behind now, would they?”
Okay, now I was pissed.
“Listen!” I snapped. “What I said, you slow-witted prick, was that Katt Dodd had been a great mother. That’s it!”
“A great mother with the skills needed to commit numerous thefts at the Wildoh and get away with them. One clever enough to, certainly. And one with the means. Hell, one with the means to commit murder and get away with it too, maybe?”