Evening Bags and Executions(32)

“I’m treading lightly,” Jack said. “Last time I saw you, you were a real mess.”

“I’d just broken up with my official boyfriend,” I told him.

Jack nodded. “It’s only been a few weeks. You’re not over it.”

“Let me get this straight. Before, I wouldn’t get involved with you because I was dating Ty,” I said. “And now you won’t get involved with me because I’m not dating Ty.”

“You two aren’t finished with each other,” Jack said.

My thoughts made the jump to light speed.

Why would he say that? He hadn’t seen me, so he couldn’t possibly know how I was feeling. Did that mean he’d seen Ty? He was a client of Pike Warner. Had he come into the office? Seen Ty? Talked to him? Told him that breaking up with me was the biggest mistake of his life? That he was miserable? Pining away for me every waking moment? That we were meant to be together? That he wanted nothing more than to have me in his life again?

Sarah Covington—and her engagement ring—popped into my head, and I snapped back to reality.

“Ty and I,” I said. “We’re finished.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s too soon.”

Okay, he was making perfect sense and, really, I should have been happy he thought enough of me not to take advantage of my situation. But this was getting kind of annoying.

“Can you at least help me out with my problem?” I asked.

Jack studied me for a minute or two, and said, “I can help you with your problem.”

I guess that was the best I was going to get out of him tonight.

“So, why are you asking about Andrew Pritchard?” Jack asked.

“I need you to go see him and find out what was up with his wedding cake,” I said.

Jack’s brows drew together. “You want me to ask him about a cake?”

Obviously, Jack was concerned about having his man card revoked—or at least suspended—which I totally understood.

“Look, here’s the deal,” I said.

I explained to him how Lacy Cakes had reportedly ruined their wedding—I left out the part about my mom, which was always for the best—and that Lacy had been murdered around the time Andrew Pritchard’s new bride suddenly bolted for South America.

“So what’s this got to do with you?” Jack asked.

“It’s a silly coincidence, really,” I said. “I’d called Lacy Cakes a while back and complained about a cake and, because I happened to be the one who found Lacy murdered, the police think I killed her.”

Jack gave me a not-again eye roll.

“I’m looking for another suspect,” I told him, “since Detective Madison isn’t bothering to look.”

“What about his partner? Shuman?” Jack asked. “He’s usually the levelheaded one.”

My spirits fell.

“Things aren’t going too well for Shuman,” I said, and told him about Amanda’s murder.

“Damn . . .” Jack murmured. “I hadn’t heard anything.”

“Seems everybody is keeping it quiet,” I said. “I guess they’re worried that if word gets out that someone from the District Attorney’s office was murdered because of a prosecution, witnesses in pending cases might not be so anxious to testify.”

We were both quiet for a moment because, really, what can you say about something like that?

“I’ll talk to Pritchard,” Jack said.

He walked to my Honda. I hit the remote and he opened my door. I stood next to him for a few seconds—he was really warm and smelled awesome—then got inside. Jack watched until I drove away.

I headed home, then decided some Chinese take-out would be just the thing to end my day. As I swung into the little shopping center near my house, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID screen and saw that Eleanor was calling.

Why was she calling me at this time of night?

Why was she calling me at all?

I didn’t want to answer, but I was afraid she might tell Sheridan Adams that I wasn’t available 24-7 and I’d end up getting fired from L.A. Affairs.

“Ringo Starr,” Eleanor said, when I answered my phone. “What was his real last name?”

Oh, jeez, another Beatles pop quiz.

I hate my life.

“Uh, well, that’s a really interesting story,” I said, stalling—which I don’t know why I bothered to do since I had no clue what the correct answer was. I think it’s just part of my survival instinct.

“As I recall, Ringo changed his name,” I said, “because, well, because—”

“You don’t know, do you,” Eleanor declared.

“Well, actually—”