The Detective(8)

She threw a cucumber at me. “Shut up.”

Mom leaned her elbows on the island. “We have to do something special, Nathan.”

“Maybe we could take Noot-Noot to the circus and then out for ice cream!” my sister teased.

I laughed. “What’s on Friday?” I asked my mom.

She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

My eyebrows rose. “You just asked me what I was doing on Friday.”

She laughed and pressed her eyes shut. “Oh yes. Ha, ha.” She reached out and gripped my forearm and an earnestness flashed in her eyes that I recognized immediately.

Before she could continue, I shook my head. “No.” I knew where the conversation was headed.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand to stop her. “No, Mom,” I said again.

She tugged at my sleeve. “Come on. You’ll love her!”

“Love who?” Lara asked.

“My friend Valerie’s daughter is going to be in town this weekend from D.C. She’s a lovely creature, Nathan,” she said.

“For the hundredth time, Mom, I don’t need you fixing me up with girls.”

“Maybe boys, Mom,” Lara said with a cheeky grin.

I held up my arms in question. “What are you, twelve?”

Lara laughed and rolled her eyes. “There’s no good reason you can’t get girls on your own. We just wonder why you never do.”

“I had a date this weekend, thank you very much.” I regretted the words the instant they left my big mouth.

My mother’s eyes were so wide I thought they might pop out of her skull. “Really?”

I nodded. “With a reporter in Asheville.” I realized ‘reporter’ was a stretch.

“How’d you meet her?” Mom pressed.

“We met at a restaurant.” OK, ‘restaurant’ was a stretch as well.

Mom’s smile was so bright, I felt instantly guilty. “Well, how’d it go? Are you going to see her again?”

“No, Mom, because she doesn’t exist,” Lara said.

I glared at my sister. “She’s coming to see me this weekend.” What the hell is wrong with me? Shut up, Nate.

“Ohhhh?” Mom drew the word out into a melodic tune.

I nodded. “But don’t get your hopes up. I don’t even really know this girl.”

“Will we get to meet her?” Mom was clapping her hands together like a sea lion begging for raw fish.

“Mom!”

Lara bumped me with her hip on her way to the refrigerator. “Be careful, Nate. She’ll have you married off by dessert.”

“You’re getting married?” my ten-year-old niece, Rachel, asked. I hadn’t even realized she was in the room.

I tossed my hands in the air. “Do you see what you’ve started, Mom?” I looked at Rachel. “I’m not getting married.”

Lara lowered her voice to a snarky whisper. “Because it’s not legal in our state yet.”

I grabbed the damp dishtowel and lunged toward my sister. She squealed and ran across the kitchen, grabbing Mom by the arms and using her as a shield. “Mom, make him stop!”

Between Mom’s legs, I popped Lara in the shin with the towel. She screamed.

I pointed at her. “Take it back, Lara.”

Lara was panting, her blonde hair slung across her face. “Put it down, Nathan!”

“Take it back,” I said, twisting the towel into a whip again.

“Mom!” Lara screamed and took off running again.

As she rounded the island, I popped her square in the seat of her mom-jeans. She cried out, still laughing, and bolted from the kitchen.

When I turned back toward my mother, she was rolling her eyes. “Sometimes with the two of you, it’s like we time-warp back to the 80s.” She reached over and yanked the dishtowel out of my hands and started cleaning up the mess Lara had made of the salad.

I laughed. “I know.”

“So, tell me about my new daughter-in-law,” she said, smiling at me across the island.

I plugged my fingers into my ears. “La! La! La! La! La! La! La! La! I can’t hear you!”

She laughed and swatted me with the towel.





FOUR





FRIDAY MORNING DIDN’T come soon enough. Not that I was looking forward to seeing the traffic girl again, but because after a week of chasing dead leads on the home invasions, I needed a break—and a beer. I also really needed my freaking watch back. I was late for everything all week, including dinner with Shannon Green at the Bull City Grill.

I stopped at the hostess station on my way in.

“How many, sir?” the tiny, not-yet-legal brunette behind the podium asked.

“I’m looking for someone. Blonde woman.” I wanted to add ‘pretentious and likely overdressed’, but I didn’t.