Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

Mother was sitting on the sofa, tea in hand, soft music playing. I knew the tune. Love for this Desperate While, written by the late, great Peter Dodd himself.

She’d not sat for long after Mrs. P and I arrived. In fact she was up and making lunch in no time flat.

Oh, and yes, very shortly thereafter she was busy selecting my attire for the meeting with Deputy Noel Almond.

“What’s wrong with my own clothes?”

Mother looked at me as though I had three heads, and none of them were making any sense. “Come on, Dix. You can’t be serious. Wear that stuff on a date?”

“It’s not a date!” I protested.

“It’s a date.” For emphasis, she threw a black sequined halter-top at me.

Hot-potato style, I threw it back.

Okay, for the record, I am not opposed to flirty, drop-dead gorgeous clothing. Granted, my 71 year old mother had a more risque wardrobe than I had (oh, God, even I know how bad that sounds). But still, I liked the stuff I’d brought with me to Florida (t-shirts, shorts, jeans, one blouse and skirt in case I needed to pose as a lady, Capri pants, more t-shirts).

Mrs. Presley was in the kitchen making her spicy pepperoni spaghetti — heavy on the garlic. When we’d been out shopping earlier, I’d made a quick dash in for the basics for Mother. Well, it looked like Mrs. P had dashed herself. She was making enough to feed a small army. Of course, I knew half of it would be heading Mona’s way. But like I said … army style. Yum. I loved Mrs. P’s spicy pepperoni spaghetti.

But my serving would have to wait till breakfast the next day. Not what I needed to be eating before a … non-date. Just as well, anyway. As wonderful as Mrs. P’s spicy pepperoni spaghetti is, when I eat it late at night, it’s been known to throw my sleep disorder into overdrive. Combine that and the stress of the current case, and who knows what Mother and Mrs. P would wake up to find?

Yet, I was glad she was doing the cooking right now. The last thing I needed was her and Mother both ganging up on me over my attire.

Mother held up a hot pink leather mini in her left hand, paired it with a low cut white sweater in her right. She looked at me hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

With a huff, she turned again to her over overflowing closet. “You’re not making this easy, Dix.”

Fine, I’d not packed for a date. But was this really a date date I was going on with Deputy Almond? More than likely we were heading to the nearest Starbucks and I’d be paying for my own Caffe Americano.

Was Noel Almond hot? Yes.

Flirtatious? Definitely had been.

Sexy? As hell.

Was he Dylan?

Shit.

Weirdly, strangely, oh God stupidly, I was thinking of Dylan Foreman and the other night. How could I not be? Not that it had meant anything. Not that it was going anywhere or that it should go anywhere.

So why didn’t I tell Dylan about this dinner meeting with Deputy Almond? Why hadn’t I gotten that message to him? I certainly could have, but I hadn’t.

Too damned many questions for one brain.

And let’s not forget that Deputy Almond wasn’t exactly sweet and kind to my mother. Granted, he’d intimated it was all part of the ‘plan’ to root out the real culprit, but still….

I know I complain about her, but she’s my mother. And Mother had assured me Noel’s interrogation wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. But my natural protectiveness toward her had kicked in.

“That security guard has a crush on you.” Mother was holding a blue blouse in her left hand now and smoothing her right hand over it.”

“Who? Big Eddie? Won’t Mona be jealous?”

“Don’t be funny, Dix. I’m talking about that new fellow. Dylan.”

I pffted my drink onto my chin. “You’ve got to be kidding.” I wiped my chin with the napkin she handed me. “That new guy? Dilbert?”

“Dylan.”

Well, now I was really glad Mrs. Presley was in the kitchen. She’d have had a field day.

But my interest was piqued.

The thing about my intuition … I got it from my Mother. So it was interesting that she’d picked up on this ‘supposed’ crush. Katt Dodd had a sense about these things.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” Mother continued. “Well, you’re just as observant about these things as I am, Dix. You must have seen it too.”

“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.