Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

Dylan sighed, “I wasn’t worried, Dix. But we can’t just ignore what happened.”

“Oh my, look at the time,” I said, ignoring him.

I expected at least a huff of frustration. But instead Dylan grinned. Just a bit a first, then widely.

“This isn’t over, Dix Dodd,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “Not by a long shot.”

He kissed me again. Long. Hard. Masterfully. Just like the handyman … er, gardener … in my fantasy would have done.

I felt myself slipping. Oh shit! … Dix Dodd was kinda, sorta, almost doing … closer.

And, oh, Lord, it still scared the hell out of me. Enough to pull away with a shaky laugh. “Come on, let’s go. They gals are waiting for us.”

We had the same waiter at the restaurant. Actually, we had the same table. And whoa, big surprise — Deputy Noel Almond was sitting at it. He rose when we marched in.

“Hey, Deputy,” Mrs. P called. “Give me a seven letter word for—”

“Apology,” he offered, cutting her off.

Mom looked at him. “That’ll almost do.”

Almond smiled. “Tell you what. I’ll make that apology … and I’ll also pick up the tab for the meal.”

“You haven’t seen how much Dix can eat,” Mrs. Presley offered, helpfully. “Like a horse. She just never stops.”

Gee, thanks, Mrs. P.

“Oh, I think I can manage,” Almond said. He looked directly at me. “We found everything, Dix. Thanks to you. All the items that were reported missing — and a few that hadn’t — were found in Lance’s room at the Goosebump. And you were right about the banking angle, too. It’ll take a few weeks to straighten everything out, but thanks to you, Eddie Baskin won’t be bilking anyone out of their life savings.”

“How’d you figure that out, Dix?” Mona asked.

I shrugged, the picture of modesty.

Okay, I preened.

“From what Mom told me, I knew he helped a lot of people with their banking and financial affairs. Which got me thinking … why stop at stealing jewelry from residents when he could probably talk them into granting him signing authority on their accounts and totally clean them out? People trusted him enough. Then I figured it out — the jewelry thefts were just a ruse, a way to make everyone suspicious of everyone else at the Wildoh. That way, he looked like a hero when he rode in to help ‘protect’ their assets.”

Almond hung his head. “I shoulda figured that myself.”

I could have told Almond to take it easy on himself. He wasn’t privy to the same information I’d had, specifically, the fruits of Dylan’s less-than-legal search. He didn’t know Eddie Baskin was the anxious owner of a first class ticket to a country that would welcome and shelter an embezzling weasel. His thought processes weren’t guided by the knowledge that there necessarily had to be some higher stakes hi-jinx going on than mere jewelry theft.

Yes, I could have let him off the hook. But I didn’t. He’d been a prick to manipulate me.

As it happened, he let himself off the hook.

“Yeah, I shoulda seen it coming, maybe,” he said. “But give Big Eddie credit. He’s smarter than he looks. By infecting everyone with paranoia, he pretty much guaranteed folks wouldn’t talk to one another about money matters. Of course, we’ll also do a forensic audit of the Wildoh’s books. It seems the owners trusted him nearly as much as the residents did.”

His warm gaze found mine and I relented. I think the guy really was sorry. And well, he was paying the bill….

“Have a seat, Deputy,” Mother said.

Almond and Dylan’s hands both shot to pull out the chair for me. If it had been yanked out any further it would have been placed at the next table. The men looked at each other, eyes locking. And it was Noel’s hand that came off the chair. Dylan waited as I sat (and then I had to do that scooting thumping into the table thing that drives me nuts) while Almond attended to the older ladies.

“So you’re picking up the tab, eh, Deputy?” Mrs. P affirmed as she looked for the priciest item on the menu.

“Of course, Mrs. Presley. Everything’s good here, and fairly reasonable.”

“Did you get your bill yet from when you took Dix out?” Mother asked.

Since Noel’s head didn’t shoot off his shoulders, it was a pretty safe bet he hadn’t. He just sat there looking a little confused.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mother said, when she realized Noel hadn’t yet gotten my pumped-up dinner bill. “How rude of me.” And in the very next breath she said. “I’ll have the lobster. Oh, and it’s such a special night, we must have champagne. Maybe a nice blanc de noir? Ah, here’s a good one….”

Noel said nothing. Just kept smiling. And smiling. We could run this night into a small fortune for him. I knew that was what he was thinking.

Okay, the guy had been a jerk. And I am honest and truly the last female on earth to forgive jerks. These chips on shoulder things? Yes, they too are underrated. But he was really trying now. Really trying to be the good guy. The nice guy. He’d been an ass. But didn’t everyone deserve a second chance? He’d offered to pay for this little dinner by way of apology. Did we really need to hike the bill up as high as we possibly could?

“I’ll have the lobster too,” I told the waiter. “And oh, I’m so thirsty. Better make that two bottles of champagne for the table. And it’s Mona’s birthday,” I pointed to the menu-scouring woman across the table from me. “Can you have your chef improvise a birthday cake? Some of that excellent cheesecake I sampled the other night would do nicely.”

Mona popped her head up from the menu. “I don’t know what to order. It all looks so good.”

“Try the lobster,” I suggested, grinning at Noel Almond, who was just then ordering soup.

It was a lovely meal. And the cheesecake was the single most decadent thing I’ve ever had in my mouth (I know what you’re thinking — we won’t go there. And I said ‘single’.)

Yes, it was a very pleasant meal indeed. But then Dylan stood.

Mrs. P and I looked at each other for a panicked moment.

Surely he wouldn’t.

Dylan cleared his throat. He tinked the side of his wine glass with his fork, drawing all attention to himself. (Okay, the six foot four frame combined with the handsome as hell looks did not hurt. Let’s just say he drew more attention to himself.)

He turned to Mona.

Oh no oh no oh no oh no

“Say, Dylan,” Mrs. P said into the moment. “What do you say we wrap this night up and head out to bingo? If you’ll just go warm up the car—”

It was a try, bless her heart, but Dylan was not to be dissuaded.

“Mona,” he said. “I don’t have a gift for you. The least I can do for you on this special night is sing Happy Birthday to you.”

I closed my eyes and braced myself. Not with my hands on the table, not my feet on the floor, but kind of with my head cocked to the side while every muscle in my body tensed. Every hair stood on end.

Oh Jesus it was bad. Every frigging ‘yo-ooo’ was a like a pin sticking into my ears. Every off key syllable he belted out made me cringe all the harder.

And God help him, Dylan had no idea.

None whatsoever.

I opened my eyes on the last yo-ooo, only to witness half the staff, customers and two seeing-eye dogs beneath the corner table (they’d not been beneath it when he’d started singing) cringing just as I had.

Mother’s eyes were wide and shocked. Noel Almond looked as if he were considering whether an arrest was in order. Mona’s mouth dropped open in what could only be described as … well, horror. A waiter dropped a silver serving tray on to the floor — and just left it there. Somewhere I heard the click of a cell phone closing (damn, I hoped it wasn’t a camera phone).