what Jack would have said. The answer came winging right at me.
“So, would you like the Alexanders’ phone number?” Simon asked.
“Of course I can. I mean, of course I would.”
After scribbling the number on a notepad, I thanked him, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Snapping me out of my reverie, the antique sleigh bells on the shop door went into a cheery ding-a-ling frenzy. My first customer of the day? I glanced up. Oh. Not quite.
“Lieutenant Rossi.” I stood and strolled over to greet him. “You found my shop.”
“I am a detective, Mrs. D.”
He took my outstretched hand. His was as warm and firm as I remembered. His dark eyes flicked over me, a complete body check. I remembered that, too, and glared at him, pretending to be irritated, though I really wasn’t.
“Has there been a break in the case, Lieutenant?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“So you’re not here on official police business?”
“No. I had a few minutes free. I wanted to remind you to stop by the station and sign your witness statement, and ah, to see how you were doing.” He yanked his glance away from me and looked around the shop. “I like it in here. It’s got, you know, class.” His glance swiveled back to me. “Like that dress.” He peered into my eyes. “You been crying?”
My guess was that Rossi liked to spring questions. Catch people off guard so they’d blurt out the truth. Well, that wouldn’t work on me.
“No,” I lied.
Staring at nothing in particular, he picked up a mercury glass Santa from a display table, put it down then reached for a crystal snowman. He cleared his throat. “When we met a few months ago, you mentioned that the date of ah…ah…”
I forced myself to say, “Jack’s death.”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s today, so I wanted to ah…”
“Cheer me up.”
“Exactly.” He looked relieved that I had fleshed out his sentence.
“Well you have, Lieutenant.” I meant it and gave him what no doubt was a wobbly smile. “Your shirt alone does that for me.”
He glanced down at himself and grinned. “You like it, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He was sporting another Hawaiian number today. Green palm trees swaying in orange sunsets. Many trees, many sunsets.
“Do you own a suit jacket?” I asked. “You know, a blazer? In navy blue?”
“Yeah,” he said, his expression guarded.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Do you ever wear it?”
He shook his head. “I’m saving it for my wedding.”
“Your wedding? You have a girlfriend this time?” Six months ago, he had me convinced he was engaged. Maybe this time he really was. I tamped down what felt strangely like a stab of disappointment but I wasn’t fast enough. His detective’s eyes flashed over me and his lips curved into a knowing smile.
“No, there’s no girlfriend, but I let women think there is. Otherwise they’re all over me.”
I felt like slapping him. “That remains the most egotistical thing I’ve ever heard.”
He shrugged and grinned again. “You never know, my M.O. could change.”
A rugged, dark-haired forty-something, he had apparently evaded every trap known to womankind. Why let his guard down now? To hit on me? How did he know I wasn’t the thief? Or the murderer?
“Want to take a look at my bedroom?” he asked, blowing my silent question out of the water.
Arms akimbo, shrew style, I said, “Rossi, you have the gall of ten men and the finesse of none. For five cents, I’d throw you out of here.”
Smiling, smirking actually, he waggled a finger under my nose. “Your imagination’s jumping ahead of the facts, Mrs. D.”
“Don’t give me that forensic mumbo-jumbo. I just heard you say-”
“You don’t decorate bedrooms?”
“Oh.” My face went from flushed to hot. I deserved his smirk. “I apologize. I’m not myself today.”
“I figured this would be a bad day for you.” He cleared his throat. “Wilma, that’s my cleaning lady, she’ll be at my place Friday morning. If you want to take a look, she’ll let you in.”
“I found a dead body yesterday. How do you know I’m not the killer?”
“Years of training, Mrs. D. Plus gut instinct.” That grin again. “Besides, you were out cold. No smoking gun in your hand, either.”
“My father was a Boston cop. He taught me something about police procedure. Aren’t you supposed to avoid personal contact with witnesses?”
He nodded. “What I’m suggesting isn’t personal. It’s business.”
“Oh? True.” For some reason I felt deflated.
Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “You want the job or not?”
Not only did I want it, I needed it. Swallowing my pride, I nodded. “What’s your favorite color?”
He shrugged. “I like ’em all.”
“I’ll take a look. Thank you.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and removed his notepad and pencil stub. Apparently, he didn’t go anywhere without them. After scribbling for a few seconds, he ripped off a sheet and handed it to me. “My address and phone number.”
I glanced at what he had written. This was his private number. Not the one at police headquarters.
I tapped the paper with a fingernail. “Privileged stuff here, Rossi. You can be reached day or night. Correct?”
“Yeah, I’m leaving myself wide open, Mrs. D. Remember, I’ve got a murder to solve. Don’t be calling me at all hours looking for a hot date.”
“Rossi, I-”
His expression sobered. “And don’t take any chances. Call 911 at the slightest suspicion of trouble.”
“You think I’m in danger?”
He shook his head. “I doubt the murderer has you in his sights, but it’s best to be careful. Gotta go. Don’t forget to come in and sign your witness statement.” His face relaxed into a smile. “When this is over, maybe we can try cruisin’ for burgers.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?”
“I never give orders to beautiful women.”
I stared at him tongue-tied. He winked and exited the shop, leaving me alone with the jangling sleigh bells. And my guilt. Somehow, Rossi had managed to press my buttons, and on this day of all days.
Not only that, he could be jeopardizing his job by hiring me. Why? A clever ploy to keep me close, to get to know me better, to see if I could be a killer and a thief? Or all of the above? Bottom line, I couldn’t believe a tough guy like Rossi cared a hoot about interior design. No, he had another motive. Me, myself and I? Was the reason as simple as that?
The sleigh bells were still jangling. I strode over to the door and ripped them off the knob. This Christmas season sure was murder.
Chapter Three
