Then he grabbed a white plate and fanned the fruit out like cheese at a wine tasting. My mom and Vicki emerged from the back just in time, and Vicki looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her.
“Hey.” I smiled. “Yoga did you good, huh?”
She laughed. “Oh my gosh, it’s amazing how much more relaxed I feel. You are coming with me next time.”
“I don’t know about that,” I chuckled.
“You know,” my mom cut in, “there’s a yoga class at that new athletic store downtown.”
“LotusWorx?” Vicki asked.
“Yeah,” my mom replied.
“I love their clothes,” Vicki gushed. “I didn’t know they did yoga there.”
“What is LotusWorx?” I asked.
“It’s a brand of trendy workout clothes,” Vicki explained with a smile. “Such fun stuff, and they just opened a shop downtown.”
“They’ve got a meeting room on the side,” my mom added, “and every night they teach yoga. You guys should try it. I teach there on Thursdays, but whatever works for you.”
“I’m not doing yoga,” I said with an adamant shake of my head.
“What is this?” Vicki asked as she pointed toward the plate.
“This,” my dad told her, “is my new garden tomato.”
“Tomato?” She looked at him quizzically.
He smiled big and satisfied and slowly nodded. “Tomato. Everyone try one.”
We all grabbed slices of tomato and bit into them. I had to admit … that tomato was really good.
“It’s sweet,” I said. “It’s got a real nice flavor.”
“It does,” Vicki agreed. “I love it. How did you get it that color?”
My dad smiled and started in on his supplier from Denmark story.
But then my phone buzzed, and I didn’t recognize the number.
“Henry Irving,” I answered as I put the phone to my ear.
“Henry, this is Alfred Dumont,” a voice blurted on the other end of the line.
“Alfred,” I echoed in surprise. “How you holding up?”
The kitchen silenced, and everyone hung onto my every word.
“They want to question me about Jerry,” he whispered in a strained tone, “but I don’t want to talk without a lawyer present.”
“I understand,” I said. “You shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know what your retainer is,” he rambled quickly, “but I could use some help right now.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “Are you at the police station?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m unsure of how you’re supposed to get to me here. They’ve got me in this room, and I don’t--”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Alfred. I’ve done this more than a few times. I’ll take it from here.”
“Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you so much.”
“See you in a bit,” I reassured him. Then I hung up the phone, and everyone waited for me to explain.
“Well?” Harmony urged as she waved at me to spill the beans.
“They’ve got Alfred in for questioning,” I told them.
“Alfred Dumont?” my mom said with a shake of her head. “He’s the sweetest old man in the world. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“That’s not what the cops think,” I said. “He wants me to come down there with him.”
“Well,” my dad cut in, “if you guys need to go, I understand.”
“I don’t think we both need to go out there,” I told Vicki, and she looked relieved.
“Yeah,” she said. “If we take him on, I’ll get my fill.”
“That’s for sure,” I laughed.
“Stay,” my mom told Vicki, “help us finish the gardening project. We’ll get you home.”
I looked Vicki over, and she smiled. I was glad she got along well with my family. She got along with them better than I did.
I drove out to the police station to meet The Count. This drive was starting to become a regular occurence. In such a small town, there wasn’t enough work for us to specialize in any one area, so we were probably always going to do criminal along with trust, probate, family law, and whatever else we could find.
I arrived at the Sedona Police Department and walked in through the single glass door. The inside was a dismal open room, with a bullpen of desks that were never fully occupied, day or night. The fluorescent lighting cast a hard yellow glow in the room, and there always seemed to be one or multiple lights flickering, or burned out all together. It seemed to be an adequate metaphor for a small town police force that spent their days tracking down traffic offenders, small time burglaries, and the occasional DUI.
“Hey, Bernice,” I said to the officer sitting at the front desk.
“Hey, Irving,” she replied.
“They got you on dispatch again, huh?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said and bit into an apple. “I like it this way. Less work. You here for Dumont?”
I nodded. “Lucky guess, huh?”
“Officer Thomas owes me ten bucks now,” she chuckled. “We took a bet on who would take this case--you or Toby Lithgoe.”
I laughed. Toby Lithgoe was an old high school acquaintance who similarly grew up to be a lawyer, and then ended up as Harmony’s crappy public defender. When he refused to really do his job, Vicki, AJ, and I went behind his back and did it for him. We proved Harmony’s innocence, solved the murder, and he wound up with egg on his face big time. We had since mended fences, though, and I felt like we were alright now.
At least I thought.
“Well,” I said, “The Count’s actually intelligent. He knew better than to call Toby.”
“Oooh,” Bernice laughed. “That’s a burn right there.”
I winked and laughed, which softened the comment with good humor.
“I’ll get Dumont
