she’d pointed out.
“I need to talk to the waiter who
served me and Ginny two nights ago to see what he remembers. But I’m not sure
he’ll talk to me if I approach him alone. And”—this was outright flattery, but
he gave it a shot—“you seem like a good judge of character, so I want your
opinion on his trustworthiness.”
“Plus,” she added, “Mickey’s not
around.”
Ouch. “Plus that. Where is he,
anyway?”
“Yoga. Where he goes on Mondays and
Thursdays every week. He stopped in this morning for a cup of tea before
heading over there.”
Yoga? He hadn’t known his uncle was
taking yoga.
Emma shifted. “Listen…”
Uh-oh. He’d given enough sales
pitches to recognize a prelude to saying no. “Of course lunch is on me. The
food there is fantastic.”
She squinted at him distrustfully.
Flattery and cajoling weren’t working. Damn it, what would it take to get her
to go with him? He’d called the Waterview this morning and learned Mark’s shift
ended at two. It was twelve thirty now. He didn’t have the time to scare up
someone else to go with him.
There must be something she needed.
Wait—he remembered seeing Excel
charts on her living room table yesterday afternoon when they’d done the grand
tour before she’d put him to sleep, and Mickey had mentioned to him that Emma
wanted to expand her kennel business.
“Let’s make a deal. You go with me
to lunch, and tonight you can pick my brains about expanding a business. I took
Woodhaven from being a ten-million-dollar business operating in the red to a
thirty-million-dollar business firmly in the black.” Not bragging—the
straight-out truth. And watching his business suffer now was almost as painful
as being under suspicion of Ginny’s murder.
Her mouth pursed but she didn’t
reply at once. Good, she was wavering. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything
more to toss on to tip the balance his way. Maybe he could give her puppy dog
eyes, the way a college girlfriend of his had done to him when she wanted
something. Nah. He’d look and feel ridiculous. Plus, if there was one thing a
kennel keeper was immune to, it was puppy dog eyes.
She sighed. “I know that I’m going
to regret this, but all right.”
He nodded shortly to conceal his
relief. “Great. Let’s go.”
“I need to grab my purse and tell
Ian I’m going out.” She paused. “Why don’t I meet you at your car?” And she
shut the door in his face.
With nothing to do but wait, he
leaned against the car and tilted his face up to the sun. He needed to get out
of the office more, to soak up the beauty of summertime Maine. But not under
these crappy circumstances.
When Emma came out the door, he was swamped by
the strange feeling that instead of going out to investigate Ginny’s killing,
they were going out on a date. After a moment, he figured out why. She’d
changed out of her worn jeans and T-shirt and put on a pair of dark blue slacks
and a rust-colored silk shirt that clung to all the curves the T-shirt had hidden.
A date. That would be an
interesting twist on things. And not a bad one. If she wasn’t someone who
bilked pet owners out of their money, that is. Of course, if you were silly
enough to believe in pet psychics in the first place, maybe you deserved to
lose a few bucks.
“So,” he said as soon as they were
on the main road between Camden and Baymill, “I don’t even know that much about
you.” On a normal day, he’d add, You
could be a murderer for all I know and then give a chuckle to break the
ice. But not today. “It’s funny, since you live so close to Mickey.”
Funny, but in a the-joke’s-on-you
sort of way, because he’d gone out of his way to avoid her. That clingy silk
shirt was telling him he’d been an idiot.
Eyes
back on the road, sonny, or you’re going to crash into a tree.
“I saw you at the Christmas Eve
party,” she reminded him.
“Right, but for just a moment.
There were tons of people there that
“I need to talk to the waiter who
served me and Ginny two nights ago to see what he remembers. But I’m not sure
he’ll talk to me if I approach him alone. And”—this was outright flattery, but
he gave it a shot—“you seem like a good judge of character, so I want your
opinion on his trustworthiness.”
“Plus,” she added, “Mickey’s not
around.”
Ouch. “Plus that. Where is he,
anyway?”
“Yoga. Where he goes on Mondays and
Thursdays every week. He stopped in this morning for a cup of tea before
heading over there.”
Yoga? He hadn’t known his uncle was
taking yoga.
Emma shifted. “Listen…”
Uh-oh. He’d given enough sales
pitches to recognize a prelude to saying no. “Of course lunch is on me. The
food there is fantastic.”
She squinted at him distrustfully.
Flattery and cajoling weren’t working. Damn it, what would it take to get her
to go with him? He’d called the Waterview this morning and learned Mark’s shift
ended at two. It was twelve thirty now. He didn’t have the time to scare up
someone else to go with him.
There must be something she needed.
Wait—he remembered seeing Excel
charts on her living room table yesterday afternoon when they’d done the grand
tour before she’d put him to sleep, and Mickey had mentioned to him that Emma
wanted to expand her kennel business.
“Let’s make a deal. You go with me
to lunch, and tonight you can pick my brains about expanding a business. I took
Woodhaven from being a ten-million-dollar business operating in the red to a
thirty-million-dollar business firmly in the black.” Not bragging—the
straight-out truth. And watching his business suffer now was almost as painful
as being under suspicion of Ginny’s murder.
Her mouth pursed but she didn’t
reply at once. Good, she was wavering. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything
more to toss on to tip the balance his way. Maybe he could give her puppy dog
eyes, the way a college girlfriend of his had done to him when she wanted
something. Nah. He’d look and feel ridiculous. Plus, if there was one thing a
kennel keeper was immune to, it was puppy dog eyes.
She sighed. “I know that I’m going
to regret this, but all right.”
He nodded shortly to conceal his
relief. “Great. Let’s go.”
“I need to grab my purse and tell
Ian I’m going out.” She paused. “Why don’t I meet you at your car?” And she
shut the door in his face.
With nothing to do but wait, he
leaned against the car and tilted his face up to the sun. He needed to get out
of the office more, to soak up the beauty of summertime Maine. But not under
these crappy circumstances.
When Emma came out the door, he was swamped by
the strange feeling that instead of going out to investigate Ginny’s killing,
they were going out on a date. After a moment, he figured out why. She’d
changed out of her worn jeans and T-shirt and put on a pair of dark blue slacks
and a rust-colored silk shirt that clung to all the curves the T-shirt had hidden.
A date. That would be an
interesting twist on things. And not a bad one. If she wasn’t someone who
bilked pet owners out of their money, that is. Of course, if you were silly
enough to believe in pet psychics in the first place, maybe you deserved to
lose a few bucks.
“So,” he said as soon as they were
on the main road between Camden and Baymill, “I don’t even know that much about
you.” On a normal day, he’d add, You
could be a murderer for all I know and then give a chuckle to break the
ice. But not today. “It’s funny, since you live so close to Mickey.”
Funny, but in a the-joke’s-on-you
sort of way, because he’d gone out of his way to avoid her. That clingy silk
shirt was telling him he’d been an idiot.
Eyes
back on the road, sonny, or you’re going to crash into a tree.
“I saw you at the Christmas Eve
party,” she reminded him.
“Right, but for just a moment.
There were tons of people there that
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