Rosemary and Crime (14 page)

Stepping back from my embrace, Lindsey gave her long blond hair a toss. “Meemaw said I should come by and show you the dress I bought for prom.”

“That was quick,” I said, trying to hide my dismay. I’d secretly hoped she’d abandon her plan to shop with Amber and pick me instead.

“Ohh,” Dottie cooed, clapping her chubby hands together. “A prom dress. Let me see.”

“Hey, Miz Hemmings,” Lindsey replied politely, making me proud of her good manners.

“What an exciting time for a pretty youngster like yourself. Who’s your date for the big night?”

“Jason Wainwright.”

“Jason?” Dottie frowned. “Mary Beth and Matt’s youngest? The one with an earring in one eyebrow?”

“The boy’s going through a phase,” I explained, saving Lindsey from having to defend her date. “Jason’s the star pitcher on Brandywine Creek High’s baseball team.”

Dottie gave me a saccharine sweet smile. “Well, I guess an earring wouldn’t interfere with a boy’s pitching arm, would it?”

Lindsey unzipped the garment bag. “I can only stay a minute. Taylor’s picking me up, and we’re going to the movies.”

“Then let’s see this dress of yours.”

And see it, I did. At any rate, what there was of it, all strapless and slinky.

Lindsey correctly interpreted my tight-lipped silence as disapproval. “You don’t like it, do you, Mom? Is it beause you don’t like Amber?”

“Amber has nothing to do with it,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. “To be honest, Linds, the style is much too sophisticated for someone your age. Call me naïve, but I’d been hoping for more frills, more fabric. More sweet. Less sexy.”

“For your information,” Lindsey retorted angrily, “all the girls in my class are wearing short and strapless. You act as if I’m still ten and you want to put ribbons in my hair.”

I sighed, recognizing mutiny when I spotted it. “Look, I’ve got an idea. What if you and I drive down to the mall in Augusta one night and see if we can find another dress you like just as much? Something a little bit … more youthful.” At the last minute I substituted “youthful” for “less revealing.”

“Whatever,” she huffed.

Dottie reached out and fingered the fabric. “So this is what girls are wearing these days? Back in my day—”

“So, honey,” I ruthlessly cut off Dottie’s reminiscences, “what movie are you and Taylor going to see?”

Before she could answer, the pup, barking and wagging its tail, came bounding down the stairs and scooted around the barrier I’d erected between my shop and the storeroom. I’d left him snoozing in my apartment, but apparently he nudged the door open and found his way here.

“A puppy!” Lindsey squealed, her irritation of moments ago apparently forgotten.

Thrusting the prom dress, garment bag and all, into my arms, she made a beeline for the little dog, which was now regarding her curiously, one ear up, one ear down.

“I was saving him for a surprise.”

“Cute dog,” Dottie commented. “Labradoodle?”

“According to the vet, he’s a purebred mutt,” I replied, watching Lindsey bend down and scoop the dog into her arms.

Instantly, the pup bathed her face in wet, sloppy kisses as she laughed in delight. My new little pet might never turn into much of a guard dog, I mused, but he could win an award for congeniality.

“I’d best be on my way. Don’t want to be late for bridge. Bye, Piper.” Dottie waggled her fingers at us as she made for the door, then stopped and turned. “Nice seeing you, Lindsey. Sure hope it doesn’t rain the night of the prom. It’d be a pity for that nice blue dress to get water-stained.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Lindsey glowered at me. “You didn’t tell me you had a dog.”

“I’ve only had him for a few days. I’m still getting used to the idea of being a pet owner.” I absently scratched the dog’s right ear.

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one yet. Any suggestions?”

Lindsey lowered herself to the floor, and sat cross-legged. “You’ll really let me name him?”

“Of course.” I carefully rezipped the garment bag, placed it on the counter, and sank down next to her, grateful for the yoga classes I’d taken over the years. “I can’t keep calling him ‘dog’ or ‘puppy.’”

Lindsey’s brow furrowed in thought. “What about … Buffy? No,” she quickly discarded the idea. “Buffy’s the name of Taylor’s cousin’s Yorkie. I’ve got it!” Her face lit up. “Let’s call him Casey after the hamster Chad gave me for my birthday when I was ten.”

Ah, yes, I thought, how could I ever forget Casey-the-Hamster. In a rush to get to a sleepover one night, Lindsey had neglected to latch Casey’s cage. Well, needless to say, the wily rodent had decided to go exploring. CJ and I had finally cornered him in the dining room. The sight of my usually dignified husband down on all fours in his boxer shorts, lettuce leaf in hand, trying to cajole the critter out from behind the china cabinet, started me laughing uncontrollably. The evening had ended with us grateful both kids were away for the night.

“Casey’s a fine name,” I said, smiling to myself at the memory. “It suits him.” I tended to forget there were plenty of good times during the course of my marriage. That was something I needed to work on if I wanted to move forward with my life.

The little mutt barked his approval, making us both laugh.

Lindsey left a short time later, but promised to return the next day. A puppy, she’d informed me, needed plenty of exercise. She planned to take the newly christened pup to the park with her and let him romp.

I returned to my seat behind the counter where the catalog lay forgotten. My mind kept replaying Dottie’s conversation regarding the Deltorros purchasing Trattoria Milano. As Dottie was quick to point out, the couple certainly weren’t wasting any time. Mario’s ashes had hardly cooled before Tony put his plan into play.

I tried to recall exactly what Gina had said at Mario’s funeral before Tony had whisked her off. Tony hadn’t tried to hide the fact he didn’t care for Mario. He’d even gone as far as calling Mario a pompous ass. Gina hinted the two men had a history. That they once shared big plans.

Hmm, interesting,
I thought, as I reached for the phone. The situation called for some amateur sleuthing, and I knew just the pair. I dialed my BFF.

C
HAPTER
16

“
I
BROUGHT SNACKS.”

“Me, too.”

Reba Mae settled her cooler on the VW’s rear seat next to mine and wedged a bulging tote bag alongside the one I’d brought. No one could claim we didn’t have our priorities straight.

“Always be prepared, as they say.”

A quick glance told me Reba Mae and I were on the same page, too, when it came to How to Dress for a Stakeout. Black was the prevailing color scheme: pants, sweatshirts, and ball caps. Only thing spoiling Reba Mae’s ensemble was a giant elongated red “G” emblazoned across the front of her hoodie. It might look great at a University of Georgia football rally, but I wasn’t sure it was appropriate attire when one wanted to go unnoticed. She might as well have had a bull’s-eye painted across her 38DDs.

She snapped the seatbelt. “So what’s the plan?”

“I’ll drive. You ride shotgun.”

“Okay. Hungry yet?”

I gave her a look. “Let’s at least wait till we reach our destination.”

“Fine, but I’m ready to try those pretzel chips Ruby Phillips was ravin’ about. Brought some honey mustard to dip ’em in.”

I turned into the alley behind the Pizza Palace, proud of myself for remembering to switch off my headlights like I’d seen in movies. We rolled to a stop a safe distance from, but with a good view of, the back door. “This ought to work,” I announced.

“Now what?”

“We wait. We watch. That’s why it’s called a stakeout.”

“I knew that,” Reba Mae grumbled.

I cut the engine. “I thought we’d follow Tony. See what he does after hours.”

“Maybe catch ’im in the act?”

I rolled my eyes. “In the act of what? Stealing pepperoni from Meat on Main?”

“You know what I mean. Maybe we’ll spot him tryin’ to kill someone else.”

“Perish the thought!” Even as I scolded, I double-checked my cell phone to make sure 911 was preprogrammed. Satisfied it was, I adjusted my seat to a more comfortable position and prepared to wait and see.

Reba Mae unfastened her seatbelt and, twisting around, dug through the cooler she’d brought. “How about a Diet Coke?”

“All right,” I agreed. “How about some of those pretzel chips?”

“Sure thing.” We popped the tabs on our sodas and started in on the snacks. “You sure Tony’s workin’ tonight?” Reba Mae asked.

“Yeah,” I told her. “He’s here all right. Just before we left, I called the Pizza Palace and asked for him. Claimed I was from the consumer affairs branch of the health department and wanted to talk to him about his marinara sauce. I hung up when he came to the phone.”

“Wow,” Reba Mae said. “I’m impressed. Does the health department even have a consumer affairs branch?”

I dunked a pretzel in honey mustard. “Don’t have a clue, but it sounded nice and official.”

“Aren’t you afraid he might’ve recognized your voice?”

“No way.” The salty pretzels were making me thirsty so I drained my diet soda. “I disguised my voice by putting a washcloth over the receiver like I saw on TV once.”

Tired of pretzels, Reba brought out a bag of nacho chips and a jar of con queso. “I think washcloths have been replaced by one of those electronic gizmos.”

I shook my head in wonder. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Reba Mae shrugged off my praise. “There’s a lot of cop shows on TV these days. I find them educational.”

Clicking open the glove box, I hauled out my digital camera along with a pair of binoculars I’d purchased years ago for bird-watching.

Reba Mae let out a low whistle. “Now you’re the one who’s amazin’. You’re a real pro at your very first stakeout.”

“Like I said before, always be prepared.”

So far the team of Lucy and Ethel—make that Piper and Reba Mae—was doing a respectable job at surveillance. Maybe if my shop failed to thrive, I could hire out as a private investigator. If tonight’s adventure was any predictor, I’d weigh three hundred pounds in no time flat.

“You honestly think Tony might’ve killed Mario?” Reba Mae asked at length.

“The only thing I know for sure, it wasn’t me.” I kept my gaze fixed on the Pizza Palace’s rear door in case Tony made an appearance. “I want to check out anyone who might have a motive to kill Mario, and Tony is a good place to start. We already know there’s bad blood between the two.”

Reba Mae nodded knowingly. “And I smell somethin’ fishy in Tony’s rush to buy the Tratory.”

“Mm,” I agreed as I watched Reba Mae drown a nacho chip in con queso. “I brought along a couple tuna sandwiches. Protein to cancel out the junk food.”

“We have chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Let me tell you, it was no mean feat hidin’ ’em from the twins.”

“They’ll taste great with the thermos of coffee I brought along. Cops on stakeout always drink lots of coffee. I’m experimenting with an Ethiopian blend.”

“Maybe we oughta be eatin’ donuts instead of cookies. You know all the jokes about cops and donut shops.”

“We’ll do donuts next time,” I promised.

We were contentedly sipping diet sodas when I saw Tony’s head poke out the pizzeria’s rear door. “Get down,” I hissed.

Slouching lower in our seats, we watched Tony Deltorro dump a load of trash into a bin, then disappear back inside.

“Gee, that was excitin’ as watchin’ paint dry,” Reba Mae complained, wiping spilled soda off her sweatshirt with the palm of her hand.

“Be patient,” I counseled. “Tony shouldn’t be much longer, then we’ll follow to see whether he goes straight home or not.”

Time crawled by with no further Tony sighting. I slunk lower in my seat, bored to tears. So far the evening had been a complete bust. “How do you suppose cops stay awake?”

Reba Mae yawned. “They must read a book or somethin’ to keep them from goin’ bonkers.”

“You can’t very well read a book in the dark.”

“Maybe they have one of those book-light thingies.”

“Well, let’s at least listen to the radio.” Seconds later, my favorite female DJ was taking requests from callers and dispensing advice to the lovelorn.

Reba Mae cut me a sly smile. “Maybe I should phone in a request, ask her to play somethin’ for you and your new boyfriend.”

I sighed. “We’ve already been over this, Reba Mae. I’ve told you all there is to tell.” Truth was, I liked Doug Winters. Liked him a lot. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to enter into a relationship. My life was complicated enough as it was. Yet … it had been rather nice to be the object of an attractive man’s attention.

We lapsed into desultory conversation ranging from Jolene Tucker’s broken ankle to the new hair color Reba Mae was considering once she tired of magenta. We’d finished half a thermos of Ethiopia’s finest and wolfed down a half-dozen cookies, but no further appearances of Tony Deltorro. Finally I shoved back the cuff of my sweatshirt to see the time. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock. What can be taking the man so long to close?”

Reba Mae squirmed restlessly. “Well, if he doesn’t come out soon, I’m goin’ to knock on his door and ask to use the ladies’ room. All that Diet Coke and coffee makes me have to pee.”

I shot her a look. “How do you propose to explain you being in the alley this time of night?”

“I can’t help it,” Reba Mae whined. “You know I’ve got a weak bladder. You try pushin’ out two future football players, and you might be a tad more understandin’.”

Another ten minutes elapsed. I was ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat. Our very first stakeout had been a flop. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s call it a night. We’ll try again another time.”

“Suits me.” Yawning hugely, Reba Mae sat straighter and buckled her seatbelt. “I’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow. Perms and touch-ups all day long.”

“Wish I could complain about being busy.” I twisted the key in the ignition. The engine grunted, but didn’t catch. Reba Mae and I exchanged worried glances. Wordlessly, I tried again. With the same dismal results.