Tease Me (8 page)

Tucker wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he’d just been flattered. Not that it
mattered. He was there to get Minerva out of whatever trouble she’d gotten into, not
to impress her
or
her niece on his suitability as a potential mate.

Minerva brushed a quick hand over her hair, smoothing back a few loose wisps from
her plump cheeks. “I said what I did because Lillian has faith in you, or she wouldn’t
have hired you. That makes points with me. She doesn’t hire anyone who can’t give
as good as they get. She says she’s too old to modify her temperament.” Minerva’s
laugh was as delightfully rich and full-bodied as the woman herself. “I think she
simply likes to keep her scissors sharp, if you know what I mean.”

Tucker found himself laughing with her. He understood Lillian’s affection for the
woman. It was impossible not to like Minerva Cooper.

A buzzer went off somewhere back in the kitchen. After topping off his coffee, Minerva
placed the pot on the warmer and bustled off to the back with the empty tray on which
she’d brought the cake out, leaving Tucker to his coffee and contemplation. Apparently
round one was over.

His mind returned unerringly to her comments about
Lainey. Hasty decisions? Impatient? And who was Charlie and why was he a fiasco? Tucker
thought her ex-husband’s name was Conrad.

All questions he had no business thinking about, he reminded himself. He had come
in there only to find out who the guy was Lainey’d been seen talking to at Sam’s last
week. Another bad judgment call on her part? If this guy was bad news, maybe Lillian’s
ladies were doing what came naturally: meddling. Tucker could easily see them banding
together to warn the guy off. The secrecy also made sense if they didn’t want Lainey
to know about their interference—a highly probably scenario. But why hadn’t Minerva
enlisted Lillian’s help in the scheme? Or maybe she thought the matter resolved and
unimportant.

The mental swirl of questions scattered as the doors to the back swung forward. Minerva
pushed into the room holding a steaming pan of muffins. Blueberry, he thought, unable
to keep from inhaling the sweet scent. His stomach growled.

She stopped in front of him, dropping a hot pad onto the counter, then placing the
tray on it. “So,” she said without preamble, “exactly how do you know Lillian? She’s
been remarkably closemouthed about you.”

A bell rang inside his head. Round two. Minerva didn’t need a personal trainer. She
packed a pretty good punch with oven mitts and an apron.

“I’m an old acquaintance,” he said as smoothly as possible.

“Muffin? Blueberry, homemade,” she added with a grandmotherly smile. But he knew better
now. This was bribery, pure and simple.

The sweet-smelling steam wafted beneath his nose. “Sure,” he said, telling himself
it was merely a play for
time. She arranged an oversized muffin on a plate with a small side cup filled with
creamy butter and set it in front of him. He made a mental note to call the hotel
and set up another tennis match for him against one of the staff pros. Or better yet,
he’d run all the way back to Seattle.

“I figured she must have known you from before she moved to Sunset Shores and opened
A Cut Above. Did you work for her at her salon in Winter Haven?”

Bending the truth was one thing, outright lying was another. “No,” he said nicely
but firmly. “It was a nice place, though. Did you know her then?” That’s the ticket,
turn the tables. Weren’t detectives supposed to be the ones asking the questions,
anyway?

“Heavens, no,” she said, busily arranging the muffins on another tray. He knew better
than to think that the task distracted her one iota from the conversation at hand.

“She seems very happy here,” he went on. “I know she enjoys your friendship. She’s
spoken very highly of you.” Minerva placed the last muffin, and he hurried on to the
next question. “How long have you owned the café?”

“Ten years. I came out here from Pensacola when my Mervin died.” As if sensing his
immediate thought, she laughed briefly and said, “Yes, Minerva and Mervin. We took
quite a bit of ribbing. But, oh, what a match we made.” Her laughter faded to a smile
illuminated by what must have been wonderful memories, judging by the way her eyes
misted slightly.

Tucker felt that empty place he’d discovered inside himself after Pete’s death yawn
a bit wider. What would it feel like to love someone so deeply that the slightest
mention
of them brought tears to a person’s eyes even years after their death?

“I can’t believe you’ve known Lillian so long and she’s never mentioned you,” she
said, yanking him back to the present.

He was blessedly saved from further grilling when the bells on the door tinkled. Another
customer. He silently prayed for an early-lunch horde. But a quick glance showed him
that it was only one person. Another senior. A worried senior, judging by the way
she rushed to the counter, her penciled brows furrowing deep lines in the heavily
powdered space between them.

“Good morning, Betty Louise,” Minerva greeted her.

Betty Louise didn’t acknowledge the greeting. She leaned over the counter as far from
where Tucker was sitting as possible and said in a hushed whisper that they could
both plainly hear, “I must talk to you, Minerva. Right away.”

“Certainly,” she said calmly, as if overanxious customers were a normal occurrence.
For all Tucker knew, maybe they were. She turned to him and said, “Help yourself to
another muffin—”

“Really, Minerva, it can’t wait.” Betty Louise twisted the white gloves she held in
her hands until Tucker half thought she might wrench them in two. The woman was really
upset. “I tried to call Bernice, but she’s at her sister’s this weekend. It’s urgent,
I tell you. I just saw …” She shot a glance at Tucker and her frown deepened, then
she cupped one hand at the corner of her mouth, blocking his unabashed view. “You-know-who.
And he was talking to …” She glared at him again. “You-know-who.”

Minerva merely smiled. “Now, now, don’t go getting
all riled up, you’ll have a spell.” She turned quickly to Tucker and said, “I’ll be
back in a few minutes.” She picked up her oven mitts and went to the end of the counter.
She flipped the latch, allowing Betty Louise behind the counter, then patted her arm.
“Have you taken your medication this morning, dear?” Tucker heard Minerva ask as they
disappeared through the swinging doors.

Betty Louise. Bernice. The other two members of the group involved in this mystery.
He sat there for a full minute, debating the wisdom of what his gut was telling him
to do. And it was not to wolf down another blueberry muffin, though they were, hands
down, the best he’d ever tasted.

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, then slid off the stool and walked to the
end of the short counter. He leaned over and flipped the latch. If caught, he could
always say he was getting the coffeepot. He didn’t think Minerva would mind the intrusion.
He went for the pot, then hovered back near the swinging doors, straining to hear
the hushed conversation taking place in the back room.

If he was lucky, he’d get the name of the guy without having to talk to Lainey at
all. Then he could make some contacts and, he hoped, find out something about him
that would answer Lillian’s concerns, ending this stupid game once and for all. Then
Tucker could get back to the matter at hand.

He conveniently refused to think about the fact that the matter at hand was figuring
out exactly what the matter at hand should be. Mapping out a new life was not as smooth
an operation as he’d anticipated. He knew he no longer wanted his old life, but he
was no closer now than
when he’d sold his business to figuring out exactly what it was he did want, much
less how to go about getting it.

His mind made a straight line from that thought to Lainey Cooper. There was no denying
that both his encounters with her had exhilarated him in a strange internal way he
couldn’t recall ever feeling before. She challenged him on a level he’d never approached
before. “Repressed hormones,” he murmured under his breath.

He shook his head—in disgust or denial, he couldn’t say—and again resolutely shoved
Lainey Cooper out of his mind. He also shoved aside the thought that in very little
time she seemed to have carved out quite a big spot inside his brain. What little
he had left, he thought, reviewing his current circumstances.

Sighing in resignation, he leaned a little closer to the swinging doors, figuring
he had time to move to a safe, innocent-looking distance if he heard the ladies heading
back.

“Moonlighting as a short-order cook?” came a dry voice from behind him.

Lainey. Tucker swung around, holding the pot away from his body as coffee sloshed
over the rim. He swore as the hot liquid scalded his fingers, and he quickly moved
to put the pot on the counter. “Do you have some paper towels back here for spills?”
he asked in lieu of answering her. Maybe if he took long enough to clean up this mess,
he’d think of some way to explain himself. He had no idea how long she’d been standing
behind him, but it had probably been long enough to cancel out his coffee-refill excuse.

“Under the counter, on the shelf below the cake dome.”

“Thanks.” He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts
about her, he hadn’t heard the bells on the door. Getting caught red-handed—literally—did
not speak well of his burgeoning career as a detective; a fact that, except for his
affection and concern for Lillian, did not disturb him.

He mopped the floor until he could see his reflection in it and was still no closer
to a believable explanation. So he’d wing it. It had been his brilliant strategy to
date. He stood up and wasted another two seconds pitching the wad of wet paper towels
into the trash.

“Is your hand okay?”

He turned to find Lainey seated on the stool he’d foolishly vacated earlier. He glanced
down and stared absently at the angry red mark marring his thumb and the back of his
hand. In his mind’s eye all he saw was Lainey. In cuffed white shorts and a red-and-white-striped
sleeveless blouse—one that she’d knotted at the waist so that she could torment him
with the peekaboo skin above her navel—she easily replaced Barbara Eden at the top
of his lifelong list of women whose belly buttons he’d kill to see.

Considering he’d already seen her in a good deal less, his response was surprising.
Or should be. He was quickly realizing that where Lainey Cooper was concerned, life
was one unexpected emotional twist after another.

“Just a minor burn,” he said.

She slid off the stool and took his hand in hers. After a quick examination that left
other body parts of his far more inflamed, she let him go. “I have just the thing
for it.”

“Really, that’s not—” He stopped himself. She was giving him time he’d be wise to
take. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

She opened the latch, then moved into the suddenly very narrow space behind the counter.
He watched
mutely as she reached for one of the small metal condiment containers lined up on
the narrow preparation table that fronted the wall separating the café area from the
kitchen. She drained the juice from it into a bowl and turned to him. “Here.”

“I thought you meant aloe or a burn ointment.”

“This is better.”

He didn’t have to sniff the contents, he’d seen what the container had held before
she drained it. Skeptically, he eyed the light green liquid, then her. “Pickle juice?”

She smiled reassuringly. “Yes. Don’t ask, just dunk your hand. Do it quickly, it works
best if you do it right away.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” He had to do it in stages, but the relief was instant. “Amazing.
Thanks.”

She shrugged and handed him a wet towel to wipe his hand. “The things you learn working
in food preparation. Minerva is a gold mine of homeopathic remedies like these.”

“Handy to have around.” His mind wasn’t on Aunt Minerva as he spoke.

She tidied up, then leaned against the counter. “So now that we’ve cleaned and tended,
would you mind telling me what you were doing back here?”

Another bell went off. Round three. Looking into her no-longer-so-reassuring cat eyes,
he thought maybe he’d rather go another round with Minerva after all. Hell, she could
tag-team with Lillian and he’d still have better odds than the ones he was facing.
“Topping off my coffee?” He had to at least give it a shot.

She didn’t even bother to respond.

“I was worried about Minerva.”
My
,
Tucker
, he
thought,
you’re becoming a regular master at bending the truth
.

Lainey’s eyes immediately clouded over with concern. “Did something happen? Is she
okay?” She started to push past him, but he gently grabbed her arms, holding her still.

“She’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m sorry. She’s in the back talking
to Betty Louise Strickmeyer. Actually, it’s Mrs. Strickmeyer who’s upset.”

He’d swiftly debated on whether to mention Betty Louise by name but then decided that
watching Lainey’s reaction might provide some insight into the situation. He had a
pretty good idea that Lainey was one of Betty Louise’s “you-know-whos.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for, but it wasn’t the unreassuring wariness
that suddenly colored her expression. “Oh,” she replied, her smile a bit too forced.
“Betty Louise is a good friend of Minerva’s. She’s a dear, but she is a little high-strung.
I’m sure Minerva will take care of whatever is bothering her. She’s good with people
that way.” Lainey moved out of his grasp and turned back to the counter, busying herself
by cleaning up the ring left by the coffeepot.

This was the Lainey he’d seen, albeit briefly, when they’d first met. Wary, uncertain,
uncomfortable. Her change in character bothered him. He didn’t like to think he made
anyone uncomfortable. And he much preferred the Lainey who boldly challenged him,
then forced him to deal with his unprecedented reactions. Mostly, however, it bothered
him that for the first time he truly believed there might be some real foundation
for Lillian’s
concerns. Just who was this other “you-know-who” and what had he gotten them all involved
in?