Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes by Maria Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📕

“You, what? How can you go from one subject to the next like that? I’m getting a headache, and no, it must cool off.”

“Where is Bob?”

“I think he’s across the street, at the neighbor’s house.”

“The over-perfumed widow? Why?”

“Why? He said she asked him to take a look at her garbage disposal, and being a nice human being, well...”

“I knew it. I knew it. I told you so. She’s after him. How long before we can cut it?” Dior barked, he needed to go out. Either that or he also wanted some pie. “I’ll take him,” I said and went to grab the leash.

We walked around the pool where there was a grassy spot. I couldn’t help but think about Max, wondering how he liked Colorado and the new love of his life. I had no idea who was taking care of the pool these days. I picked up after Dior was done and dropped it in the garbage can on my way in. The minute we crossed the threshold and I unclipped the leash, Dior took off like a maniac while I went to the powder room to wash my hands.

I heard voices. Bob Clarke must have come in through the front door. End of talking with Brenda, I guessed. Well, I wasn’t going home without my piece of pie. I totally deserved it.

Yep. Bob sat on the couch, same spot I just left.

“Hi, Monica.” He sounded pretty cheerful.

“Hello. Fixed the garbage disposal?” He seemed confused, his eyes volleying from me to Brenda. “I bet she broke it on purpose.” Why couldn’t I keep my snarky comments to myself?

Brenda laughed, softly at first, then just openly. “Sorry, Bob, that’s Monica for you.”

He sat, his hands resting on his lap. I had trouble thinking of him as an officer of the law. Not because he wasn’t wearing a uniform—I’m sure it was his day off or something—but there was a sort of peaceful energy when he was in a room. Anyway, I wanted to go home.

“Hey Brenda, can I have a piece of pie? I think I’ve earned it, and I have to get up early to go to that place from hell, you know, The Nest, where young people drown in a play pool and older folks conspire against—”

“Will you shut up?” Brenda said, half laughing, unlike Bob Clarke who looked at me like I was a she-devil.

“Bob, don’t pay any attention to my crazy niece, she sees scheming lovers everywhere. I think she needs to get laid.”

Bob’s face turned purple. Oh, God! A prude. I felt sorry for him and a bit concerned about him having a stroke.

“Sorry, Bob, I think the widow across the street has a crush on you, and is looking for excuses to get you over there.”

“Her name is Eleanor,” he said, avoiding looking at me.

Poor man, I wanted to give him a good friendly hug, but I didn’t.

“That’s a nice name,” I said. My cell chirped. A text? And I thought how strange I hadn’t received many phone calls since Brenda’s. I went looking for my purse, likely somewhere in the laundry room where I must have left it when I fed Dior. By the time I fished the phone out of the bottom I figured I should go home and check if I had missed calls. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Brenda asked.

“I’m waiting for a callback from Leeann, Leslie Brown’s sister, about the condo I’m supposed to do open house tomorrow. You know, at The Nest. I was there today to make sure all is good and found the bed unmade and clothes strewn around the room. The place is furnished but vacant. And on top of that the doorman doesn’t allow people in the building unless they have an appointment and their own agent. What am I going to do? It will be posted on the “Real Estate” section of the Arizona Republic. It has been cancelled in the MLS system, but it was too late to cancel in the paper.”

“Is that the high-rise where they found that young lady in the pool?” Officer Clarke asked.

I nodded and watched Brenda attempting to cut a piece of pie for me. “Yeah, that same one. I’m covering for the listing agent. She had an accident. She’s in the hospital, in Colorado.”

“What time is your open house?” he asked, and I didn’t like all that sudden interest.

“Around noon, if there is an open house. I was hoping to hear from the agents. I’m just a fill-in, and I certainly don’t want to get mixed up in stuff I have nothing to do with.”

Brenda seemed focused on the pie and Dior sat quietly by Bob’s feet. I didn’t like the way the man looked at me, like I’d suddenly become this shining rock star. What was wrong with him?

The pie had barely landed on the desert dish when I grabbed it and headed for the back door. “Got to go. Thanks, Brenda. Nite, Bob. You too, Dior.”

Two minutes later I unlocked my own door just as my cell showed a new text, from Tristan Dumont.

NINE

ARE YOU OKAY? Would like to talk to you about a nicely wrapped item I found after you left? From Tristan.

The book.

Wait. I had four missed calls. How was that even possible? I checked the ringer, it was on. I hated these new phones, by the time I had one figured out, poof, it was obsolete. Three voice-mail messages. Two from Tristan.

“Hey, Fiat, sorry about the uninvited drop-in. Call me?” He’d called shortly after my hasty exit. What about Celine? Did he send her home? Who knew? Always the gentleman, even the way he left the message.

“Are you avoiding me? Call me, please.” That call came in as I sat on Brenda’s couch arguing about Kay. Good thing I hadn’t seen the call then. Anything from Tristan sent my heart into overdrive. Sigh.

I dreaded having to listen to the last message. I didn’t recognize the number, but I had