Éclair and Present Danger (25 page)

“What are you doing?” Winnie whispered.

Her inquiry was met with a glare and a hush from Bridget, and a laugh from Mr. Nelson.

“Yes, good evening, Sam. This is Bridget O'Keefe with the
Silver Lake Herald
. I understand one of your EMTs—a Chuck Rogers, I believe—was one of two called to the scene when Mr. Bart Wagner's body was found.”

“What is she doing?” Winnie tried again, this time directing her question at Mr. Nelson rather than Bridget.

Mr. Nelson waved her off and leaned across the armrest of his rocking chair to increase his chance of hearing everything the second it happened.

“Yes, Chuck Rogers . . . and Tom Colgan. Can you tell me when their shift started that day?”

Suddenly Bridget's call made all the sense in the world. If they could verify that Chuck's whereabouts were unaccounted for on the morning of Bart's murder, maybe they could convince the police to question—

“They started their double at ten o'clock the previous evening?” Bridget looked up, met first Winnie's and then Mr. Nelson's eyes, and gently shook her head.

It was official. They were back to square one.

W
innie pulled the lemon meringue pie from the refrigerator and braced herself for yet another probing question.

The first few, she'd expected, of course. And, for the most part, she'd been right on the money (and darn close to verbatim, thankyouverymuch) . . .

How'd it go with Greg?

Did you change your attitude and give the poor guy a shot?

You do realize you're nuts, don't you?

Granted she would have given the same answers (
fine
,
no
,
if you say so
) whether she'd had prep time or not, but still, it was always good to be prepared. If nothing else, it helped save her energy for the conversations that had invariably followed—most notably the ones detailing the various single men Renee knew in and around Silver Lake, the benefits of sleep in the war against the raccoon eyes Winnie was apparently sporting, and the erasure of her latest potential suspect in Bart's murder.

“Are you absolutely sure you're thinking clearly—”

“Yes,” she groaned. Then, sliding the pie in front of her friend's face, she added, “So, how does it look?”

“Delicious.” Renee consulted the order sheet on the table in front of her and tapped her pen across the top. “When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemon Meringue Pie—another great name for what will surely be yet another popular rescue.”

“Let's hope you're right.” Winnie loaded plates, napkins, and plastic utensils into her rescue bag and then zipped it closed. “Now tell me again which building and room number I'm going to?”

“The Cully Business Building at Silver Lake College. Room 404.”

She hated the surge of excitement that coursed through her body at the mention of anything connected to Jay, but not as much as she hated the overwhelming sadness that immediately squashed it like a bug.

Ughhhh . . .

“You want me to make this run?” Renee asked, lifting the order sheet from the table and rising to her feet. “This one doesn't require any drizzling, right?”

“No, no drizzling, but I'll run this out, anyway. I can't shy away from jobs just because I've got a giant-sized crush on a guy who has way too much going on in his life to reciprocate.” Winnie hiked the bag over her shoulder, slid her key ring around her index finger, balanced the plated pie atop her hand, and strode toward the door. “If we get another order that can be delivered before closing, go ahead and call my cell.”

Lovey jumped down from the windowsill and met Winnie at the top of the stairs.

“Looks like Lovey will be accompanying you,” Renee quipped.

Winnie peered down at the cat. “Are you going to be nice?”

Hiss . . .

“I guess that would be a no, then, wouldn't it?” She found a smile for Renee and then headed downstairs with Lovey and a healthy dose of dread in tow.

*   *   *

S
he was just about to hit the button to close the elevator doors when a member of campus security poked his head around the corner. “Ma'am, this is the fifth time in a row these doors have opened and I've seen you standing inside. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I . . . um . . . I'm looking for . . . um”—she glanced down at the address Renee had written out for her and then back up at the balding man—“Room 404. I—I have a delivery.”

His gaze left hers and landed on the stretcher at her back. “Hey, I know you!”

She swallowed. “You do?”

“Sure. You're with that Dessert Squad everyone keeps talking about!”

She tried to think of something clever to say, but considering the fact she'd just opted to spend a good five minutes or so in an elevator to avoid the possibility of running into Jay, she settled for simple. “I am.”

“Whatcha got today?” He leaned around her body to afford a better view of the pie resting smack dab in the middle of the stretcher. “Oh. Wow. That's a lemon meringue pie, isn't it?” Without waiting for her answer, he went on, licking his lips every few words as he did. “My mama used to make me one of those on my birthday every year.”

“This particular pie is our When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemon Meringue Pie.” She returned his ensuing smile with one of her own and slowly turned the stretcher for disembarkation from the elevator. “Apparently, whoever is in office 404 needs a morale boost.”

“Room 404 is a supply closet.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the card in her hand and then back up at the guard. “My dispatcher wrote down 404. Maybe it was 304?”

“Nope. That's a closet, too.” He planted his hands on the end of the stretcher closest to the elevator door and helped pull it into the hallway as the silver doors swished to a close behind Winnie. “C'mon, I'll help you find the person waiting on this order.”

She wanted to protest, to turn around and head back home, but that was hard to do when a man at least twice her size was taking point. Besides, her reputation couldn't afford a failed delivery.

They stopped at room 401. No one placed an order for a dessert rescue.

They stopped at room 402. No one placed an order for a dessert rescue.

They stopped at room 403. No one placed an order for a dessert rescue.

They bypassed room 404 and its perfect place to hide and moved on to room 405.

The guard knocked on the open door. “Jay? Did you place an order with the Emergency Dessert Squad by any chance?”

She heard a chair scrape across the floor mere seconds before the answer that drained any and all remaining moisture from her mouth. “I did, Paul. Thanks.”

The guard stepped back and waved Winnie toward the door. “It looks like we found your patient.”

“Looks like it,” she managed to eke out.

“My mom used to make a pie just like that for me when I was little,” Paul said, directing Jay's focus off Winnie's bright red face and onto the stretcher. “You'll have to tell me how it is when you're done.”

“I've got a better idea.” Jay walked over to the stretcher, picked up the plated pie, and held it out to the guard. “Take
it with you back to the security office for you and the rest of the guards.”

Paul's eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Sure.”

“But you ordered this, didn't you?” he asked.

“I wanted the Dessert Squad here . . . and”—he gestured toward Winnie—“she is. So I'm good.”

Paul looked from Jay to Winnie and back again, and then took the pie. “Wow, man, thanks.” And then he was gone, the pie and the man disappearing behind the elevator doors at the end of the hall.

“Why did you order a pie if you didn't want one?” she asked.

“Oh, I'd have eaten it. But did you see the guy's face when he talked about the pie just now? He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.”

“I suppose.”

“Well, now that you're here, why don't you come in and sit for a few minutes.”

She brought her hands down to the edge of the stretcher and pushed it ever so slightly in the direction of the elevator. “I—I can't. I've got to get back and see if there are any new orders.”

“Wouldn't your dispatcher call if any jobs came up?”

“I guess. But still, I should get back. Lovey is waiting in the car.”

“No, she's not.”

She stared at Jay as his heart-stopping smile ignited across his mouth. “Yes, she is.”

“Actually, she's right there.” He pointed at two large golden eyes staring back at them from the same shelf-like space below the stretcher where Winnie kept her rescue bag during transport.

“Oh, Jay. I'm sorry. I didn't know she was there. I'll get her out of here right now.”

“No. Please. Come inside. We'll shut the door while we talk, and no one will be the wiser.”

Lovey, being the traitor that she was, jumped down and scurried into Jay's office.

Great . . .

“I don't suppose you want a cat?” she mumbled.

“Nope.”

She considered a slew of arguments she could wage in favor of simply leaving, but in the end she did as he requested. After all, he had ordered a rescue. What he did with the pie was his business.

Once inside, she chose to stand rather than sit, although, technically speaking, Lovey didn't really give her any other option, considering the cat had claimed the one chair that wasn't Jay's.

“You can take my chair,” he offered, stepping into the office and closing the door.

“No. I won't be staying long.”

“Winnie, I know why you're suddenly backing off.”

“I'm not backing off. I just need to focus on my business like I told you.”

“Winnie.” He met her in front of his bookshelf, hooked a gentle finger beneath her chin, and gently guided her gaze back to his. “I know you met Caroline the other day.”

She felt a familiar sting in the corners of her eyes and blinked it away. “So?”

“I know my daughter. I know how
protective
she is of me . . . and of
us
. I also know she has an issue with jealousy.”

“I don't know what that has to do with me.” She stepped back and watched his hand fall back to his side.

“One of the mothers connected to her dance class picked up her daughter a little early the other night.”

“Okay . . .”

“Apparently this woman must have seen the two of us at Beans and commented about it to Caroline. She asked
me about it on the ride home from class, and I told her about you. She's pretty good about reading my body language, and I guess she figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” she asked.

“That I like you. A lot.”

It was everything her heart wanted to hear, yet nothing her head was prepared to deal with at that moment. Trying to steady her breath against the thumping in her chest was hard enough.

Fortunately, Jay kept talking, buying her time to try and figure out her feelings. “Unfortunately, Caroline hasn't seen me get excited about anyone other than her until now. So she's not exactly happy about this.”

“Which is why we need to leave it alone.” She hated to say the words as much as she hated to hear them, but that didn't make them any less true.

“I'm allowed to have a life, Winnie. I'm allowed to see where this could go with us. I just need you to give it a chance. Give me and my daughter a chance. I think she'll come around.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I think she will.”

“And if she doesn't?” Winnie repeated, her voice cracking.

He reached out, encased her hand with his, and squeezed so gently she actually swore she could feel her heart melt. “I think she will.”

She opened her mouth to ask her question one more time, but closed it when she saw the hope reflected in his blue green eyes.

Hope for them . . .

“I—I don't know what to say.”

“Say you'll let me walk you to your car now, and that we can spend a little time together this weekend—dinner, a movie, a walk in the park, whatever you want.”

She knew she should protest if for no other reason than
a need to protect her own heart from being hurt, but she couldn't make herself say no. Instead, she simply nodded and followed Jay (and Lovey) back out into the hall.

Slowly, they (with Lovey stowed away beneath the stretcher) made their way down the hall, into the elevator, and, eventually, out to the parking lot. When they reached the ambulance, Jay helped her load the stretcher into the back and Lovey into the passenger seat. “So,” he said, closing Lovey's door, “can I call you tonight?”

“If you want to—”

“Hey Winnie! See you on Serenity Lane . . .”

She glanced toward the back of the ambulance just in time to see Lance wave and continue on his path toward the parking lot's exit. Turning back to Jay, she used Lance's drive-by to slow her heart rate and collect her thoughts. “Have you met Lance Reed yet?”

Jay drew back. “As in the new addition to the history department?”

“Yes. He's my neighbor.”

“Driving
that
?”

“He just got it a few days ago.” She led the way around the back end of the ambulance and over to her door. “Makes me wish I paid better attention in my history classes,” she joked.

“What do you mean?”

“People who bake desserts for a living can't afford a car like that.”

“People who teach can't, either.”

She opened her door but remained standing next to Jay. “Unless they teach history.”

His laugh encircled her like a pair of warm arms. “Trust me, Winnie. Working here didn't pay for a car like that.”

Her cell phone vibrated inside the front pocket of her jeans, and she pulled it out. The caller ID screen listed an unfamiliar name. “Excuse me one second, Jay.” Then,
holding the device to her ear, she took the call. “Hello, this is Winnie.”