There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) (6 page)

“What sounds good to you?” Kyle asked, sitting across from me at our white linen-covered table for two. “A bottle of pinot grigio? A nice shiraz?”

Pinot grigio? Chris’s favorite? Not a chance.

“Both would be delightful pairings with the manicotti.” Our waiter pointed at the wine list in Kyle’s hands. “I might recommend a zinfandel to accompany the lady’s salmon. We have several excellent Washington varieties.”

Sure. Fine. Whatever. I just wanted my empty glass filled with something alcoholic, stat.

Kyle met my gaze. “The zinfandel then?”

I forced a smile. “Can’t wait to try it.” Truly.

With a polite nod our waiter left with our order. I estimated that we’d have at least ten minutes to kill before our overpriced salads arrived. Since we’d spent most of our time in the car talking about our jobs, I figured it wouldn’t seem too out of context to ask a few more work-related questions of one of the last people to see Marty McCutcheon alive.

I stared into the flickering tealight candle creating dancing shadows on the wall next to me. “It’s nice that you have this weekend off, especially considering the long hours you had to work last night.”

“Well, I’m certainly enjoying how it’s starting,” Kyle said.

The low level of light in the restaurant made it difficult for me to read his face, but the easy smile on his chiseled lips told me that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

His gaze dipped to the breasts my wrap dress was doing a miserable job of containing, lingering like he wanted more than the taste I was offering.

I sat up a little straighter to minimize the peep show. “Me, too.”

Seriously? Is that the best you can do? You’re in the driver’s seat, remember? Drive! Ask about Marty.

“I understand you were working last night when—”

I looked up at our waiter, back with a bottle of zinfandel, and watched him pour a small amount in a long-stemmed wine glass. Kyle tasted it and nodded his approval.

Good. Fill our glasses and go away.

Once our waiter stepped away from our table, I tried to pick up where I’d left off. “About last night, I wanted to ask you about Marty—”

“Charmaine, let’s not talk about work anymore. In fact…” Kyle raised his wine glass. “Here’s to leaving work behind us for one night.”

No, no. Not when I had Marty McCutcheon’s ER doctor sitting two feet in front of me.

I took a drink of wine. “Fine. No more shop talk. Just let me ask you one question.”

Swallowing, he set down his glass. “Okay, one question.”

“Did you find anything at all unusual about Marty McCutcheon’s cardiac arrest?”

“Unusual? Not really.”

“You don’t have any unanswered questions as to what caused his heart to stop beating?”

“With his medical history? No.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Why?”

There was no reason to hide the truth from him. “Several of the family members are concerned that he ate or drank something that made him sick and led to his death.”

Kyle blew out a breath. “Yeah, I heard as much from Frankie when I talked to her this morning, but I can only call it as I saw it. Mr. McCutcheon was in ventricular fibrillation upon arrival. Despite our best efforts and those of the medics, he went into cardiac arrest. Unfortunately something I’ve experienced all too often.” Kyle sipped his wine. “If you opened him up you’d probably see this was a classic case of coronary artery disease.”

“Sure came on fast though. One minute he was fine. The next he was in the bathroom, puk…er…retching.”

“That’s not that unusual in cases like these.”

“Hmmm.” Seemed pretty unusual to me, but what did I know?

I leaned back as the waiter arrived with our salads.

Kyle pointed at his plate of greens with his fork. “If Mr. McCutcheon had eaten more of this instead of the cheeseburgers at Duke’s, we probably wouldn’t have had this discussion.”

Since he had just echoed what Darlene had told me yesterday, I made a mental note to cut back on the cheeseburgers.

He shot me a lopsided smile. “Hope I didn’t ruin your appetite.”

“Not at all.” But I saw someone waving at me from a table across the crowded dining room who might. Donna Littlefield.

Donna, one of my best friends since grade school, was a drop-dead gorgeous cosmetologist and owner of Donatello’s, one of the two beauty parlors in town. If Duke’s was Gossip Central, Donatello’s was Gossip South. I loved Donna like a sister, but I knew that I’d have to act fast if I didn’t want to eclipse Marty McCutcheon as this weekend’s top news story.

Laying my napkin on the table, I grabbed my clutch bag.

“Would you excuse me for a minute? My phone’s been buzzing. Probably my grandmother. I just need to make sure she’s okay.”

“Of course.” Kyle set down his fork and smiled politely.

I’d give the most popular ER doctor in town points for good manners. Steve would have challenged me on the lame story about my grandmother with his mouth full.

“Start without me,” I said, stepping away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Donna’s eyes tracked me as I approached. As I passed her table I pointed in the direction of the ladies’ room, where she joined me a minute later.

She slapped my arm the second the door closed behind a little girl and her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Kyle Cardinale?”

“I’m not. This isn’t a date.”

Her full lips curled, her sapphire almond eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re certainly dressed for a date.”

I couldn’t very well tell Donna that I’d dressed for Steve. That would be like striking a match in a fireworks factory. The explosive chain reaction would reach Rox before I swallowed a bite of my salad.

I could outright lie or minimize the damage by fudging the truth. And I was all about damage control tonight. “Kyle and I both had our dates cancel on us, so he invited me to dinner. End of story.”

A tiny frown line etched a path between Donna’s perfectly arched brows. “Well, that’s disappointing.” She fluffed my bangs and then stepped back, assessing me. “Better, but sweetie, you need to come in and let me give you a haircut.”

I needed a lot of things and silence on the subject of who I was or wasn’t dating was at the top of my list. “I’ll make an appointment next week.” I gave her a hug. “I’d better get back before he thinks I fell in.”

Damage contained, I reached for the door.

“Wait a minute,” she said, checking her lipstick in the mirror. “You didn’t tell me. Who’s the guy?”

Arrgghh!
“The guy?”

Donna turned around, her cell phone in hand. “Yes, silly. Who cancelled on you because we should send him a picture to show him what he missed.”

Oh, I had every intention of showing Steve what he’d missed. “Just a guy I know through work.” Almost true. “It was a first date, so it’s not like—”

“Smile!” Donna said, snapping a picture of me. “I’ll send this to you in case you change your mind.”

I wouldn’t because Steve would be seeing the real thing later. “I need to get back. Talk to you soon.”

“Okay, but I want news if there are any developments on the Dr. Yummy front.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered as I stepped out of the ladies’ room, arriving back at my table with my clutch bag vibrating.

Sitting behind a mostly empty salad plate, Kyle eyed my bag. “Everything okay with your grandmother?”

“She’s fine. Sorry I took so long.” I reached for my salad fork and my bag buzzed again.

“You’re sure? Because if you need to get that—”

“I don’t. She has a new phone and is learning how to text.” I rolled my eyes for effect when I heard my phone vibrating for the third time.

Hell’s bells. What was Donna doing?

I pulled my phone out of my bag. “I’ll just send her another message to let her know that I can’t talk right now. She obviously didn’t get the last one.”

Pressing a button to view Donna’s last three text messages, I saw that she’d sent me two pictures separated by this message:
If you ever want to make that guy jealous, show him this pic of Dr. Yummy.

I opened the picture attached to her next text—a zoomed-in view of Kyle and me gazing into one another’s eyes like star-crossed lovers. “Criminy!” I immediately deleted it.

Kyle reached for the wine bottle to refill his glass. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“She’s playing with her camera now.”

He topped off my glass. “Let’s see what she sent you.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to see pictures of her cat.” I tucked my phone back into my bag and took a much-needed long drink. “How’s the salad?”

“Great. You should try it.”

I picked up my fork to give it another go.

“Charmaine?” a deep voice said.

I looked up to see Mitch Grundy, one of my great-uncle Duke’s least favorite restaurant equipment suppliers.

Mitch wasn’t a bad guy. Duke just hated surprises, and that included cold calls by pushy salesmen.

“Good to see you,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s been a few years.”

Almost eight since the last time I’d seen him was at my wedding reception—something he’d invited himself to after hearing about the open bar.

“Yes, it has.” It also felt like years since I’d sat down to eat my salad.

Mitch glanced at Kyle, waiting for an introduction. Probably to see if I was sitting with a potential client. “Excuse me. Mitch Grundy. Dr. Kyle Cardinale,” I said, giving Kyle’s title a little emphasis so that Mitch would get the clue that there were no business prospects for him at this table.

When Mitch leaned toward Kyle to shake his hand, I noticed a woman standing behind him.
Holy crap!
A very familiar woman.

Mitch put his hand to her back, pressing her closer to the table. “Dr. Cardinale, Charmaine, I’d like you to meet Patsy Faraday.”

Pursing her mouth, Patsy looked down her nose at me. “We’ve met.”

“Mine’s the silver one over there,” I said, pointing to my car parked across from the green dumpster next to Eddie’s kitchen door.

“You own that Jag?” Kyle chuckled as he pulled into the adjacent parking spot. “Small world.”

More like bizarro world on this freaky Friday. “Yep, very.”

He turned off the ignition. “I guess you and I have even more in common than I thought.”

Aside from our mutual love of manicotti, a caffeine addiction, and the same shaped car key, I couldn’t think of a thing. I also couldn’t think of a way to tell him that without sounding ungrateful for the nice dinner he had bought me, so I decided to gloss over pesky details and go straight to the gratitude portion of our evening.

“It was a lovely dinner. I’m sorry your date had to cancel, but—”

“Don’t be. I’m not,” he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

Uh-oh.

He smiled, leaning closer, testing the waters.

I needed to say something, do something to let him know that another ship was already sailing my waters.

“I…” My clutch bag vibrated on my lap. “Sorry, I think I have a call.” Pulling out my phone I saw that I had another text from Donna, wanting a progress report on my evening with Dr. Yummy. “Nope, another text. My grandmother’s asking when I’ll be home, so I should probably get going.”

An insincere smile flashed across his lips. “Of course.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car while the one of us who had needed the dateus interruptus fumbled with her seatbelt.

“Come on!” I muttered under my breath a second before my door opened.

“That belt mechanism can be a little tricky, so allow me.” Kyle reached over me, brushing my left breast as his fingers found purchase.

He smelled great, a heady mixture of sandalwood, deodorant soap, and red-blooded American male.

He probably kissed great, too.

What the hell are you thinking? This isn’t anything you want to know about. He’s Chris 2.0.

“You’d better hold onto me when you get out,” he said, extending his hand. “There’s a pretty big pothole on this side.”

I took his hand, expecting him to let go after we circumvented the pothole but that didn’t happen.

I pointed at the kitchen door that one of the pizza cooks kept unlocked for smoke breaks. “I need to go in and see Roxanne for a minute, so thank you again for—”

“I’ll walk you.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“As long as you’re in those heels tell that story walking.”

I couldn’t help but laugh because that sounded like something Steve would say to me. I also couldn’t help but like this doctor, even if he was Chris 2.0.

We stepped onto the concrete slab that formed the step to the kitchen door and I turned to him. “Good night, kind sir, and thank you for seeing me safely to my door.”

“Good night, Charmaine.” Without hesitation he pressed his lips to mine just as the door swung open and the knob hit me in the butt.

Standing in the doorway holding a plastic trash bag, Rox’s eyes widened. “Sorry!” She grimaced at me. “
Really
sorry to interrupt you.”

Taking a step back, Kyle held the door open for her. “No worries, I was just leaving.” He fixed his gaze on me. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“’Night,” I said to his back as he walked toward his car.

Rox tossed the trash bag into the dumpster. “What are you doing out here anyway? I thought you two would be out making an evening of it.”

“I came back…” To talk to you. To order a pizza for Steve. To clear the air so that I could breathe easier every time she saw me with Steve. Instead, I felt like I had just farted into the wind. “…to get my car and I wanted to see you before I left.”

She grinned. “To tell me about the great time you had, right?”

“It was more like an okay time.”

“Very okay based on the way he was looking at you.”

“Don’t make too much out of what you just saw, and please don’t say anything to anybody.” Especially Steve.

“I won’t, but…” Placing her hand on my shoulder, Rox softened her gaze. “Honey, is everything okay?”

“Sure. It’s just been a long day.”

“Then why don’t you call it a night. Come over in the morning for coffee if you want to talk.”

My phone vibrated again.
Donna! Let it go!
“I do want to talk.” I needed to. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After making it safely back to the Jag, I took a look at Donna’s latest text. Only it wasn’t from Donna. It was Steve, wanting to know if I wanted him to order a pizza before he left the station. Since that meant coming here to Eddie’s to pick it up and undoubtedly have a few words with Rox in the process….

I sent him a quick reply.
Nope, already ate.
I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, started my car, and hit the gas. I had a cop to beat home.

∗ ∗ ∗

Ten minutes after I’d changed into an old pair of blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I opened the front door to a weary-looking police detective with a bottle of beer in each hand.

“How much trouble am I in?” he asked.

I’d been asking myself that question ever since I left Eddie’s. “You’re not. I know stuff just happens sometimes.” Boy, did I know.

He shook his head, his expression sullen as he stepped past me. “Yeah. The crazies like to come out on the weekend. They just started early today.”

I followed him to the living room, where he made a beeline to the sofa.

“Where’s your grandmother?” he asked, holding out a beer as an invitation to sit on the cushion next to him.

That would be cozy, but we needed to talk and I wanted to be able to see his face.

“At Mrs. Doolittle’s. It’s mahjong night,” I said, taking the bottle he offered and planting my butt in the overstuffed easy chair to his left.

Steve and I locked gazes. After several seconds, a flicker of a smile danced on his lips. “I take it this means you want to talk about tonight.”

Want
might be too strong a word, but I was prepared to tell him everything that had happened this evening. Well, almost everything.

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.

He took a pull from his bottle of beer. “So, how’d it go?”

With what? Dinner? I really didn’t want to just dive into the main course of my evening with Kyle. I needed to start with an appetizer, something for him to nibble on. “I went to Eddie’s shortly after I hung up with you. You know, to tell Rox about us.”

Steve’s mouth flat-lined. “I still don’t understand why this is such a big deal.”

“Of course not. That’s because you’re a guy.”

“Just tell me that you finally told her.”

“I tried.” I wiped away a drip of condensation trickling down the beer bottle in my hand. “It got busy with a lot of people at the bar.” Kyle included. “But I told her I wanted to talk to her and we’re meeting for coffee in the morning.”

“Good.” Steve took another sip of beer. “Are we done talking?”

I was, at least on that subject. “Unless you want to tell me about your evening.”

“Drunk kid versus tree. Tree won. End of discussion.”

Bad for the kid, but good for me if that’s all Steve had to say.

I pushed out of my chair. “Then I guess we’re done talking unless you’d like to tell me you’re hungry.”

“I’m okay. I had a bag of chips out of the vending machine a couple of hours ago.”

“Well, you should just be stuffed then. Gram has some leftover pot roast in the fridge. Want a roast beef sandwich?”

He stifled a yawn. “I never refuse your grandmother’s pot roast.”

No, he didn’t and Gram knew it. Probably why she often featured it for his standing Wednesday dinner invitation.

Steve looked too tired to move, so I handed him the television remote control. “Find us a movie to watch, and I’ll come back with room service.”

Two minutes later, I was in the kitchen listening to him channel surf when I heard my grandmother open the back door.

“You ladies must have been having quite a game.” I glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s almost ten. You’re usually home from Mrs. Doolittle’s by nine.” And since Angela Doolittle lived several miles away on the south shore of Merritt Bay, and my eighty-year-old grandmother didn’t like to drive at night, often closer to eight.

Gram set her purse on the kitchen table and dropped into one of the hardback chairs like she was dead on her feet. “We got a late start. Estelle finally called Angela from the hospital to let us know that she couldn’t make it.”

“Uh-oh.” I remembered this morning’s commentary about Estelle’s driving and wondered if any of those sirens I’d heard were for her. “Is she doing okay?”

Gram blinked her hazel green eyes, slightly magnified behind her trifocals. “Is
she
doing okay? Honey, Estelle’s fine. It’s her great-grandson who was taken to the hospital. Poor little thing.”

Estelle had been a widow for so many years and had surrounded herself with such a menagerie of cats, I’d never thought of her as having anything but four-legged children, much less great-grandchildren. “What happened?”

“From what Estelle was able to get out of Phyllis—”

“Wait! Phyllis? Phyllis Bozeman?”

Gram nodded. “The boy’s granny on the mother’s side.”

That meant that this was Aubrey’s kid, and we were talking about Marty McCutcheon’s former girlfriend, which piqued my interest all the more.

“According to Estelle, Phyllis was babysitting the boys to let the parents have a night out. Then, while she was cooking their supper, the toddler slipped out through the dog door.”

I sucked in a breath, a twenty-year-old memory flooding back from when I had babysat Frankie’s little kids and the panic I’d felt when one of them pulled a similar disappearing act.

Gram shook her head. “I guess she found him eating some plant in the yard.”

“Oh, no!”

“The good news though is that she rushed him to the ER, and it looks like he’s going to be fine.”

“Thank goodness.”

“No kidding. A little kid like that, it wouldn’t take more than a couple bites of a poisonous plant to kill him.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if the same could be said for a man of Marty McCutcheon’s size.

“But thanks to Phyllis’s quick thinking, she saved him,” Gram said, pushing to her feet.

“She also gave him the opportunity to eat the plant, so I wouldn’t give her too much credit.”

Gram patted my shoulder and headed toward the refrigerator. “I give credit where credit is due. Sounds like the parents did, too. I guess Estelle’s grandson went on and on about how grateful he was that Phyllis was a master gardener and recognized that it was a poisonous plant.”

A master gardener who knows about poisonous plants and her former boyfriend’s penchant for hot sauce?

I shivered, my skin prickling with gooseflesh as my brain churned over the possibility that this was more than a coincidence. “Did Estelle mention the name of the plant?”

“I don’t know. Angela talked to her, I didn’t.” Gram pulled a juice glass out of the cupboard and filled it with milk. “Why do you want to know the name of the plant? It’s probably something so common that I have it in my yard.”

“Just curious. Stuff like that is good to know.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Since when do you take an interest in gardening?”

Ever since Phyllis Bozeman’s name had come up twice in the same day.

I shrugged a shoulder as I opened the jar of Dijon mustard that Steve liked. “I’m interested in lots of things.”

“Is one of them about to eat a sandwich?”

Gram knew I’d been making a lot of late night trips across the street to be with Steve, so there was no point in denying the obvious.

“He had to work late and missed out on dinner.”

She aimed a sympathetic smile at me. “Sorry.”

That made three of us.

“And on that not-so-happy note, I’m going to bed,” Gram said, rinsing out her glass. “It’s been a long day.”

It had been a long day. And since I’d barely spent any of it with the guy in the living room, I had a feeling it wasn’t close to being over.

I followed my grandmother out of the kitchen with a plate in my hand.

“’Night, Stevie,” she said with a wave as she headed up the stairs.

The detective on her sofa didn’t respond. For good reason, as I discovered when I set his sandwich on the coffee table in front of him and heard him snoring.

I tapped his foot with mine. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

His eyes opened. “Hmmm?”

I took the remote control away from him and turned down the volume. “Dinner’s served.”

Yawning, he sat up as I joined him on the sofa. “I was watching that.”