Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes, Maria Swan [best short novels of all time .TXT] 📗

“Grab your fast food and come in the house, young lady. We need to talk.”

“You got that right, but not with Bob here. It’s none of his business.”

“True and since Bob isn’t here, this seems to be the perfect time.”

“Huh? I saw his car. I may be hungry, but it hasn’t affected my eyesight.”

“Maybe not your eyesight but certainly your common sense. Hustle, I have a pie baking.”

“A pie?” Suddenly my priority needed adjusting, “What kind of pie?”

“Chocolate pecan.”

“Now you’re teasing me.”

“I’m not.”

The minute I stepped into her house, I had no doubt. I loved chocolate pecan pie. “What’s the occasion? And where is Bob?”

“Here.” She handed me back the fast food. “Go ahead feed the good doggie before he attacks both of us.” She removed Dior’s leash, and he practically leapt from his spot to where I stood. Who said Great Danes can’t jump? I fought him all the way to the laundry room where I found his empty dish and tore the burger into four large pieces, put it in the bowl, and fought to keep him from knocking me down again while I dropped the fries on top of the burger. Mercy.

“You’re not going to preach because I eat fast food, right? And can I have some wine, please?”

“Help yourself. Where have you been?”

“Well, I—hey, wait a minute. What’s this story about you being expected down at the Dumont ranch in Tucson? Is that why you had me pick up Dior?” I pushed the refrigerator door closed with my hip and brought the chilled white wine to the coffee table along with a small bowl of cold steamed green beans, another staple in the Baker household. I felt pretty proud of myself—burger, fries, green beans, and a glass of wine. Not bad for an instant meal.

Unfortunately Dior had already cleaned up his dish and was ready for seconds. “Go ask your mommy. I need to eat. Go, no slobbering on Aunt Monica’s food, you big goof.”

Brenda came to sit next to me, refilled her wine glass, and stole one of my fries. “No, I didn’t ask you to pick up Dior because of the Tucson meeting. I asked you because I had to stay late to defend myself in front of the whole administrative board of the Silver Sage who suggested I give up my catering business or say goodbye to my employment there.”

“What?” Some of my chewed up food flew out of my mouth along with my indignation. “How is that any of their business? You don’t do your catering on their clock.”

Brenda nodded. “It’s not about that. They think that my excessive exposure to bad publicity is damaging the reputation of the community. And like it or not, there is some truth to it.”

“Oh, Brenda, I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

“I have a few options, but enough about me. What is it you want to talk to me about?”

What did I want to talk to her about? A million things, so I spit out the first name to cross my mind—okay, second name. “Kay.”

“Kay?” Pause, long glance. “Your colleague from the office? The Nest Kay?”

How bizarre, she didn’t say, “Last Thursday catering gig Kay?” Why?

“Yes, that Kay. The same one where you did the dinner party on Thursday when you asked me to run over some of the stuff you had forgotten. That Kay.”

I waited to get some loud reaction, nothing. She sipped her wine, and she wasn’t even smoking. Wait, I didn’t see any cigarettes anywhere and...no ashtray on the coffee table. Who was this woman sitting next to me on the couch, and what had she done to the real Brenda and her friend Bob?

“Well?” She turned to look at me. “You said you wanted to talk about Kay.”

“Huh, yes, sort of.” Might as well spit it out. “Do you think she’s involved with Double Wide?”

“Double what? Involved how? Are you getting the flu or something? You better eat, as you aren’t making any sense.”

“Sorry, sorry. I meant Dale Wolf, you know, D.W. Brokerage?” Nothing, she still looked at me like I was speaking gibberish. Maybe I was, as I did keep stuffing my mouth with fries under Dior’s well-rehearsed begging eyes.

“You mean the broker of the newest real estate office in town?” The oven chime went off, and Brenda got up. “Anyway, I don’t know what you want from me. The only person at that dinner that had anything to do with real estate was Kay. Period. Did that answer your question?” She had her oven mittens on and opened the oven door.

At that moment I couldn’t have cared less about Kay, D.W, Celine, or Officer Bob. The heavenly aroma of that pie had me forgetting everything. Well, almost. Thoughts of Tristan’s amber eyes still filled my senses, and the photo of the drowning victim gnawed at my soul, but outside those...it was pie time.

Except, it was too hot to cut, it had to cool a long time or it would be like syrup. Brenda rested the tin on the marble countertop, uncorked a new bottle of Pinot Grigio, and came back to the couch.

“Are you still doing that fake cigarette thingy?” I asked.

She nodded, “It’s working out quite well, but Monica why are you upset about Kay and this...what did you call him? Double Wide? Is he that big?”

Blood rushed to my face, how embarrassing. “No, not at all. It started as a joke at the office. He’s rather fit and not bad looking for his age.”

“Oh, and what age would that be?”

I shrugged. “Like your friend Bob? Maybe younger or maybe he just looks younger because he dresses very—stylish.”

“You seem to know a lot about this man. What made you assume he was at Kay’s dinner?”

“Assume? I saw him.”

“You don’t say. You saw him at Kay’s dinner.”

“You too?”

“Me too...saw him? No.”

“That’s what Kay accused me of. Being inside her condo, that’s why we got into an argument. I know she’s involved with D.W. I don’t know what