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

Maybe Brenda’s list held some answers? My stomach growled as the aroma of fried calamari escaped from the restaurant container. First things first, I locked the door, dropped the bag on the table, and poured myself a glass of wine.

THIRTEEN

TEN O’CLOCK, HE’D said. Like a boss? Not really. I had no clue what to make of the whole scenario. But I was ready.

By nine forty-five I had everything on Brenda’s list nicely stacked by her back door ready for pick-up. 80 percent I’d found in her pantry. Apparently Brenda was getting ready to do some serious cooking down at the ranch. The other 20 percent had consisted of her personal items and dog food.

As I dried my hair earlier on, it had dawned on me that Tristan never did explain why or who wanted me at the Tucson property. “There's got to be a morning after” had been silently shouting at my subconscious from the minute I opened my eyes. Ah, the irony of the combination, water in my eyes and the theme song from The Poseidon Adventure in my head forced me to think about Ana Martin, The Nest drowning victim, that and subsequently the wasted day at the police station.

Brenda had cunningly texted about seeing me soon and being in a hurry to do something. It was a preemptive strike against my chance to grill her about the drive ahead and above all, the driver.

The smell of conspiracy filled the Monday morning air as Tristan’s black SUV backed up the driveway. When he spotted me out there his smile was a mix of surprise and...dare I call it joy? Nooo, according to Kassandra and her last Tarot reading, I shouldn’t project stuff like that. Projection or not, he seemed happy to see me and the pile of stuff next to me. There.

“Hey, Fiat, looks like you’re ready to go. Okay if we grab some coffee down the road?” He easily loaded the two boxes filled with pantry items. The boxes were the ones Brenda always recycled, but Tristan didn’t know that, the better to let him believe I was super organized.

“Coffee sounds terrific. Let me get my stuff and lock up.” Fifteen minutes later we were on the 51 heading toward Interstate 10. “I feel like I’m playing hooky.”

“Did you ever do that?” he asked.

“Couldn’t.” I shrugged, “I’m from a small town where everybody knows everyone. The only time my sister and I decided to skip school it started to rain really bad, and the only place we could go and hide was either church or the train station. We picked the train station, by the time we made it there we were soaking wet, and the woman minding the newspaper stand called our mother. I’ll spare you the details.”

He chuckled between sips of coffee. “Oh, girl, I’m so glad you’re going with me, the road can get tedious after a while.”

“How often do you go to the ranch?”

“I will need to make bi-weekly trips until it’s up and running, but then only every few months. I don’t want to bore you with details. The goal is for the place to be self-supporting in about 2 years. We have a big dedication planned for after the holidays. As soon as we set the date, I’ll let you know so you can save the day.”

“Huh, save the day for what?”

“To come and help us celebrate.”

“As long as I don’t have to get on a horse.”

“Oh, yes, your fear of horses—we’ll need to work on that.”

I decided to let that one slide and gave him credit for his good intentions. The day was as glorious as could be, the more reasons to feel sorry for my family in Italy. I saw the pic my sister posted on Facebook. Snow and ice everywhere.

“I really like the book.” He slipped it in there like it was a secret only the two of us shared. It caught me completely off guard, and of course blood rushed to my cheeks to make sure Tristan Dumont knew about my impromptu reaction. Great.

He reached over and patted my left hand, and I prayed my trembling didn’t give away my inner battle. I wanted so bad to take his hand and bring it to my lips, but all the years of Catholic upbringing produced a temporary paralysis of my arms. So I kept the frozen smile on my lips and the yearning in my heart.

“It tells me that you took time to find a book tied to my passions. You didn’t just go online and click on a pretty cover. Thank you, Fiat. You always amaze me in so many new ways.” His voice was red velvet cupcake with double butterscotch frosting. Oh my!!! He really, really liked it. Goosebumps went racing up my spine. Breathe Monica, breathe. He kept his hand on mine for most of the ride. What he didn’t do, was mention Angelique or anyone else of importance.

The ranch was outside Tucson, so we left the freeway and headed toward the Catalinas, miles from the center of town. The trip had lasted a little over 2 hours and never once did he explain why I was there. Weird. He seemed more concerned with my daily routine back in Phoenix and to make sure I would call him if the two detectives bugged me again. He even offered the services of his lawyer. The offer stayed with me longer than I liked, bad omen?

My make-believe-I’m-a-cowgirl new boots had just hit ground when Dior literally jumped out of nowhere and anchored his front paws on my shoulders, the better to lick my face.

“Hey, hey, stop it. You’re going to knock me down. Hey! Down boy, down.” Everyone passing by watched and laughed, and no one came to my rescue. Cowards.

Finally Brenda showed up, wearing jeans and knee-high boots new to me, and what looked like—a different hair cut? No, not the haircut. The hair color. Interesting.

“Stop it, Dior,” she said to the Dane, who totally ignored