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

to come back, I’m not going to leave Leta here hanging high and dry. Everything she did was under my direction. And it’s my name on the line.”

Her name on the line? What? I searched for something to say without sounding...clueless?

“Huh, Brenda, is this something I should know about? Did I miss something?” Her back to the living room, she shrugged and kept on stirring the risotto. “I’ll know more as soon as I get hold of Bob.”

“Bob as in Bob Clarke?” I mumbled between my lips.

No need to irritate the cook while the food was on a hot stove. Tension grew along with the silence. I almost regretted not having stuck to the original plan of Kassandra and pizza at my place. But Kassandra had a change of heart, or so she said and had cancelled our plan. And look, Officer Clarke was at the front door. We exchanged a brief, polite hello.

Brenda turned off the stove and put the lid on the pot. Dior dropped his icky wet rope and went to greet Bob. My stomach growled. The whole sequence rolled out like a badly rehearsed parochial play.

“Monica”—Brenda went to pour some wine for Bob, he declined. Something about going back to work after dinner. That would explain the uniform. I wondered where he’d parked his squad car.—“Do you mind setting the table for Bob too? I invited him.”

Why did she say that? It was her house, her food, her...friend.

“Did you like your Christmas tree?”

I had forgotten that Bob was the doorman for Monica’s secret tree delivery. “Love it. It was such a surprise. Did the tree arrived already decorated?” I asked.

“Well, wait, let me wash my hands and then I’ll tell you.” He headed for the guest bathroom with Dior on his heels. I busied myself setting the table, anything to get away from the sense of doom filling the room.

Part of me wanted to get the hell out of there, but the other part, the one with the brain, told me this could be important, sort of kismet. Kismet. I liked that word, it was new to me, picked it up reading my daily horoscope a few days ago.

Bob came back, the fact that Brenda and Bob weren’t exchanging any idle chitchat had me wondering if they had already had a ‘talk’ about her reason to come back to town. I hoped not, I really, really wanted to know. For a few minutes the only sounds were the silverware I dropped on the glass tabletop and Bob finger drumming on Brenda’s coffee table. Damn.

“About your question regarding the tree...” Why did Bob always speak as if he were reading the Constitution? So serious. “It did arrive mostly decorated. When the men ripped open the heavy bag, the scent of pine was pretty strong. They brought the stand, the whole set up went smoothly. Then they opened a box with gold lettering on it and called Tristan Dumont, for a prescheduled phone conference, and he directed them on where to hang a few special decorations that came in the fancy box. Darn, I can’t remember the store brand. Anyway, once he was satisfied, the two-man crew collected their stuff, wiped the floor, and left, taking all the wrapping and such. They showed me how to plug in the lights. The whole operation only took like 25 minutes. I for one was quite impressed. That Dumont obviously likes you very much. You’re a lucky girl, Monica, but I’m sure you know that.”

I was absolutely speechless. For one thing I hadn’t known Bob could actually carry on a full conversation as I’d only heard him talk in monosyllables. And then, the thing about a phone conference, with visuals? Where was Tristan doing that from? The ranch? Oh, I bet that’s why he had been hiding—horse rescue my eye. And some decorations had obviously been on special order. Just when had Tristan decided to get me the tree? Oh, wait, it was a group effort. Yeah, as if...

“Monica, Monica, are you asleep on your feet? Let’s eat.”

Dear God, how long had I been standing there mumbling to myself. Two pairs of eyes stared at me, make that three if you counted Dior. I sheepishly sat at my usual spot, and Brenda brought the food to the table.

“Are you okay?” Bob asked me.

“I’m good. And very happy to have Brenda here, regardless of reasons. Yeah, I know, I’m selfish that way. Let’s eat.” With that I picked up a hot roll from the bread basket, bit into it, and burned my tongue. “Ouch, ouch.”

All I got was a smile from Bob and an eye roll from Brenda. Dior had sneaked under the table, probably expecting someone to drop something. Always the optimist.

For a last minute make-do meal the risotto was excellent, slightly al dente, with lots of chunky porcini mushrooms. I said all that to Brenda as I sprinkled grated Parmesan on top of it. Bob refilled my wine glass while he drank sparkly San Pellegrino, and just like that the tension gave way to a discussion about Leta and The Nest.

“Should I bring my lawyer?” Brenda asked. I had to bite my lip to keep from asking stupid, uninformed questions. Guess I didn’t bite hard enough. “You have a lawyer?” It slipped out and hung there, possibly the most idiotic question I could have asked...and did ask. Mercy.

“It’s your call,” Bob said. “My opinion? No, no lawyer needed. The detective is trying to track Leta’s movements the night of the party, probably because they found her fingerprints upstairs.”

“Soo? Kay’s place is upstairs, and that’s where the party was. Big deal.” Shut up Monica, was the subliminal message Brenda’s eyes conveyed and not in a gentle way. Bob was more lenient, almost charming in a simple, uncomplicated manner. He reminded me of a comfy, warm slipper, but in a good way. How could he be a cop? He acted like a caring school teacher, not that I could remember any school