Spring Break. Charlotte Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ to spend my evening trying to reach Frank Lattimore.

      My stomach was growling with hunger. I’d skipped lunch, knowing every food vendor and restaurant would be thronged with spring break crowds, creating at least an hour’s wait to be served. If Bill hadn’t planned to stay overnight in Sarasota, I could have mooched supper off him. He loved to cook and could produce a fantastic meal out of practically thin air in the galley of his cabin cruiser. The Ten-Ninety-Eight, named after police radio code for “assignment completed,” was where he lived at the Pelican Bay Marina. I, on the other hand, considered my refrigerator stocked if it held a couple of Diet Cokes.

      The sun hung low over the waters of St. Joseph’s Sound when I pulled into the parking space at my waterfront condo. I tossed my blazer, purse and keys onto the foyer table, removed my gun and holster, kicked off my shoes and crossed the living room to open the sliders that overlooked the water. Fresh, salty air, a perfect complement to the natural wicker and rattan furniture and the blue-green sea colors I’d chosen for paint and fabrics, filled the room. Bill called my decorating style Florida tourist hotel, but I liked the soothing atmosphere. Until my job as a police detective had ended two months ago, I’d spent too little time at home in the twelve years I’d owned the place. Now, working as my own boss, I hoped that would change.

      I tried again to reach Frank Lattimore’s cell phone with no luck and was headed to my kitchen, hoping supper would miraculously materialize in the refrigerator, when the doorbell rang. I opened the front door to find Bill standing on the front porch.

      I don’t know which I was happier to see, him with his thick white hair, smiling blue eyes, and deeply tanned physique that would put any college boy to shame, or the two bags of Olive Garden takeout he was holding.

      “I thought you were spending the night in Sarasota,” I said.

      “I missed you. Besides,” he said as he hefted the bags, stepped inside and headed for the kitchen, “I knew you’d be hungry.”

      “You know me too well.”

      “Not half as well as I intend to.”

      “What if you discover I only love you because you feed me?”

      “Then I’ll know how to guarantee your affection for the rest of my life.” His grin was devilish. “And you’ll gain a hundred pounds.”

      “Only if you brought tiramisu.”

      “I did.”

      “I think I’ll marry you.”

      “I’m counting on it.” He unloaded the bags and was transferring food into dishes from the cupboards. “Want to eat on the patio?”

      I nodded and picked up a couple of plates and some silverware to carry outside. “Too bad I don’t have any wine.”

      “I thought of that, too.” He pulled a bottle of Chianti from one of the bags. “Can’t have Italian food without a good red wine.”

      “You sure you don’t have an ulterior motive?” I asked.

      “Of course I do. I drove back from Sarasota because I don’t want to sleep alone.”

      I grinned. “The food alone would have worked. The wine is overkill.”

      “Better to have it and not need it—”

      “Than to need it and not have it.” I finished one of his favorite sayings for him.

      Later, sated with linguine and too much wine, I leaned back in my chair and watched the sun drop toward the horizon. I told Bill about our newest case, Jolene Jernigan and the missing Roger.

      “Frank Lattimore’s not answering his cell phone,” I said, “so, at this point, I’m stumped.”

      Bill swirled the last of the wine in his glass. “It doesn’t make sense that Frank, who doesn’t like dogs, would agree to take Roger on a cross-country trip.”

      “Maybe they dropped off the dog to be boarded,” I said. “I’ll start calling kennels and vets in the morning.”

      We watched the sun disappear before Bill spoke again. “Have you talked with your mother lately?”

      “You sure know how to throw cold water on a perfect evening.”

      “I take it that’s a no?”

      “You take it right.”

      My eighty-two-year-old mother, with whom I’d never been close, had ostracized me from the family circle before Christmas last year when I’d arrested the daughter of her best friend during a murder investigation. Although I’d eventually managed to clear the woman and find the real killer, Mother was still miffed. She hadn’t even thanked me for her Christmas present, a gaffe that my socially correct parent would commit only under the direst of circumstances.

      “You have to make the first move,” Bill said.

      “I’ve been moving. I sent her a Christmas gift, and I’ve called several times. But Estelle—” Mother’s housekeeper “—always says that Mother is out or asleep or unavailable.”

      “Priscilla’s not getting any younger. You’d better mend your fences while you can.”

      “I would if I knew how. Mother’s never liked me, and I haven’t a clue why.” The shrinks would have a field day with me, pushing fifty and still at odds with my mother. “She never approved of my career in law enforcement, but her dislike started long before that. Even as a child, I relied on Daddy to run interference between us. I wish Daddy were alive now.”

      “Try sending flowers.”

      I considered his suggestion. “A few dozen roses and crawling from here to her place on my bare knees might do the trick.”

      “Just don’t wait too long,” Bill warned.

      He spoke from experience. His only surviving parent, his father, resided in an Alzheimer’s facility in Tampa, and hadn’t recognized Bill for the past few months.

      “Can we talk about something cheerful?” I asked.

      “How about dessert?”

      “Great. Tiramisu always makes me smile.”

      Bill gathered dishes to carry inside. “I’ll have to hit the sack soon. I want to get up early to beat rush-hour traffic when I return to Sarasota.”

      My tiramisu smile widened. Good food, great wine, my favorite dessert and early to bed with the man I loved. It didn’t get any better than that.

      CHAPTER 2

      With both the dog and my dognapping suspect in the wind, I was back at the office early Tuesday morning, calling boarding kennels and polishing off a double vanilla latte and a fresh cruller from the bookstore coffee shop downstairs, when Dave Adler sauntered in.

      Adler had been my partner before the Pelican Bay Police Department went belly-up, and I’d developed a maternal attachment to the bright young guy. I considered him the son I’d СКАЧАТЬ