Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes Maria Swan (read e book txt) 📖

I did just that and then bam—I squarely recognized one of the voices rising above the din. Kay.

“I still insist we get a lawyer to do it. We are all as liable, and I don’t know about you, but this is not the type of publicity I want my name associated with. Dale? Are you with me?” The voices seemed to move my way, and reactions to Kay’s suggestion came fast, furious, and garbled, but I moved faster, and the elevator doors closed before Kay and company cleared the corner.

I drove out of the parking lot like the Devil was on my trail, and maybe he was.

Kay and Dale. So it was true. True, what? Kay’s tone of voice didn’t sound very romantic. Like I had any idea what people of a certain age considered romantic...and again, a certain age triggered that special button, supplying the same reaction—Mr. and Mrs. Tristan Dumont. Breathe, Monica, breathe.

I peeked at the back seat of my Fiat, Tristan’s gift sat there waiting to be delivered. The loud honking behind me brought me back to reality and to the green light. I punched the gas pedal. Forget Kay and Double Wide. All I could think about was what would happen after Tristan opened his gift.

Would he like the book? Would he call me? Would he send me flowers to thank me and congratulate me on my good taste? What if he already had a copy? Or maybe he didn’t like to read. Okay, that was not even possible. I remembered when I visited him after the accident, he confided how his mom read to him when he was little, and then, he’d added, “In her last days I would read and watch her life slip away.”

And just like that I wanted to be with him and watch him open his present and maybe see a smile in his eyes, and—the cell chimed. Brenda.

Brenda? I saw a Burger King drive-through to my right, drove into the parking, and answered my phone. Even with the car windows rolled up, I could smell the mixed odors of grease, salt, and hamburgers wafting from the drive-through. My stomach reacted with a massive gurgle. I looked at the car clock it was 11:45 a.m.

“What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Great, Brenda just answered my question with a question, I sensed trouble. “Just left The Nest, the high rise from hell if you ask me, and I’m ogling a Burger King drive-through, why?”

“I need a big favor.” I knew it. I braced myself.

“What?” My mouth watered at the idea of a cheeseburger and fries. And she didn’t even ask about The Nest. Double bad.

“It’s Dior.”

I swallowed air. “Spill it out.”

“The Nice Day Spa called. It’s an emergency, all the pets must be removed ASAP.”

“What? Why?” A detour to the day care for dogs was not part of my schedule. Plus, what would I do with the Great Dane while I delivered Tristan’s gift?

“Monica.” Brenda sounded like the lady dentist who’d told me I had a cavity on my last visit—serious, yet slightly annoyed at having to convince me. “There is an electric fire in the old building, a bad one. The dogs are corralled outside waiting to be picked up, surrounded by flashing lights and shouting firemen. I can only imagine the chaotic scene, with the poor dogs barking and howling. It would take me over an hour to get there. Poor Dior must be scared to death. Please?”

Well, according to Sunny, Tristan had planned on going to Tucson to check out the ranch today. I could take Dior with me, I would just hand the book to Lois Thomas, Mrs. Dumont’s assistant and be done.

I sighed. That was the signal of my surrender.

“Thank you, Monica. It’s such a relief. I even tried Bob, but he’s on duty. I don’t want to impose on you and—”

“Shut up before I change my mind. See you when you get home.” After I disconnected I headed to the drive-through. I always requested my burgers dry, so they had to be cooked to order, while poor Dior waited, not knowing what was happening. I could eat after I picked him up. Maybe we’d both get a burger, after we delivered the book.

I picked up the perfectly wrapped package and slid it under the front seat. Better safe than sorry. I changed gears and headed to the burning doggie spa.

SEVEN

POOR DIOR, HE towered above the smaller dogs, and he looked lost. Lost and something else, something hard to define. Did he see me coming? He inched in my direction without trampling the other pets waiting to be picked up. I tracked the woman who usually minded the front desk of the Nice Day Spa. She waved and quickly walked over and released Dior, causing a bit of a rush among the anxiously waiting crowd of canines. As we strolled to my Fiat, Dior acted so contained it had me worried. With all the questions and doubts already twirling in my head, doggie’s angst wasn’t in the schedule.

Mercy. Eighty percent of my troubles linked directly to The Nest. A week ago the place was just a name, not even a destination like the hip travel commercials constantly reminded us. Now, no matter what I thought about, The Nest loomed big in my subconscious. The Nest and Tristan.

I glimpsed at the sweet giant sitting in the back of my car. He scooched over and lay his head between the front seats. I didn’t have the heart to drop him home and leave. Oh, what the heck, he might be the perfect excuse for me to just stop by, hand the book over to Lois Thomas or Mrs. Dumont (depending on who opened the door), and say it was a thank-you gift for Mr. Dumont. Yep, sounded like the perfect plan—no small talk, no lingering. In and out. Ouch. IN-N-OUT, there was one of those at the corner of Tatum and Cactus, a small detour and—

Focus, Monica, focus. Business first,