Bachelor Cop Finally Caught?

“Did you talk to Marshall Collier?”

“Of course. He’s 102—and still sharp as a tack. He tells great anecdotes.”

“And Nellie Pollard? You couldn’t interview her.”

“That was a bit more challenging,” she admitted. “Poor thing just sits in a chair and rocks and hums all day, when she’s not sleeping.”

“So what did you do?”

“I interviewed her one surviving son. And her grandsons. Then some of the people she gave piano lessons to during her years as a music teacher—her life reflected through the lives she touched.”

“Did you feel you got to know her that way?”

“I sat with her for a while yesterday,” she said. “The song she hums all the time? It was her favorite—one she taught all her students. Her husband sang it to her the night he proposed to her. She hasn’t played piano since I was in diapers, but she still hears that song in her head.”

“That’s pretty sad.”

“I know. She’s been in a steady decline for the past ten years. But for the almost sixty years prior to that, she brought music into the lives of several generations of young people. Now a lot of them are old, too—but they remember her music.”

Dan studied Lindsey’s face in the glow of the chili-pepper lights. She looked…dreamy, he thought. As if she could hear the music playing even now.

He had no doubt that the articles would be good. Better than should be expected from the average small-town newspaper. But then, the Evening Star was better than the average small-town paper, he conceded—especially now that Cameron had become managing editor, and as long as Lindsey and Riley wrote most of the articles. Cameron would stay—after all, he’d married the paper’s owner. But Riley would be leaving eventually, once he decided to get serious about that book he’d been writing for so long.

As for Lindsey—well, she probably should be utilizing her talents in a bigger market—as much as Dan hated to admit it.

Chuck’s son, Gary, appeared then, bearing a heavily loaded tray. Two big bowls of rice, two of spicy seafood-and-vegetable gumbo. A platter of warm corn fritters. Two mason jars filled with ice water.

“You guys don’t want beer with this?” Gary asked, setting the food in front of them.

“No.”

“Yes.”

They’d spoken simultaneously. Dan glared at Lindsey. “No,” he repeated.

She frowned, but shrugged. “No,” she said to Gary.

“Whatever. Give me a sign if you need anything.” Gary shuffled off at his usual speed—a mosey.

“I’m on duty,” Dan said in response to Lindsey’s questioning look.

“I’m not.”

He spooned gumbo over his rice, then added a liberal dash of hot sauce. “Since when do you drink beer?”

“I don’t very often. But sometimes it’s good with Chuck’s gumbo. I am of age, Dan—want to see my ID?” she asked a bit too sweetly.

He knew very well that she was old enough to drink legally—which didn’t mean he had to like it. How often did she show up here like this, anyway—dressed this way and drinking beer?

He was seeing an all new side to B.J.’s little sister—one he wasn’t sure he liked. But then, Dan had never liked change.

They ate in silence for a few minutes—until their meal was interrupted by a big-shouldered young man with a shock of brown hair, his blue eyes focused squarely on Lindsey’s petite, but prime, cleavage. “Hey, Chief,” the intruder said without looking at Dan.

“Hey, Jimmy. What’s up?”

“Not much. How you doing, Lindsey? Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

She responded with her usual friendliness. “Hi, Jimmy. How are things at the muffler shop?”

“Lot better now that Delbert Farley’s behind bars. I always hated working with that as—that jerk.”

Dan found it extremely irritating that Jimmy’s gaze had hardly wavered from Lindsey’s neckline. “It was good to see you, Jimmy,” he said abruptly, not caring if he sounded rude. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Oh, uh…yeah. See ya, Chief. You, too, Lindsey.”

“See you, Jimmy.” Lindsey waited until Jimmy was out of hearing distance before commenting to Dan, “You’re in a mood tonight.”

“What do you mean?” he asked a bit too sharply.

“See? You’re snappy. And I’m not even hassling you for a story.”

He shrugged. “Sorry. Guess I’m just hungry.”

She smiled a little and nudged the platter of corn fritters toward him. “So eat.”

Their hands brushed when he reached for one. Even as he reacted to the contact—not quite a static shock, but a similar feeling—he noticed that she’d had a manicure, her usually unvarnished nails now sporting a dark polish.

For some reason the observation made him frown again.

Chapter Three

Her makeover had been a massive waste of time, Lindsey decided glumly. The primping, the fussing, the shopping—all for nothing. Dan hadn’t even noticed.

Trying to feign enthusiasm for the food, she finished her meal.

“Do you want anything else?” Dan asked.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“I’ll see if I can get the check, then.” Dan lifted a hand, trying to catch the young man’s attention. “Seems like Gary’s moving slower than usual tonight.”

“I’ve noticed that, myself. I wonder if he needs vitamins.”

Chuckling, Dan shook his head. “I think he’s just slow.”

“I’ll pay for my own meal, of course.”

Shooting her a glance over his coffee cup, Dan replied flatly, “You will not.”