Kiss Me, Kill Me

“Believe me, I had no idea.”

“Blind date?” Wendi asked.

“All but. Listen, I want two more drinks—rum and Coke—but he doesn’t need to know what they are. I’m only telling you so you can tally up the check in advance. We won’t be ordering dessert. Bring the check the minute we finish eating.”

Wendi smiled hugely. “I’m more than happy to help you out, Dr. Overton.”

“I knew I knew you,” Carrie said.

The girl smiled. “You put three stitches in my head last year.” The girl lifted her hair off her forehead. “Softball bat.”

“Yeeouch. Listen, if I promise to slip you a really good tip, will you do me one more favor?”

“No tip necessary,” the girl said. “Name it.”

“I’d better not be driving, so would you call my house and tell my son I’m going to need a ride home, and to be here in one hour and just wait for me in the parking lot?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Sam. I don’t have your number, though.”

“Twenty-four, sixty-one,” Carrie said. She didn’t need to give the girl the exchange or the area code. They were the same for everyone in town.

“You’ve got it.” Then Wendi looked over at Ambrose again. “It really wasn’t a blind date?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Wendi shrugged and turned to go back to her other duties.

Twenty minutes later the food was served and Carrie was draining her second rum and Coke, feigning interest in Ambrose’s diatribe on 401ks versus IRAs, and recent income tax code changes.

Fascinating stuff.

Not.

She dug into her haddock with relish, mentally willing molecules of mercury to ride the airsteam across the table and rain down onto his veal. It was difficult not to shovel the food into her mouth as fast as humanly possible, but she didn’t want to be obvious.

“Refill on that Coke for you,” Wendi said, placing the third and final drink in front of Carrie. “How’s the fish?”

“Perfect,” Carrie said.

“And your veal, sir?”

“It’s a bit dry, but I didn’t expect five-star cuisine, after all.”

Carrie gulped the last bit of liquid from drink number two and handed the empty to the long-suffering Wendi, who took it with her back to the kitchen. She must have been sharing the date from hell tale with the rest of the staff, though, because even though the alcohol was washing over her brain at this point, Carrie was aware of the sympathetic looks she was getting from the other employees.

Ambrose, thankfully, was oblivious.

Nearly an hour later, finally, the meal was over, and Wendi was right on the spot, asking if they would like to order dessert. Carrie spoke before Ambrose, saying, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ambrose said. “Maybe we should see what they have to offer before making a hasty decision. Can you bring the cart around for us, miss?”

Wendy looked at Carrie helplessly.

“There’s no cart, sir. Just a dessert menu.”

Carrie sighed and turned her attention back to Wendi. “Bring us the menu.” While she held the girl’s eye, she tapped her glass. “And another Coke.”

“Sure. I’ll be back in two shakes.”

She was true to her word.

Carrie sipped her drink while Ambrose worked his way through a slice of apple pie, after complaining about the selection and quality of desserts the establishment offered. And finally, finally, finally, the check was delivered to the table. It included four “Diet Cokes” at five bucks a pop.

“That’s outrageous! Twenty dollars for a few sodas?”

Before he could say more, Carrie yanked the bill from his hand, slapped her credit card on top of it and handed both to Wendi.

He looked at her as if she’d grown a set of antlers.

“I insist,” she said. “Consider it a welcome to Shadow Falls and a thank-you for helping out with the search today.”

“It’s completely unnecessary,” he said.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

Wendi took the card away, returning in short order with the final receipt. Carrie added a twenty-dollar tip, signed the bottom and handed it back to her. Then she pocketed her card and got to her feet. She swayed just a little and had to grab hold of the edge of the table. She shot Ambrose a quick look and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

He hadn’t. He came around the table and, taking her elbow, walked with her to the front door, opened it for her and looked genuinely sorry the evening was over. “I hope you had a pleasant time,” he said.

“It was very nice,” she lied.

“Next time perhaps you’ll allow me to treat you.”

“If you’re still here the next time I have a hole in my schedule, it’s a deal,” she said. Had schedule sounded like shedule just then? Good God, the rum was hitting harder than she’d thought. She was glad she’d taken the precaution of having Wendi phone Sam to take her home.

“I see.” He said it as if perhaps he did.

“Good night, Ambrose.” She tried to make it sound friendly and kind, but she thought she had probably already hurt the man’s feelings. And while he’d been irritating all evening, she thought her dislike of him and eagerness to get the meal over with might have some other cause.

Another cause with long hair, an unshaven face and a guitar over his shoulder.

“Good night,” Ambrose said, and then walked toward his car.

Just for show, Carrie walked toward her own, but as she did, she scanned the parking lot in search of her son’s Funkmaster, which ought to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And she didn’t see it.

Upon reaching her own understated, ordinary mini van, she noticed someone leaning on it. The very guy she’d just been thinking about. Just? No, she’d been thinking about him all evening.

Glancing behind her, she saw Ambrose’s car pulling away in the distance. Good, he probably hadn’t seen. No point in hurting his feelings even more. And then she looked at Gabe again. He was coming around the car now, moving toward her.