Kiss Me, Kill Me. Maggie Shayne

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.

      “Surprised to see me?” he asked.

      She nodded, mute, trying to think of something to say. “I thought Sam was coming.”

      “Sam dropped me off. I asked him to.”

      “Why?”

      He shrugged. “It sounded to me like you were having a miserable time with our pal Ambrose. I figured the timing was perfect. I’ll look great by comparison, and you’ll be impressed in spite of your dislike of, uh, hippie drifters.”

      She smiled a little crookedly. “Drifter hippies,” she corrected, then looked away. “Sam told you I said that, huh?”

      He nodded, held out a hand. “Keys?”

      She fished them from her purse and placed them into his open hand. As she did, her own hand skimmed his palm, and she felt it right to her toes.

      Their eyes met, then slid away. He walked around to the passenger side, opened her door for her and stood back to wave a gallant arm toward the car.

      She got in, and he closed the door. A moment later he was behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs. He started the engine, turned on the headlights, fastened his seat belt.

      She turned his way, her head resting on the seat, and found herself just staring at his profile for a long moment.

      He glanced at her. “Feeling good, are you?”

      “Mmm-hmm. Totally relaxed. And relieved. Thanks for rescuing me.”

      “Anytime,” he said.

      “And for being so good to Sam.”

      He smiled. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Carrie. He’s a great kid.”

      “He really is,” she agreed.

      Gabe nodded. “Yeah. And that Sadie…she’s quite the firecracker.”

      “You’ve got that right.” She inhaled slowly, then let out her breath. “So I guess I just have one question.”

      “Shoot,” he said.

      “Why is it you care whether or not I’m impressed with you?”

      He met her eyes, but only briefly. “Well, because you’re smart and gorgeous and fascinating, and because I’m male.”

      She smiled slowly. “Are you always this direct and honest?”

      “I really do strive to be.”

      “That’s…refreshing.”

      “Glad you think so.”

      “I do. And I think I owe you an apology for misjudging you. My son says you’re rich and famous.” She made a face. “Not that that makes any difference. There are plenty of rich and famous people who are total jerks, I’m sure.”

      “Rich is a relative term. And open to a wide variety of interpretations.”

      “Yes, it is,” she said. “So do you consider yourself rich?”

      “Beyond my wildest dreams,” he admitted. “But not because I have a mansion or a fancy car or gold-plated faucets in my bathrooms.”

      “Do you?” she asked, a bit wide-eyed.

      “I don’t even own a house. And you’ve seen what I drive. No. I’m rich because I get to do what I love most for a living. I’m rich because I get to live anywhere I want in this beautiful country of ours. I’m rich because I’m free. I go where I want, stay as long as I want, do what I want, work when I feel like it, and I’m happy most of the time. That’s my definition of being rich.”

      She nodded slowly. “I think that’s a damn good definition.”

      Gabe could tell she was tipsy. Not drunk. He doubted the respectable doctor would ever allow herself to get beyond control. But he was glad to see that she was relaxed enough for an honest conversation. As he drove her back to her house, he said, “Sam tells me you took in a boarder.”

      She nodded, her head resting on the seat back. “I end up with a couple every fall. Didn’t want any this year, but—”

      “Why not?”

      She slid him a sideways look. “Between Kyle being missing and all the reporters who’ve