Flamingo Diner (11 page)

Matt began plucking up the wilting bouquets of flowers one by one, feeling like a bit of an idiot for going along with this crazy scheme of Gabe’s and Harley’s. Then, again, he would have felt like even more of an idiot if there was some clue out here and he’d ignored it, especially when only a few brief hours ago he’d promised Emma to do whatever he could to find answers.

Most of the tributes hadn’t been signed. There were bunches of daisies and carnations, a scattering of single roses. A few stuffed toys had cards that had been written in the awkward style of a very young child. There was even a spatula tied with ribbons and a white apron with “We’ll miss you,” written in marker across the front. All of these were touching, but essentially the sort of thing Matt would have expected to find.

But there was one bouquet, buried almost at the bottom of the pile, that intrigued him. It was more lavish than the others, the kind that normally would have been sent to the funeral home. That it was now covered by so many others suggested it had been here almost from the day the news of Don’s death had broken.

There was a pale green ribbon wound around the expensive basket filled with browning lilies and limp white roses. Attached to it was a small florist’s card
with one word written in bold script. Though it had almost been washed away by one of the recent afternoon showers, he could still make it out: “Why?”

Matt sighed. Why, indeed?

E
mma was on her way to deliver a plate of eggs and bacon to Gabe Jenkins and a bowl of raisin bran to Harley Watson. A hush fell over the two men as she approached. Since they were never silent for more than a few seconds at a time, she regarded them with suspicion. When they avoided her gaze, she knew immediately something was up.

“Okay, guys, what’s going on?” she demanded, setting their food on the table.

“Nothing,” Gabe said, looking increasingly guilty.

“Absolutely nothing,” Harley agreed.

Emma wasn’t buying it. A quick glance around the restaurant reassured her that things were temporarily under control. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly, looking into one pair of hooded eyes and then the other.

“Well, if that isn’t a fine thing to be saying to a loyal customer who’s been coming into this place since you were knee-high to a grasshopper,” Gabe said with indignation.

“It’s because you’ve been coming in here so long that I can read you like a book,” Emma retorted. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” Matt said sternly, arriving just in time
to overhear her and inject himself into the middle of things.

His comment promptly tripled her suspicions. Emma whirled on him. “Did I ask you?”

He grinned, completely unintimidated. “Nope, but I happen to know the answer, and I love to share.”

“Nothing is just what we told her, too,” Harley chimed in as if he were eager to reassure Matt on that point. “She doesn’t believe us.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma said emphatically, then decided on a tactical retreat. She smiled sweetly at the entire lot of coconspirators. “But with Matt sticking his nose into things, I suppose I’ll never get you to cough up the truth. I might as well go back and scramble some more eggs.”

“Good idea,” Gabe said, holding out his plate. “These are cold.”

She frowned at him. “Whose fault is that? Eat them, anyway.”

Gabe shook his head sorrowfully. “It ain’t like the old days in here, when the customer was always right.”

Emma gave him a phony smile as she stood up to leave. “
Most
of our customers still are,” she said as she headed back behind the counter.

“Girl, I have pictures of you when you had gap-teeth and pigtails,” Gabe called after her. “You want me showing them around?”

Emma laughed. “Most everyone in here has already seen me at my worst, and they’re still coming around. I’m not scared of your threats.”

A few minutes later, she glanced across the diner and saw that Matt was giving the two men a serious lecture about something. Something was definitely up
with those two, and Matt was not only in on it, he didn’t want her to know about it. Well, she had ways of getting the truth out of him. He might think she was unaware of the crush he’d had on her years ago, but she wasn’t. She’d simply been too young to know what to do about it.

The good news was that unless she was very much mistaken, the sparks were still there. Kim’s efforts to turn her into a femme fatale hadn’t been a total waste—she knew how to exploit that sort of weakness and, in this case at least, she wasn’t above doing it.

After Gabe and Harley left, along with most of the other regulars, Matt wandered over to the counter. With her back to him, Emma discreetly unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, checked the effect, then dared to undo one more button. Then she grabbed the coffeepot and took Matt a refill. When she leaned down to pour, he was certain to get an eyeful of her adequate, if not ample cleavage.

When she stood up, though, he was chuckling, not speechless.

“It’s not going to work, you know,” he said.

She plastered an innocent expression on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not going to crack and spill my guts to you, just because you’re putting on a little show for my benefit.”

Emma flushed. She obviously needed a little more practice if she was going to get this femme fatale stuff right. “I am not doing any such thing,” she retorted with what she considered to be an appropriate level of indignation.

He reached across the counter and skimmed a fin
ger along the opening in her blouse. “Then this isn’t just for me?”

Emma swallowed hard and tried to ignore the deliciously wicked sensation set off by his touch. She hadn’t been counting on that. Then, again, Matt had taken her by surprise more than once since she’d returned.

“Absolutely not!” she insisted, lying through her teeth.

He made a great show of looking all around the now empty diner. “Then who is it for?”

“I was just a little overheated,” she claimed. “Since everyone else had gone, I thought I’d unbutton my blouse and cool off a little. I didn’t think you’d object. You’ve seen me in a lot less.”

“On the beach or at the pool,” he reminded her. “And as I recall your mother was pretty strict about the amount of skin you could show off even there.”

“But I’m all grown-up now. Mama doesn’t have a say about how I dress.”

“Then you think she’d approve of this?”

“It’s just a couple of buttons,” she said blithely. “Why not?”

“Liar! She’d have a stroke if she thought you were blatantly trying to seduce information out of me.”

“Oh, please, I am not trying to seduce you,” she claimed. “Your ego is out of control, Matthew.”

She began to jerk away, but he tucked a finger under the edge of her blouse, his knuckle barely touching her bare skin, and held her perfectly still. A part of her wanted to command him to slip that finger just a little lower, but she didn’t dare. She was already risking far more than her reputation. She was taking
a huge chance with her ability to cling to her composure.

His gaze locked with hers. “In that case,” he said very softly, his eyes flashing dangerously, “allow me to fix this.”

Before she knew it, both buttons were neatly back in place and she was once again looking as prim and proper as she usually did. He’d accomplished the task so deftly, she was sure he had to be an expert. The thought grated.

Worse, she was feeling anything but prim and proper, as he’d so clearly intended. She wanted to blame the fire licking through her on anger, but she was too honest to attempt the lie, even to herself. She’d played a wicked little game with Matt, and he’d won. She hadn’t been anticipating that, had pretty much thought she was immune to him. If the past few minutes had taught her anything, it was that the days of thinking of him as a big brother were over.

As for thinking of him as a potential lover, that was the last thing she needed. She wanted him for an ally. She wanted him to be her friend. She wanted to go back to the way it had been a few minutes ago, before every sense in her entire body had danced a little jig at his touch.

Desperate to recapture their easygoing relationship, she moved away and carefully set the coffeepot down before turning back to face him, her expression neutral.

“Why did you want Gabe and Harley to clam up?” she asked, deciding on the direct course of action, since subterfuge had pretty much blown up in her face.

“What makes you think I wanted them to keep silent about something?”

“Matt, I’ve known those two my whole life, and you just about as long,” she said impatiently. “I can recognize a conspiracy when I see one.”

“What would Gabe, Harley and I have to conspire about?”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” she said, exasperated by his display of obviously phony innocence. “Does it have something to do with my father?”

“Don’t be crazy.”

“Does it?” she repeated, regarding him with an unflinching look.

“Okay, okay.” Matt sighed heavily. “I found those two poking around at the memorial people have put up where we found your dad. They were conducting their own investigation.”

“Dear God,” Emma said, trying to imagine Gabe and Harley playing sleuth. The thought boggled the mind. With their vivid imaginations and blundering ways, they were bound to end up in trouble at the least. At worst, they could mess up some really solid lead.

“I hope you convinced them to cut it out,” she said.

“No, I deputized them,” Matt said sarcastically, then shook his head at her. “Come on, Emma. Of course, I told them to butt out.”

“Will they listen?”

“I doubt it.”

Now it was her turn to sigh.

“They just want to help,” Matt pointed out. “They’re feeling pretty helpless right now and this is
the one way they could come up with to show their support to you and the family.”

“I know how they feel. I’ve been feeling pretty helpless myself,” she conceded. “So did the three of you turn up anything interesting last night?”

Matt described finding an expensive bouquet amid all of the smaller tributes. “I can’t help wondering why someone wouldn’t have sent that to the funeral.”

“Maybe it was from someone who didn’t know him all that well,” she said, but Matt was already shaking his head. “Why not?”

“Because of the card,” he explained. “There was something almost plaintive about it. All it said was, ‘Why?’ That suggests that there’s someone out there who wants answers just as much as you do.”

Emma’s heart began to thud dully. “A lover?” she asked, barely able to squeeze the word out past the lump in her throat.

Her mother hadn’t said as much, but Emma had guessed it was one of the things Rosa was afraid of. Emma had always thought her parents’ marriage was on rock-solid ground, but maybe it hadn’t been. No one, not even a daughter, could ever know what really went on in a marriage, unless the people were prone to public arguments.

And lately, they had been, she recalled with dismay. She forced herself to meet Matt’s sympathetic gaze. “That would explain why Dad was so short-tempered.”

“Do you honestly believe your father would have cheated on your mother?” he said with satisfying skepticism.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Emma said.

“Then don’t. I certainly don’t, and we don’t have any evidence pointing in that direction.”

Cautious relief stirred inside her. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. Emma, don’t jump to conclusions and don’t think the worst. Let’s take this one step at a time and see where it leads us. Maybe we’ll know more after we meet with Jennifer on Monday.”

She nodded. She could wait a few more days, especially if the news was likely to be bad.

“That reminds me,” she said, relieved to be able to change the subject. “Cori called last night. She wondered if Sunday evening would be good for us for dinner.”

Matt nodded. “Works for me. How about you?”

“Actually, it’s the best night for me, too. Cori’s cooking. I’ll tell her it’s fine. She said seven o’clock, if that works for us.”

“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, then,” Matt said.

“I could just meet you there,” she said, her thoughts drifting back to that earlier instant of sizzling awareness. It would be really smart to avoid a situation in which that could be repeated.

Apparently Matt guessed exactly what she was thinking, because his gaze locked on hers. “I’ll pick you up,” he repeated, then added, his eyes twinkling, “Just keep your blouse buttoned, okay?”

Emma frowned at him. “I’ll wear a turtleneck.”

He laughed. “No need to go quite that far on a hot August night. I can remain reasonably civilized when I have to.”

But what if I don’t want you to? Emma wondered, barely managing to keep the thought to herself. What
if what she really wanted was for Matt Atkins to make her feel totally alive for just a few blissful hours in the midst of all this mind-numbing uncertainty?

“Or not,” he said quietly, his gaze unwavering.

Emma barely contained a sigh. It was almost as if he’d read her mind…the one she’d obviously lost.

Matt was pretty sure that little scene in the diner with Emma had cost him ten years off his life. Didn’t the woman know any better than to play a game like that with a man? A less scrupulous man would have taken what she was offering and not given it a second thought. Hell,
he’d
almost grabbed her and plundered that sweet mouth of hers without thinking.

Matt shuddered at the memory of just how close he’d come to forgetting every rule he had where Emma was concerned. As a girl, she had driven him crazy without doing a thing besides bestowing an occasional smile on him. As a woman, she had an arsenal of weapons that could tempt a saint, which apparently was precisely what she’d thought she was doing. If he couldn’t get a grip on his hormones, these visits to the diner were going to kill him.

Not that he would stay away to save himself. She needed him and he’d promised to be there for her. Of course, maybe he could speed things along, spending some of his own time investigating whether there really was a motive that might explain her father’s suicide. Determined to do just that, he pushed back from his desk at the station and headed for the door.

“You going someplace?” Cramer inquired as he passed.

“I’ve got a few things to look into,” Matt said.

“I’d go by Sweet Smell of Success, if I were you.”

Matt spun around, his gaze narrowed. “Why would I want to go by a florist’s?”

“You want to know who sent those flowers to Don’s memorial by the lake, don’t you?” Cramer asked, his expression totally innocent.

“Are you clairvoyant or something?” he asked testily. “Or have you been hiding out in the bushes by the lake?”

Cramer chuckled. “I had dinner with Gabe and Harley last night. They couldn’t wait to tell me about their big investigation.”

“Heaven help me,” Matt muttered.

“It’s going to take more than heavenly intervention to keep those two under control. If I were you, I’d lock them up in protective custody.”

“Maybe I’ll just assign you to keep them out of mischief,” Matt retorted.

“As if,” Cramer said, then apparently spotted the serious gleam in Matt’s eyes. “Oh, no. They’re my friends.”

“Who better to keep an eye on them?”

“I don’t spy on my friends.”

“It’s not spying. It’s police business.”

“My police business is right here,” the desk sergeant reminded him. “Stacks of paperwork to do while I’m subbing on the day shift.” He shuffled an inch-high accumulation as if that would prove his point.