“Something that concerns me.”
“What about your talks with Ian, nothing there?”
“He was very cooperative, wanted to help in any way he could, even offered to make those at the lodge available for interviews, which, of course, I had planned to do. But he insisted he knew nothing about the man or so he claims.”
“You think he might know something?”
“Isn’t that why you’re going out on a date with him tomorrow to see what you can find out?” my father asked, giving me that you-can’t-fool-me look. “Your mom may think she’s fixing you up with the guy, but I know better. You’re more interested in what you can find out than you are in the actual date.”
“You know me too well, Dad,” I confessed.
“I like to think I do, though sometimes you surprise me. Don’t surprise me by falling for this guy. He’s too good looking to want to settle for one woman when he can have a whole buffet.”
“You sound like Josh, and I thought you would know that I’m smarter than that,” I said, bothered that I felt a pang of disappointment at my own intentions.
“I figured you were, but you should know your brothers are already waiting to run him out of town.”
“I don’t think he’s the type that intimidates easily,” I said, recalling Ian’s words to me.
“Maybe, but if he hurts my little girl, he’s going to find himself in a world of hurt.”
I walked around the counter and gave my dad a hug, repeating to him what I had said through the years. “You’re my superhero and always will be.”
“Always.”
I gave him another hug, smiling at the familiar scent of Old Spice, the aftershave he had used forever and had always brought a sense of comfort when he would wrap his arms around me and hug me tight.
“I better get going,” he said when I stepped away. “And text me after your date with Mr. Cover Model.”
“Dad! I can take care of myself.” I said, sounding far too much like a teenage girl frustrated with her dad.
“Ian is a suspect. The dead guy was found on his property. He was carrying a knife.” My dad shook his head. “That’s it, you’re not going out with him. Call him and cancel.”
“No. I want to see if I can find out anything and I’m way past the age of you telling me who I can date.”
My dad rubbed his chin just like he always does when he’s frustrated. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not telling you that or you’ll follow us.”
“Pepper!”
“Dad,” I said, resting my hand on his arm. “I managed to survive several years on my own. I think I can manage one date with Mr. Cover Model.”
“Tell me where you’ll be, and you have my word I won’t follow.”
My dad never went back on his word. “As soon I know, I’ll text you.”
“Good, that makes me feel better. Now I have to go.”
He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, snatched his hat off the counter, and headed to the door. As he stepped outside, he ordered, “Lock it.”
I hurried over and turned the lock, knowing he’d wait until he heard the click.
I returned to my office determined to get my calendar updated and a whole bunch of other work, even though my mind kept asking what the heck could connect me to this murder?
8
“You’re not wearing that?” Amy asked, like a mother forbidding her daughter from dressing a certain way.
I followed after her like a dutiful puppy to my bedroom. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing. I paid far too much money for theses tattered looking jeans when I could have done the same to my old ones.”
“It’s not the same and you know it,” Amy scolded, entering my walk-in closet while continuing to shake her head. “We seriously need to go shopping for you. Take those hiking boots off,” she ordered and started rifling through my clothes.
I don’t argue with Amy when it comes to fashion. She knows what I will fight her on and only pushes me so far past my comfort zone.
“I would die for a closet like this, but then I would expect nothing less from a famous fashion model.”
“I miss Aunt Effie every time I walk in there,” I said, thinking of the beautiful women, not only in features, but in heart, who had left me the house and all it contained.
“She was a gorgeous woman and so kind,” Amy said, grabbing a few things with the excitement of a girl on Christmas morning.
She was that and so much more and I was grateful to her every day, more so for the wonderful memories she left me with than anything else.
“Take that do-nothing-for-you gray shirt off and put this on,” Amy ordered.
“It’s white,” I said and retreated a step as if I was allergic to it. “You know what happens when I wear white. I always spill something on it.”