Pineapple Lies (20 page)

“You have sons?”

“No my boyz, with a zee, you know, my crowd.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“You could stay at my place, I have four bedrooms.
You
could pick the one you want to stay in…”

Brad reached out and quickly stroked the back of Charlotte’s upper arm with his fingers, his million-watt smile pointed at her like a gun.

She flinched, but before he could react to her repulsion, his phone rang.

“Just a sec…” he said, glancing at the screen. “I have to take this. Big client.”

He stood and walked to the corner of the restaurant where he spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

Charlotte put her elbow on the table and plopped her chin in her hand, staring out the front window. She couldn’t imagine what she was going to do with this guy for the rest of the day. She wasn’t going to be anywhere alone with him that was for sure. He was much too confident, and in her experience, confidence rebuffed tended to turn into anger.

A man walked by the window and Charlotte straightened as he looked inside. His eyes flashed as his gaze met hers.

Declan.

He looked away and passed by without slowing. Charlotte felt a wave of disappointment. She felt sure he’d seen her.

Why wouldn’t he stop?

Declan appeared again in the window, this time walking the opposite way. He stood tall, but with every step his head grew lower, until it disappeared behind the opaque partition of the window, making it appear to her as if he walked down a flight of stairs. She giggled as the top of his head disappeared.

“Sorry about that,” said Brad, returning. “Big client. Two million dollar property. Actually that’s about average for me—”

Charlotte kept her eyes trained on the window and Declan’s head popped into view, jutting forward from the side of the window, the rest of his body still hidden so it looked like a floating head. Declan grinned, but as his gaze drifted from Charlotte to Brad his smile faded. His head withdrew, before he walked by in his original direction without looking into the restaurant again.

“Who was that?” asked Brad.

“A friend of mine,” said Charlotte, staring at the corner of the window where she last saw Declan.

“Dork much?” Brad chuckled to himself. “Anyway, I was thinking. There’s nothing to see around here, right? Not really. Why don’t I grab us a bottle or two of booze and we go back to your house and just get to know each other? I make a mean buttery nipple. Do you have butterscotch schnapps? The girls go
crazy
for those at home. You’ll
love
it. I’ll bring all the supplies, it’s just that if I see one more tiki bar I’m going to vomit, you know? It would be nice to just chill without my grandmother around. Especially with a pretty girl like you.”

Charlotte turned and looked at Brad.

“Really? Does that work on anyone?”

“What?”

“Buttery nipples?”

“Oh
excuse me
,” said Brad, his demeanor shifting from cloying to annoyance so quickly Charlotte thought he’d drop a transmission to the floor. “I suppose you’d be more comfortable going to Hooters for some beers like your usual date, trailer park girl?”

Charlotte stood, her face burning with anger.

“There isn’t even a Hooters around here!” she said through gritted teeth.

She paused, sure that wasn’t the comeback she’d had in mind, before spinning on her heel and storming toward the door.

“Your loss!” called Brad.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Declan fumbled with his keys but found his front door unlocked.

“Hey, Laddie, how was your day?” asked Seamus as he walked in. Seamus had his feet on the sofa table watching baseball on TV. A crumpled bag of potato chips sat resting against his foot, shaking as Seamus bobbed his toes to a beat unheard to all but him.

“Dreamy,” said Declan, throwing a white plastic bag on the kitchen counter.

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm? Whatcha got there?”

“Sandwiches for dinner. I hope you like Italian subs.”

“I do. Grand. So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Work was slow.”

Declan cracked himself a beer. He noticed the empty bottle on the sofa table, and grabbed another from the refrigerator for his uncle.

“That doesn’t look like
work
cranky,” said Seamus, accepting the beer with a nod as Declan flopped down on the opposite side of the sectional. “That looks like
girl
cranky.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Come on, tell Uncle Seamus everything.”

Declan rolled his eyes.

“I saw Charlotte in town. She was with some guy in a restaurant.”

“Maybe it was her brother.”

“She doesn’t have a brother,” said Declan taking a swig. “At least I don’t think so… I guess I don’t really know, but I don’t think so.”

“So was he bigger than you?”

“I’m not going to
fight
him for her. I’m not challenging him to a duel for crying out loud.”

“Okay, okay…that was just my first thought. Give me a second.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just…I thought maybe…I don’t know.”

“Well, let me ask you this, boyo, have you asked her out?”

“No. Not exactly. We got some sushi…”

“Well, there’s your first mistake. Taking a woman to eat raw fish. What’s wrong with you?”

“It was her idea. We had a good time.”

“So why didn’t you arrange a second time?”

“I don’t know, it…I didn’t think it was date exactly, she just had information about Mom and we happened to be hungry.”

“Can’t you happen to be hungry
again
? I can be hungry three or four times a day.”

“Yeah, I don’t know…”

“How are you supposed to win a race if you don’t even step to the line?”

“It’s not a race.”

“You know what I mean. You should ask her out. Why not?”

“It’s just strange. Dating the girl who found your mother in her backyard.”

“People have met in stranger ways.”

“Really?”

Seamus considered. “Maybe not. That
is
a good one.”

“Exactly. Enough about me. How was your day?”

“Oh things are going quite well on my lady front.”

Declan grimaced. “There has got to be a better way to word that.”

“Hey,” Seamus put down his beer and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What do you know about this Harry guy?”

“Harry? The guy from the crime meeting?”

“Yeah. The blowhard who found the bullet.”

Declan shrugged. “No more than you do. Why?”

“He seemed really interested in me today. Asking me some strange questions.”

“Like what?”

Seamus sat back. “Nothing. No worries. He’s just an odd one.”

Declan was about to ask his uncle to explain when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered.

“Declan?”

Charlotte
.

“Hey…” He scrambled for something to say but every sentence he contrived started with
I saw you with that guy today…

“I need to talk to you,” she said. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically tight.

“Shoot.”

“Um… Not on the phone. Could you come over?”

“Now?”

“If you could. Now would be great.”

“I guess…”

“And could you do me a favor? Could you pick me up on the way? I’m at Gina’s coffee shop downtown.”

Declan pictured Gina’s in his head and scowled.

“Down the block from where I just saw you?”

“Mm hm.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Long story. Well, short stupid story, but I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Okay… I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Declan hung up to find his uncle staring at him.

“So?”

“It was Charlotte. She wants me to come over. I guess she has more news.”

“See? You’re in like Flynn. Don’t mess it up.”

Declan smiled and then sobered when he saw his uncle notice.

“Well, your sandwich is here. Go ahead and eat. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Seamus.

Declan grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Declan as he approached Charlotte’s table. She was already standing, ready to go.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” said Charlotte as they walked to his car. She was wearing another summer dress. Declan decided he liked that look on her.

“What happened?”

Charlotte threw up her hands and flopped them back down to her sides.

“I was set up with the grandson of one of the Pineapple Portians. He was an ass and I walked out on him, but that left me with no ride home. Charity isn’t exactly a hotbed of taxi service, and if I called Mariska, word would get back to his grandmother and the whole thing would be a mess.”

Declan shot a glance toward Pickles searching for the man he’d seen with Charlotte. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“Oh, god, no, nothing like that. He just decided very early on that I was a poor little trailer park girl unable to resist his big city charm.”

“It’s not a trailer park. They’re modular homes.”

“Exactly!” Charlotte laughed and met eyes with Declan as they slipped into the car. He noticed the laugh lines on either side of her mouth, long lines that traveled from the apple of her cheeks to just below her lips. He liked them.
How had he not noticed them before?

Charlotte looked away. Declan thought she may have blushed, but the light was dying and he doubted his eyes.

“To your house?” he asked.

“Please. I really appreciate this. I had something to tell you anyway or I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“No bother.”

I’m thrilled you had a terrible time with that guy. Which surprises me.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. He heard a soft snorting noise from his right and glanced over to see Charlotte grinning and shaking her head.

“What’s so funny?”

“He wanted to make me a buttery nipple.”

“He what?”

“Brad. He said he wanted to go back to my place so he could make me a buttery nipple.”

Declan’s mouth hung open. He laughed.

“This guy you’ve never met before said the words
buttery nipple
to you?”

Charlotte laughed harder, nodding her head as she covered her mouth and snorted another laugh. The sound of her hysterics made Declan laugh harder.

“Class act,” he said.

“You have no idea,” said Charlotte, trying to catch her breath. She lowered her voice to mimic her date.

“Just talking to a big client…should be worth two million…”

She began giggling again, this time a high-pitched peal that made her eyes water.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not that funny. It’s just—”

“The stress of it gave you the giggles,” said Declan.

Charlotte turned to him.

“Yes. How did you know that?”

He shrugged.

I just feel like I know you.

“Where do these people come from?” he asked, changing the subject. Charlotte’s infectious laugher and his own glee at Brad’s douchebaggery had filled him with his own giddiness.

“Atlanta, apparently.”

“You should have said something. I could have come in and saved you.”

Charlotte looked at him, her eyes glistening with laugh-tears.

“You’d have done that?”

“In a second.”

Charlotte smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Charlotte slapped him lightly on the shoulder and wiped her eyes.

Declan pulled into Pineapple Port and slowly made his way over the speedbumps to Charlotte’s house.

“So I’m allowed in?” he asked as they stepped out of the car.

“Yes. Though the decor hasn’t changed much, I’m warning you now.”

“Don’t go changin’.”

Charlotte opened the door and Abby rushed to do her meet and greet. Declan gave her a good head scratching and stepped inside. When he looked up Charlotte was staring at him, smiling.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. How come you don’t have a dog? You seem to like them.”

“Oh, I love dogs. Mine just died, two months ago. Arnie. He was originally my grandmother’s but she died when he was still pretty young. It’s still hard for me to think about getting another right now.”

“Oh no! What kind was he?”

Declan stood and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a photo of a monkey-faced dog with large eyes.

Charlotte grinned. “Such a cutie! Brussels Griffon?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“I stitch them.”

“What?”

“I—I’ll explain in a bit. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, sure. Do you have a beer?”

Charlotte nodded and moved towards the kitchen. Declan followed her, but stopped to study the black wall covered with chalk scribbles between the living room and the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed it last time, but then, there’d been some distractions.

He touched it.

Chalkboard paint.

“I suppose a chalkboard wall doesn’t help make the place less dorm-like,” said Charlotte, opening the beers.

“I guess it’s kinda hip,” he said. His gaze fell upon his own address scrawled on the wall. There was a loopy circle drawn around it.

Is that a heart around my address?

Declan glanced at Charlotte and then moved to take a place on the sofa. She joined him and handed him his beer. He tried hard not to stare at the stacks of books scattered around the room. The urge to find them a shelf made his face twitch.

“So did you have more information?” he asked.

Charlotte nodded slowly and took a sip from her beer. She looked uneasy. She’d been forthcoming, if not excited, to share other news with him so he couldn’t help but be intrigued about this new information.

She took a deep breath and began.

“Mariska, Darla and I put your case through the
Dateline
filter…”

“The
Dateline
filter?”

“Do you watch
Dateline
?”

“No. I mean, yes, sometimes. Here and there.”

“If you watched any at all, you’ll know nine times out of ten it’s the husband.”

“I think I do recall that trend.”

“There has to be a motive, and it is always money, sex, drugs or all of the above.”

“Sure. Or rock and roll, but that’s less common.”

Charlotte smiled. “Ha. Right. So anyway, following those general guidelines, the husband theory is out, because your father was already dead.”

“Right…”

“So that takes us to the boyfriend.”

“George.”

“Right, maybe, but what if it wasn’t George?”

“They found love letters…”

“But his guns didn’t match the ballistics.”

“He probably ditched the gun he used. I mean, that only makes sense. Don’t they always throw the gun in a pond, too?”

“Yes… But let’s say for the sake of argument, George is cleared.”

“Is he? Is that what you have to tell me?”

“No. I know it’s hard for you to understand…but we’ve all known George for years. Decades. He’s not the killing type.”

“Did you think he was the having-an-affair-with-his-young-secretary type?”

“No. Fair point. But if you knew his
wife
…let’s just say that is easier to imagine.”

Declan took a sip of his beer. He felt agitated. He had a hard time grappling with the fact that George’s guns had come back clean. In his mind, George had to be the killer, but he could see the wheels of justice were going to roll slowly. He wanted this all behind him. He wanted his mother’s killer found. Removing the most likely suspect from the list would mean little to no hope of identifying the killer, and he didn’t want to think about that.