has no sense of timing.”
Tucker wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he’d just been flattered. Not that it
mattered. He was there to get Minerva out of whatever trouble she’d gotten into, not
to impress her
or
her niece on his suitability as a potential mate.
Minerva brushed a quick hand over her hair, smoothing back a few loose wisps from
her plump cheeks. “I said what I did because Lillian has faith in you, or she wouldn’t
have hired you. That makes points with me. She doesn’t hire anyone who can’t give
as good as they get. She says she’s too old to modify her temperament.” Minerva’s
laugh was as delightfully rich and full-bodied as the woman herself. “I think she
simply likes to keep her scissors sharp, if you know what I mean.”
Tucker found himself laughing with her. He understood Lillian’s affection for the
woman. It was impossible not to like Minerva Cooper.
A buzzer went off somewhere back in the kitchen. After topping off his coffee, Minerva
placed the pot on the warmer and bustled off to the back with the empty tray on which
she’d brought the cake out, leaving Tucker to his coffee and contemplation. Apparently
round one was over.
His mind returned unerringly to her comments aboutLainey. Hasty decisions? Impatient? And who was Charlie and why was he a fiasco? Tucker
thought her ex-husband’s name was Conrad.
All questions he had no business thinking about, he reminded himself. He had come
in there only to find out who the guy was Lainey’d been seen talking to at Sam’s last
week. Another bad judgment call on her part? If this guy was bad news, maybe Lillian’s
ladies were doing what came naturally: meddling. Tucker could easily see them banding
together to warn the guy off. The secrecy also made sense if they didn’t want Lainey
to know about their interference—a highly probably scenario. But why hadn’t Minerva
enlisted Lillian’s help in the scheme? Or maybe she thought the matter resolved and
unimportant.
The mental swirl of questions scattered as the doors to the back swung forward. Minerva
pushed into the room holding a steaming pan of muffins. Blueberry, he thought, unable
to keep from inhaling the sweet scent. His stomach growled.
She stopped in front of him, dropping a hot pad onto the counter, then placing the
tray on it. “So,” she said without preamble, “exactly how do you know Lillian? She’s
been remarkably closemouthed about you.”
A bell rang inside his head. Round two. Minerva didn’t need a personal trainer. She
packed a pretty good punch with oven mitts and an apron.
“I’m an old acquaintance,” he said as smoothly as possible.
“Muffin? Blueberry, homemade,” she added with a grandmotherly smile. But he knew better
now. This was bribery, pure and simple.
The sweet-smelling steam wafted beneath his nose. “Sure,” he said, telling himself
it was merely a play fortime. She arranged an oversized muffin on a plate with a small side cup filled with
creamy butter and set it in front of him. He made a mental note to call the hotel
and set up another tennis match for him against one of the staff pros. Or better yet,
he’d run all the way back to Seattle.
“I figured she must have known you from before she moved to Sunset Shores and opened
A Cut Above. Did you work for her at her salon in Winter Haven?”
Bending the truth was one thing, outright lying was another. “No,” he said nicely
but firmly. “It was a nice place, though. Did you know her then?” That’s the ticket,
turn the tables. Weren’t detectives supposed to be the ones asking the questions,
anyway?
“Heavens, no,” she said, busily arranging the muffins on another tray. He knew better
than to think that the task distracted her one iota from the conversation at hand.
“She seems very happy here,” he went on. “I know she enjoys your friendship. She’s
spoken very highly of you.” Minerva
Tucker wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he’d just been flattered. Not that it
mattered. He was there to get Minerva out of whatever trouble she’d gotten into, not
to impress her
or
her niece on his suitability as a potential mate.
Minerva brushed a quick hand over her hair, smoothing back a few loose wisps from
her plump cheeks. “I said what I did because Lillian has faith in you, or she wouldn’t
have hired you. That makes points with me. She doesn’t hire anyone who can’t give
as good as they get. She says she’s too old to modify her temperament.” Minerva’s
laugh was as delightfully rich and full-bodied as the woman herself. “I think she
simply likes to keep her scissors sharp, if you know what I mean.”
Tucker found himself laughing with her. He understood Lillian’s affection for the
woman. It was impossible not to like Minerva Cooper.
A buzzer went off somewhere back in the kitchen. After topping off his coffee, Minerva
placed the pot on the warmer and bustled off to the back with the empty tray on which
she’d brought the cake out, leaving Tucker to his coffee and contemplation. Apparently
round one was over.
His mind returned unerringly to her comments aboutLainey. Hasty decisions? Impatient? And who was Charlie and why was he a fiasco? Tucker
thought her ex-husband’s name was Conrad.
All questions he had no business thinking about, he reminded himself. He had come
in there only to find out who the guy was Lainey’d been seen talking to at Sam’s last
week. Another bad judgment call on her part? If this guy was bad news, maybe Lillian’s
ladies were doing what came naturally: meddling. Tucker could easily see them banding
together to warn the guy off. The secrecy also made sense if they didn’t want Lainey
to know about their interference—a highly probably scenario. But why hadn’t Minerva
enlisted Lillian’s help in the scheme? Or maybe she thought the matter resolved and
unimportant.
The mental swirl of questions scattered as the doors to the back swung forward. Minerva
pushed into the room holding a steaming pan of muffins. Blueberry, he thought, unable
to keep from inhaling the sweet scent. His stomach growled.
She stopped in front of him, dropping a hot pad onto the counter, then placing the
tray on it. “So,” she said without preamble, “exactly how do you know Lillian? She’s
been remarkably closemouthed about you.”
A bell rang inside his head. Round two. Minerva didn’t need a personal trainer. She
packed a pretty good punch with oven mitts and an apron.
“I’m an old acquaintance,” he said as smoothly as possible.
“Muffin? Blueberry, homemade,” she added with a grandmotherly smile. But he knew better
now. This was bribery, pure and simple.
The sweet-smelling steam wafted beneath his nose. “Sure,” he said, telling himself
it was merely a play fortime. She arranged an oversized muffin on a plate with a small side cup filled with
creamy butter and set it in front of him. He made a mental note to call the hotel
and set up another tennis match for him against one of the staff pros. Or better yet,
he’d run all the way back to Seattle.
“I figured she must have known you from before she moved to Sunset Shores and opened
A Cut Above. Did you work for her at her salon in Winter Haven?”
Bending the truth was one thing, outright lying was another. “No,” he said nicely
but firmly. “It was a nice place, though. Did you know her then?” That’s the ticket,
turn the tables. Weren’t detectives supposed to be the ones asking the questions,
anyway?
“Heavens, no,” she said, busily arranging the muffins on another tray. He knew better
than to think that the task distracted her one iota from the conversation at hand.
“She seems very happy here,” he went on. “I know she enjoys your friendship. She’s
spoken very highly of you.” Minerva
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