Read Online There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) by Wendy Delaney - Free Book Online
Authors: Wendy Delaney
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sedan.
“This is your car?”
“Yep.”
I’d seen it a couple of times at the marina where Kyle lived, but I’d assumed it belonged to some rich yacht owner, not an attending at the hospital who was starting to remind me way too much of my ex-husband.
“Nice.” Was this supposed to be a joke? The chance encounter with Kyle a set up? I looked behind me to see if Rox were watching us from the kitchen door. Nope. Of course, she wasn’t. Roxanne Fiske didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. This had to be dumb luck, the universe having a chuckle at my expense. And tonight of all nights.
Not funny, universe.
He opened the passenger door for me. “It was my dad’s. He gave it to me when I graduated med school.”
No way.
I shivered as an eerie sense of déjà vu washed over me. It was almost the same story I heard when I met Chris in culinary school. The oh shucks, it was a graduation present from my dad delivery of their lines was even the same.
Jeez Louise, just when I thought I’d gotten my ex out of my system, he was back—just repackaged with a doctor upgrade.
“It’s a sweet ride.” Kyle smiled as if I needed some encouragement to get in the car.
“I’m sure it is.”
“And we should probably leave soon if we want to make our reservation.”
“Right.” This was only dinner, I reminded myself, sliding onto the mint condition leather upholstered seat. If the conversation became awkward I could ask him about Marty’s cardiac arrest. I breathed a little easier, feeling like I was in the driver’s seat. Okay, technically, I was in the passenger seat, but I planned to maintain complete control of tonight’s freak show.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Kyle said, fastening his seatbelt. “I hear the seafood at this place is great. They also have some good Italian food. One of the nurses mentioned the manicotti. I think to die for were her exact words.”
If he thought anything Italian was going to touch my lips tonight he could forget about it!
∗ ∗ ∗
“What sounds good to you?” Kyle asked, sitting across from me at our white linen-covered table for two. “A bottle of pinot grigio? A nice shiraz?”
Pinot grigio? Chris’s favorite? Not a chance.
“Both would be delightful pairings with the manicotti.” Our waiter pointed at the wine list in Kyle’s hands. “I might recommend a zinfandel to accompany the lady’s salmon. We have several excellent Washington varieties.”
Sure. Fine. Whatever. I just wanted my empty glass filled with something alcoholic, stat.
Kyle met my gaze. “The zinfandel then?”
I forced a smile. “Can’t wait to try it.” Truly.
With a polite nod our waiter left with our order. I estimated that we’d have at least ten minutes to kill before our overpriced salads arrived. Since we’d spent most of our time in the car talking about our jobs, I figured it wouldn’t seem too out of context to ask a few more work-related questions of one of the last people to see Marty McCutcheon alive.
I stared into the flickering tealight candle creating dancing shadows on the wall next to me. “It’s nice that you have this weekend off, especially considering the long hours you had to work last night.”
“Well, I’m certainly enjoying how it’s starting,” Kyle said.
The low level of light in the restaurant made it difficult for me to read his face, but the easy smile on his chiseled lips told me that he was definitely enjoying the moment.
His gaze dipped to the breasts my wrap dress was doing a miserable job of containing, lingering like he wanted more than the taste I was offering.
I sat up a little straighter to minimize the peep show. “Me, too.”
Seriously? Is that the best you can do? You’re in the driver’s seat, remember? Drive! Ask about Marty.
“I understand you were working last night when—”
I looked up at our waiter, back with a bottle of zinfandel, and watched him pour a small amount in a long-stemmed wine glass. Kyle
“This is your car?”
“Yep.”
I’d seen it a couple of times at the marina where Kyle lived, but I’d assumed it belonged to some rich yacht owner, not an attending at the hospital who was starting to remind me way too much of my ex-husband.
“Nice.” Was this supposed to be a joke? The chance encounter with Kyle a set up? I looked behind me to see if Rox were watching us from the kitchen door. Nope. Of course, she wasn’t. Roxanne Fiske didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. This had to be dumb luck, the universe having a chuckle at my expense. And tonight of all nights.
Not funny, universe.
He opened the passenger door for me. “It was my dad’s. He gave it to me when I graduated med school.”
No way.
I shivered as an eerie sense of déjà vu washed over me. It was almost the same story I heard when I met Chris in culinary school. The oh shucks, it was a graduation present from my dad delivery of their lines was even the same.
Jeez Louise, just when I thought I’d gotten my ex out of my system, he was back—just repackaged with a doctor upgrade.
“It’s a sweet ride.” Kyle smiled as if I needed some encouragement to get in the car.
“I’m sure it is.”
“And we should probably leave soon if we want to make our reservation.”
“Right.” This was only dinner, I reminded myself, sliding onto the mint condition leather upholstered seat. If the conversation became awkward I could ask him about Marty’s cardiac arrest. I breathed a little easier, feeling like I was in the driver’s seat. Okay, technically, I was in the passenger seat, but I planned to maintain complete control of tonight’s freak show.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Kyle said, fastening his seatbelt. “I hear the seafood at this place is great. They also have some good Italian food. One of the nurses mentioned the manicotti. I think to die for were her exact words.”
If he thought anything Italian was going to touch my lips tonight he could forget about it!
∗ ∗ ∗
“What sounds good to you?” Kyle asked, sitting across from me at our white linen-covered table for two. “A bottle of pinot grigio? A nice shiraz?”
Pinot grigio? Chris’s favorite? Not a chance.
“Both would be delightful pairings with the manicotti.” Our waiter pointed at the wine list in Kyle’s hands. “I might recommend a zinfandel to accompany the lady’s salmon. We have several excellent Washington varieties.”
Sure. Fine. Whatever. I just wanted my empty glass filled with something alcoholic, stat.
Kyle met my gaze. “The zinfandel then?”
I forced a smile. “Can’t wait to try it.” Truly.
With a polite nod our waiter left with our order. I estimated that we’d have at least ten minutes to kill before our overpriced salads arrived. Since we’d spent most of our time in the car talking about our jobs, I figured it wouldn’t seem too out of context to ask a few more work-related questions of one of the last people to see Marty McCutcheon alive.
I stared into the flickering tealight candle creating dancing shadows on the wall next to me. “It’s nice that you have this weekend off, especially considering the long hours you had to work last night.”
“Well, I’m certainly enjoying how it’s starting,” Kyle said.
The low level of light in the restaurant made it difficult for me to read his face, but the easy smile on his chiseled lips told me that he was definitely enjoying the moment.
His gaze dipped to the breasts my wrap dress was doing a miserable job of containing, lingering like he wanted more than the taste I was offering.
I sat up a little straighter to minimize the peep show. “Me, too.”
Seriously? Is that the best you can do? You’re in the driver’s seat, remember? Drive! Ask about Marty.
“I understand you were working last night when—”
I looked up at our waiter, back with a bottle of zinfandel, and watched him pour a small amount in a long-stemmed wine glass. Kyle
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