Page 13 of Now or Never

“They have a Chihuahua?”

“I have to go,” Morelli said. “Third period just started. Rangers are down by two goals.”

I hung up, turned in the direction of the cookie table, and bumped into Herbert Slovinski. I knew Herbert from high school. He sat behind me in algebra. He mumbled to himself all during class and sometimes he would sigh, and I could feel his breath on my neck. Morelli’s breath on my neck was sexy, Herbert’s breath not at all. My best friend, Mary Ann, swore she saw him pick his nose and eat the booger. He hadn’t changed much since highschool. My height. Skinny. Mousy brown hair parted on the side. Big black-framed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Brown slacks, white button-down shirt that was a size too large, tan cardigan circa 1950.

“Hey, Stephanie Plum,” Herbert said. “How awesome is this? Just like being behind you in algebra. How’s it going? Is it going great? It’s going great for me.”

“Gee, that’s terrific,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“I bet you’re on your way to the cookie table,” he said. “Have you noticed only women go to the cookie table? Why is that?”

“I never noticed.”

“That’s probably because you don’t come here a lot. I come a lot.”

I knew I was going to regret asking, but I had to ask anyway. “Why?”

“I’m thinking I might want to be a funeral director. So, I’ve been scoping it all out. Testing the waters.”

“Sounds like a plan. Good luck with it. Nice running into you.”

I stepped around him to get to the cookie table but he stuck with me.

“This is amazing, right?” he said. “Here we are talking. We never talked in high school. You always rushed out of class as soon as the bell rang. And you were always ahead of me in the band. The baton twirlers were always up front.”

“You were in the band?”

“I played the clarinet. I still play it. I’m awesome on the clarinet. You should come hear me sometime.”

“Where do you play?”

“At home. I’m currently living with my parents, and they think I should go pro. Do you want to hear a joke about the clarinet? What’s the difference between a clarinet and an onion? No onecries when you chop up a clarinet. That’s funny, right? You could come over tonight after the viewing.”

“Tempting, but I’m going to pass. Things to do.” I kept inching my way to the cookies. “Did I tell you that I’m engaged?”

“No. Wow, that’s a surprise. I didn’t hear. So, you’re not married yet, right? So, no problem. We could still get together. Ordinarily my dance card is full, but there aren’t any good viewings tomorrow. We could have coffee or drinks somewhere.”

“Not a good idea. My fiancé is very jealous. He’s a cop. He carries a gun.”

“We should be careful about getting together then. Keep it quiet. I could pick you up in my car. I have a Prius. Are you green?”

“No,” I said. “I’m pink. I need to go, and you can’t follow me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to the girls-only cookie table.”

“Okay, well I’ll call you. We’ll make arrangements. Did I mention I have a cat? Her name is Miss Fluff. I hope that won’t be an issue in our relationship.”

“Herbert, we have no relationship.”

“Okay, maybe not now, but I think we could make this work if you would give it a chance.”

I muscled my way through the herd of women at the cookie table and blindly grabbed a handful of cookies. Herbert was hanging a short distance away, keeping watch in case I couldn’t resist his magnetic pull and rushed back to him.

I was pretty sure God was pissed off at me. How else could you explain Herbert Slovinski? What I lacked in faith I made up for in fear of God’s wrath. It wasn’t enough to make me go to church on a regular basis, but it gave me an inner grimace from time to time.

I parked at the curb in front of my parents’ house and Grandma unsnapped her seat belt.

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