Page 64 of A Dead End Christmas
I would've thought he was poking fun at me if the awed expression on his face wasn't so plain.
"Only when there are no teenagers available," I said cheerfully.
He grinned at me. "Good one, Mr. Shepherd."
"Just Jack, please." I paid him and put twenty bucks for a tip in the jar. He thanked me and told me it would be about fifteen minutes, so I wandered back outside and leaned against the front of the building, enjoying the late December sunshine. It was chilly but not cold, especially for somebody with the metabolism of a tiger shifter. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, considering trying Tess again, but then I heard raised voices coming from behind the shop.
"You need to tell me where you were, and you'd better do itright now."
I didn't recognize the female voice, but I recognized the man who answered her.
Judd.
"I told you. I got up and went to run the mower at church before the six a.m. service, since I was having a hard time sleeping. And then I heard all the ruckus downtown and wandered over and found out about Darryl."
"Don't you lie to me! You left at four in the morning! And I know you weren't in church because I talked to the pastor, and he said he hadn't seen you. Want to try again? Are you having an affair? I knew it! My mother warned me about you!" The woman burst into tears, and I froze.
It wasn't the first time my superior tiger hearing had gotten me into an uncomfortable situation, but I'd never found a good way to handle it. I didn't know if Judd was married, but it sounded like this was his wife or girlfriend, and I did not want to know about their relationship problems.
I made a quick right turn and headed back into the shop. Even the horrible music they were playing—a cross between 80's soft rock and elevator Muzak—was better than the chance that Judd would catch me eavesdropping on his private conversation, no matter how inadvertently.
When I went back inside, the boy at the counter grinned at me. "It's ready. Having a lunch party?"
"Something like that."
He'd just started to respond when a woman slammed out of the doors from the kitchen, with Judd hot on her heels.
"Honey, please," he called after her before he caught sight of me.
The woman pushed past me, tears running down her cheeks, and mumbled an apology.
"Um, Mrs. Judd," the kid at the counter said. "Um, you left your purse…"
But she was already out the door.
Judd's wife, then. I wished, not for the first time, that I had the magical power to transport myself somewhere else. Since I didn't, I gave Judd a brief nod and focused hard on the counter.
The boy handed me my pizzas, and I turned to go.
Judd's voice stopped me. "Women," he said weakly, with a forced chuckle. "What are you going to do, right?"
I shrugged noncommittally and started for the door.
"Here. Let me get that for you." He strode past me and pushed the door open, which only prolonged the awkwardness. After a quick glance at his strained face, I pretended it was crucial I watch the pizza boxes I was carrying, so I couldn't meet his gaze.
On the way out, though, I glimpsed the battered sneakers he wore with his jeans and Judd's Pizza shirt.
"Hazard of the job, right?" I grinned at him. "Splattering pizza sauce on your shoes."
The boy at the counter laughed. "Oh no. Mr. Judd never makes pizzas anymore. It's good to be the owner, right?"
Judd glanced down at his shoes and then up at me, something almost frightened in his eyes. "Yes, pizza sauce. I was in here last night, in fact. Got to make the pizzas."
"But—"
"I'm sure Jack needs to be on his way," Judd said, cutting off whatever the boy had been about to say.
"Sure do. I have three hungry ladies waiting for me. Thanks," I said cheerfully as I walked out the door, not letting on for a second that I was pretty sure the tiny red splotches on his shoes were not pizza sauce at all.
