Page 7 of 3rd Tango
I’m such a sucker for him. He always knows exactly what to say to throw me off guard and make me feel tingly inside.
Damn him.
Charlie Schock doesn’t do tingly. I don’t do art festivals. “You and Meg run along,” I tell him, but I feel my resolve slipping. “Tell Mom I said hi, and I’m meeting with her friend. That will make her happy.”
The back door buzzes again, and I glance over to see… “Oh no.”
Meg comes forward to glance at my screen. “What?”
She groans. I hit the buzzer so the door will unlock, and seconds later, Mom’s voice rings out. “Hello. I’m here. Where are you guys?”
Meg meets my eyes. Her voice is a whisper. “What is she doing here?”
JJ moves aside as Mom sweeps into the room. “Good morning. Are you all ready to go?”
“I thought we were meeting you there,” Meg says.
Mom is dressed in a linen outfit, a gauzy scarf around her neck, dark sunglasses and a straw hat. She has an extra hat in hand. “I thought we should get our undercover story straight before we go.”
She glances at me. “Charlize, is that what you’re wearing?”
I’m dressed in my usual white shirt and dark pants. I glance at myself, wondering exactly what she thought I should wear.
With a frown, she pivots back to Meg. “So who are we pretending to be? What if Gayle is there? Do you think he’ll be pissy again, if he recognizes me? Do you want me to hang back so the gal doesn’t?”
I feel a headache forming between my temples. “You’re not undercover, Mom. This is not a spy mission.”
Meg laughs. “We’re going as ourselves, but you should stay out of sight, just in case Gayle is there. Charlie will ask his girlfriend some questions, see if she gets any clues, while I look at her art.”
Mom looks disappointed.
I stand and text Matt about the case I’m dumping on him. He’ll be okay with it—he needs money to pay off the giant diamond he just bought his new fiancée.
“I’m not going anywhere near the art festival. I have work that has to get done today.” At Mom’s hard look, I continue, “I’m meeting with your friend later. Baez? That’s all the time I have for your case this weekend. First thing Monday, I’ll dive in more fully. Hopefully, Baez has pertinent information on those bodies I can start with.”
She worries the brim of the hat in her hands. Gives me puppy dog eyes. The accusation. The disappointment. “You can’t spare a few hours to go with us? Please, Charlize. I so rarely get to spend time with you.”
Meg and I have dinner with her and Dad every Sunday. She saw me at lunch yesterday, and spent the majority of the time talking about a suspected serial killer. Welcome to Guilt Town, USA. My mother is an expert hostess there. “It’s not exactly like I can walk up to this woman and start asking questions about Gayle.” I’m still trying to weasel out of this, but my resolve is crumbling. It’s probably easier to get it over with and get back here as soon as possible. “What am I supposed to say, oh hey, is Gayle burying bodies in the backyard?”
Mom looks offended.
Meg snorts. She links an elbow with Mom’s. “Charlie, you and JJ drive separately from us, and that way, you can return here once we check out this gal’s booth. If the opportunity arises for one of us to ask her some questions, just friendly stuff, we’ll take it. If not, no harm done. I’ll help you finish those”—she points at my desk—“before the weekend is over. Win-win.”
JJ, behind both of them, wiggles his fingers at me, a come-on gesture. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll pitch in, too.” He hammers the last nail in my coffin. “Come on, Charlize. A little fresh air will do you good.”
Three against one. I’m a former FBI agent, trained in interrogation, manipulation, pressure. Normally, those odds don’t bother me.
Today, maybe it’s the heat, JJ’s eyes, or my mother’s flippin’ guilt trip. I want to dig in my heels, but I can’t seem to work up the effort.
I toss the pen I’m holding on top of the files. “Fine,” I acquiesce. “I’ll give you a couple hours, no more.” I point to Meg, then JJ. “And you two are mine for the rest of the weekend.”
“Deal,” Meg says.
Behind her, JJ winks. “I think that’s doable.”
Mom hands me the hat in her hands. “You’re going to need this,” she says. “And I hope you have some dark sunglasses. This is going to be so fun!”
I sigh, pretty sure this will be a complete, and utter, disaster.
