Page 23 of The Backup Groom
Waiting forever was more like it.
I blew out a frustrated breath. “I just want to move on with my life.”
“And you should!” Iggy said. “Your relationship has been over for a long time, and there is zero chance of reconciliation. We’re just waiting for the paperwork to be processed. Hey, Tiffany moved on, and so should you!”
Yes—there was that.
After I had filed for divorce, a mutual friend mentioned that they’d heard Tiffany was living with a man in Bali and that they’d already had a child together. I was happy for her, really, but while she was getting her Zen on, my life was still in limbo in the States.
“Look—I have to run,” Iggy said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Take care, my friend.”
“Thanks. You, too.” I disconnected the call and headed back to work, trying to keep my thoughts positive.
When Dean saw me, he held up his hands. “Well?”
“Still nothing,” I said.
“It will happen!” Dean clapped me on the back. “Okay, time to get distracted. Let’s continue our conversation about Amber and how she’s America’s most wanted criminal.”
He was right—it would be a good distraction. Dean’s idea of what was happening with Amber was implausible, but very amusing, I had to admit. I had fun listening to him ramble on about things that would only happen in fiction novels and movies.
I stocked the display with a few more pastries. “Okay, Sherlock, if you’re so certain you know what’s going on, please explain why the other woman was even needed in the first place? Because it only takes one person to commit murder, so what was the mystery woman supposed to do in this scenario of yours?”
“Are you seriously asking me this third-grade question?” Dean seemed affronted.
“Indeed, I am. Please enlighten me with your perception of deception.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Dean grinned and finished the drink he was preparing, setting it on the counter and calling out, “Large Deja Brew for Cindy!”
She walked over and snagged the drink and took a sip in one smooth motion. “Mmm. So good. Thank you.”
Dean tipped his Bean Me Up, Scotty baseball cap. “You’re very welcome. Thanks for coming in today.” He flipped around toward me and leaned against the counter. “Remember Harvey Keitel’s character inPulp Fiction?”
I raised my brows. “The Wolf?”
“Yup. Also known as ‘The Cleaner.’ He fixes problems. Nobody’s better than him at cleaning up messes. Anyway, that pissed off woman’s job was to come in and dispose of the body after Amber did the deed. Obviously, Amber didn’t feel her services were needed any longer, so she told her to take a long walk off a short pier.”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously—you need to finish that book. It’s going to sell a million copies, and I’ll be the first person to buy the autographed one.”
Dean pointed to me and grinned. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He gestured toward Amber. “Now, go check on your crush. She looks a little lost in space.”
I glanced over at Amber, studying her. Dean was right. She didn’t look like her normal, happy self. Something was wrong. However, unlike Dean, I was convinced it had nothing to do with a plot to murder someone. I took advantage of having no customers in line and walked toward Amber’s table. She was staring out the window, looking a little frazzled.
“How’s your Caramel Spockiato?” I asked, pointing to her cup. “You don’t seem to be drinking much of it today. Would you like something else?”
“Don’t be silly.” Amber shifted in her chair, so she was facing me. “It’s perfect, as usual.” She took a sip. “See? Yummy.”
I chuckled. “Okay, sorry, but there wasn’t much conviction behind those words. However, I will accept your answer because my ego is needy. Is everything all right? The real estate guy and that woman sure took off in a hurry. I know it’s none of my business, just making sure you’re okay.”
“It’s . . . nothing. Somethingworkrelated,” she said, her voice cracking.
She suddenly avoided eye contact and started fidgeting in her seat.
From what I could see of it, even her face was turning red.
Maybe she was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m sorry—that’s not true,” she blurted out, then looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know why I lied. It’s not work related, but it’s most definitely embarrassing. And complicated.”
