Apple of My Eye (Tiger's Eye Mystery #7) - Alyssa Day Page 0,37

two customers in the shop, college girls from the University of Central Florida who were spending the day 'exploring the quaint towns around the city,' as they'd told us. Eleanor and I had nodded with straight faces, and now I was ringing up their purchases of two Dead End Pawn T-shirts and one adorable little taxidermied mouse playing the world's tiniest violin.

Both of them turned to look at Jack, and the taller one, who was all dark hair, dark eyes, and long, tanned legs, made a little mmmmm sound.

"Absolutely," she said, in what I'm sure she thought was a sultry manner.

Eleanor grabbed my wrist when she caught me reaching for the baseball bat I keep behind the counter.

Jack laughed. "Sorry, wrong ladies."

The girls took their bag and wandered out slowly, casting flirtatious glances at Jack the whole way. Jack, though, was watching me and seemed entirely unaware of this, which was a quality I appreciated in a man I was dating.

Oh, boy. Until that moment, I hadn't framed it in words.

I was dating Jack.

We were dating.

A wave of warmth washed through me. I might have to deal with a dangerous stalker, but at least I didn't have to face it alone. Jack was on my side.

"No lunch for me," Eleanor said. "I'm only working until two today, so I'll stay here while you two go. I brought a sandwich, and we have plenty of donuts for dessert."

"Are you all right, Mrs. Wolf?" Jack's perceptive gaze was trained on her reddened eyes, where the evidence of her difficult night was clear.

"I'm fine, Jack. Allergies are acting up, that's all. I'm sure looking forward to that goat yoga," she said, attempting a smile. "And I've told you a thousand times to call me Eleanor now. You're all grown up now and not that boy who ate five servings every time you came to eat supper with me and Dave."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, grinning.

She shook her head, her smile turning into something real. "Go ahead and get out of here before all the tables at Beau's are full"

I went in the back and washed my hands and then followed Jack out to the parking lot.

"Are you coming back to your office or should I drive separately?"

He stopped and thought for a second. "Actually, I might have a case. I need to go talk to someone who left a message on my office voice mail while I was gone."

I knew better than to ask about it—Jack was a stickler for confidentiality, which I appreciated. I was the same myself. I'd never discuss who came into my shop and pawned what, not even to Uncle Mike and Aunt Ruby. People deserved their privacy.

Beau's Diner, our little town's only eat-in restaurant, was hopping. It smelled like french fries, burgers with sautéed onions, and clogged arteries. In other words: delicious.

Jack had evidently called ahead, because Lorraine waved us over to our favorite table by the window. Lorraine ran the diner like her own personal fiefdom, which it practically was, since she'd worked there for around fifty years. She was maybe five feet tall, had short silver hair, and wore a pink, heavily starched uniform with her bright white orthopedic shoes.

"Good thing you got here," she told us, her eyes twinkling. "I almost had to wrestle the Peterson brothers to keep them out of your seats."

She bustled off, and I waved to Mr. and Mr. Peterson at the next table and smiled. They owned and ran Dead End Hardware and were very nice old men beneath their outward gruffness.

They waved back.

"Thanks for the pie, Tess. Best pie I've had in years," Emeril said. "Nice to see you back in town, Jack."

"Nice to be back," Jack said.

Harold gave me a hopeful look. "If we bring the pan back, will you bake us another one?"

Emeril glared at him. "That's rude. You can't ask somebody to make you a pie, it has to come from the kindness of her heart. Right, Tess?"

He beamed at me, and I had the feeling I was being played.

"Exactly right, Misters Peterson. But I have a feeling you'll be able to get plenty of pie this weekend."

They flashed identical smiles.

"Festival pie is some pretty great pie," Harold said. "We'll be in the parade too."

They returned to their lunches, and I watched Jack making a pyramid out of butter packets for a moment, and then I remembered.

"My suspect," I whispered. "I forgot to tell you about him."

Jack raised an eyebrow. I quietly filled him in on Mrs.