in years and has all the same problems his mommy has. Arthritis, diabetes, a heart murmur. Though thankfully he didn’t get the cancer.” She stroked a finger over the dog’s delicate throat, and he tipped back his head to give her better access. “I tell George, my husband, that he’ll probably have to have both me and Ginger put down at about the same time.”
She winked at us. “George is not amused.”
Despite my anxiety over Sherbet’s tummy, I found myself smiling back at the woman. That little bit of gallows humor showed a strength at odds with her delicate femininity. I pegged her as a tough old bird, and I had a soft spot for tough old birds.
“Detective McCormack, isn’t it?” she asked. Cal nodded. “I’m Rosemary Gunderson. My husband is George Gunderson, one of Bryan’s professors. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Cal’s fingers tightened around mine.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
Rosemary stared at me expectantly. I didn’t feel like making small talk, even with this charming woman, but good manners demanded I introduce myself.
“I’m Tally Jones, and this here’s Sherbet,” I said, raising the cat a couple inches in greeting.
“Tally Jones, Tally Jones,” she muttered. Then her eyes lit up. “Of course, the ice cream lady!”
I laughed in spite of myself.
Rosemary prattled on. “Etta Harper is a dear friend, and she’s been urging me to come try your ice cream. Unfortunately, George doesn’t care for sweets much. I’ve been trying to tempt him into a lemon soufflé or a square of tiramisu at the Hickory Tavern every week for two years, and I still have yet to succeed. Their desserts are absolutely heavenly. Every now and then he’ll order one, but he never even touches it. Either I eat it for breakfast the next morning or he takes it to work to butter up the secretarial staff.”
That introduction packed a wealth of information about the Gundersons’ position in Dalliance society. Etta Harper was Finn’s mother, and the Harpers had helped found Dalliance. Etta Harper never socialized much with women outside her social stratum, and she’d been housebound for almost a year following a series of strokes. If Rosemary Gunderson still had contact with Mrs. Harper, she was a dear friend, indeed.
A comfortably wealthy dear friend, at that. The Hickory Tavern boasted the most upscale and expensive menu in town. My ex, Wayne, was a successful businessman, but the Hickory Tavern was still a special treat, the sort of place we went for anniversaries and birthdays. Yet the Gundersons dined there every week. Reggie had made it sound like professors lived in poverty, but apparently, being a professor could pay pretty well.
Rosemary looked from my face to Cal’s and back again. An impish sparkle in her eyes, she glanced down at our hands, once again clasped together on Sherbet’s back.
“I didn’t know you two were . . . close,” she said.
Cal and I jumped apart like we’d been stung.
I felt the blush licking up my cheeks. I cut my eyes to the side to catch a peek of Cal. To my surprise, his mouth twitched in something like a smile. And I can’t say I approved of the mischievous glint in his narrowed eyes.
“No, ma’am. I’m gonna have to get in line behind Tally’s other suitors.”
“Cal McCormack,” I gasped, mortified. “You make it sound like I’m the town tramp.”
He smiled for real at that, and a tiny corner of my heart fluttered to see him forget his troubles, even at my expense. “I think you and I have very different ideas about what that word ‘tramp’ means. I’m just saying you’re popular with the fellas these days. Not that you’re returning the favor.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered, hugging Sherbet closer.
Rosemary giggled. “I think this young man is pulling your pigtails, dear.”
Cal laughed. “I might be at that.”
The vet tech came into the waiting room and called Sherbet’s name, saving me from having to respond to Cal’s teasing.
I picked up my little bundle and headed back to see the doctor.
“Don’t worry,” Cal called behind me. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
chapter 8
Two days later, on the Wednesday after the funeral, I emerged from my bedroom to find Alice waiting for me at the kitchen table, two cups of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bagels already laid out. Beneath the scent of French roast and warm cinnamon, I smelled a con.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Can’t I make you breakfast without it being some scam?” she responded, eyes wide with