effect and maybe even worked too well: his smile turned predatory, and I suddenly felt overly warm and a little bit tingly.
"I have plans for you too, and friendship has nothing to do with it," he murmured, and then he sauntered off, leaving me biting my lip and wondering if I'd made a mistake.
Maybe we should just be friends. Maybe…
Just then, he looked back at me and shook his head a little, as if he could hear my thoughts—I knew he couldn't; I'd asked—and the nerves just flowed right out of me. I knew Jack. He was my friend and my business partner. He'd risked his life for me and I'd risked mine for him.
He'd seen me with bed head.
And we still liked each other. A lot. Maybe…
Maybe even more.
We were going on that date, come heck or high water. And I was definitely turning off my phone this time, so no calls about break-ins at the shop or anything else would interrupt us. What a waste of the best red dress in the history of the world that had been.
Uncle Mike started pulling steaks and chicken and ribs and who knew what else out of the bags and chortling.
"Well, at least you're a carnivore. Remember that vegetarian Tess dated, Ruby? He wanted to make us tofu meatloaf." He pointed at me. "If you hadn't broken up with him, I might have shot him, just to save us from the tofu."
Jack turned his head to look at me. "Really? When was this?"
"Last week," I lied sweetly—it had been years ago. "Too bad you were gone, Jack. But, as you say, you snooze, you lose."
Aunt Ruby dropped the silverware she was holding. "How can you all joke about… about tofu at a time like this? Some lunatic is threatening Tess with dead bodies. Again."
"And expensive sapphire rings," I added helpfully.
"I don't care about the ring," she shouted.
Yeah. The ring was really not the point, but I was trying for distraction.
Uncle Mike, surprisingly, as overprotective as he was, decided to be the voice of reason for once, instead of threatening to lock me in my childhood bedroom.
“As scary as this is, we'll handle it. I don't know why Dead End is suddenly the center of a crime spree this year, but we'll find out who did this, and the sheriff will lock him up.”
"Or her," I pointed out. Some of the crimes had been perpetrated by women.
"Or her," Uncle Mike agreed.
“Susan won't be the only one looking for him,” Jack said, a hint of a snarl in his voice.
“I promise to be extra careful at home and at the shop, Aunt Ruby.” I gave her a hug. "Now. What kind of pie do you have? I'm starving!"
"You can't have your pie first," she scolded, allowing me to change the subject. I didn't doubt that I'd hear more about it, but—for now—we were going to enjoy our Sunday lunch and not think or talk about the kind of person who cut off fingers and left them as gifts.
By the time Jack and Uncle Mike finished grilling, Aunt Ruby and I had the potato salad, bean salad, and fruit salad on the table, and I was setting out plates and glasses. We took the pitchers of water, lemonade, and sweet tea out of the fridge just as Jack put an enormous platter in the center of the table.
I stared down at it. "That's a lot of meat."
Uncle Mike beamed. "Isn't it great?"
"There are only four of us."
"What's your point? Jack's a tiger. He needs to keep up his strength."
I gave my uncle a suspicious look. "Since when do you defend Jack's right to, as you put it, 'eat you out of house and home'?"
"Since he bought all the steaks!"
Jack started laughing and piled four steaks on his plate. This did not even make a dent in the mound of meat. I took a steak and a chicken breast, figuring I'd have a little of both and take the leftovers home to Lou, who was also a carnivore, after all.
Uncle Mike snatched the potato salad bowl away from Jack's reaching fingers and scooped a large portion onto his own plate, then passed it to me.
"Better get some while you can," he muttered.
I shook my head but spooned out a generous helping and then handed the bowl to Aunt Ruby. "What happened to male barbecue solidarity, Uncle Mike?"
"Oh, that was only about the steaks and chicken. When we get to the side dishes and the pie,