“Not really. Not when you’re obviously dealing with something.”
“No, I’m not,” he disagreed a bit too vehemently. Dottie’s eyes narrowed, and the urge to bolt nipped at his heels.
“Can we do this later? I have an appointment in Gramercy Park.”
“Is that what we’re calling dinner with your father? An appointment?”
It shouldn’t surprise him to learn Dottie knew his dad was in town, but it did.
“How did you know that? Are you tapping my phone?”
“You’re not interesting enough,” she quipped before explaining. “Ned called. He has a carton of macadamia nuts for Jeremy and Kyle.”
He let her words hang in the air without comment. Talking about his dad would lead to talking about the upcoming annual family retreat, and the last thing he wanted to think about was Wanamaker business.
Dottie, however, plowed right through his silent roadblock.
“How’s Granddad? Darnell Senior? I’m surprised he came east for Christmas. Did an old-fashioned Connecticut winter draw the short straw?”
Senior showing up in New York had less to do with Christmas and everything to do with Arnie’s former stepmother having a meltdown because she no longer had control over Stan’s life or bank account. With his brother taking control of his life, Giselle found herself on the outside looking in. By all accounts, she was getting desperate.
Feeding Dottie a serving of bullshit because he didn’t feel like discussing it was only going to lead to her issuing a smackdown. Plus, he knew better. She either already knew or was likely to discover everything without any help from him, so why not lay out the cards?
“If you must know, Senior has expressed an interest in spending quality time with me. And Stan. So Dad decided to join us and changed his island plans.”
“I had coffee with Stan. Last week. He’s doing good.”
His brows bumped together with his surprise. “Coffee?”
“Yes, Arnie. Coffee.” She studied him with clear interest. “Weren’t you aware he was doing some work for my son, Jeremy? Built-in bookcase with a television surround. Looks fantastic. Kyle is still raving about the work.” She chuckled. “Getting married New York gays to sing creative praise is a big deal.”
My god, he was so damn proud of Stan! A happy smile spread on his face. “Yeah? He built them something? And it passed the gay design test? Holy crap.”
They shared a laugh. Jeremy and Kyle were great guys. Arnie liked both of them—separately and as a couple. It was all good fun and a shared giggle when it came to poking fun at their gayness. They loved being LGBTQ trailblazers in New York where nobody gave a shit about two Big Apple high-end realtors getting married and having a couple of kids by a surrogate.
“Kyle is already designing a business brochure for your brother. You know, my son-in-law is quite a talented graphic designer. He doesn’t just sell apartments.”
A brochure? Jesus! Stan’s handyman pastime was turning into a thing, and Arnie could not be happier.
“Oh, say, listen,” Dottie blurted out. “I ran a background check on that cantina in Santa Barbara. The one you asked me to spy on.”
He swallowed hard and forced his face to stay neutral. He knew the minute he asked Dottie to do him the favor she’d start asking questions.
“They’re clean as a whistle,” she continued. “They’ve never pinged with immigration, and all their documentation is up to date.”
He grunted. “Thanks.”
“So are you going to tell me what this is about? And why your interest is a secret?”
She wouldn’t let it go, so he answered. “I don’t relish being the butt of a NIGHTWIND joke. Surveillance isn’t my thing. You’re perfectly aware of the cringeworthy fact that I can be standing right next to a suspect and not realize it. It’s not where I do my best work.”
Dottie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. She stared at him for a long moment. “Darnell,” she began, “we’ve known each other for a long time. Yes, you suck donkey dick when it comes to espionage, and I’m still trying to figure out if you really speak seven languages or just know enough good phrases to fool people. But I’m pretty astute at sniffing out bullshit word salad, and some drivel about being a butt joke rises to the level of smoldering debris. Lots of smoke but no flame. Wanna take another shot at it?”
Goddammit. Trying to pull anything over on her was a waste of time.
“Tell me who you’re looking for, Darnell.”
Two Darnell’s in a row? He gulped. Well, shit. “It’s personal,” he muttered.