For some reason, this made me happy and I grinned at her.
She grinned back.
* * * * *
Half an hour later, Vance walked in with another one of Lee’s boys, a guy named Mace. Mace didn’t come around very often. According to Indy, he was more of a night time person. Mace had to be six foot three, had the prerequisite Nightingale Investigation Team kil er bod, black hair, jade eyes and a jaw so square, it could be used in math class. Indy reported that Mace had some native Hawaiian in him and was supposedly a top-notch surfer. This wasn’t surprising. Even for a big guy, Mace had the grace of a top-notch athlete who knew how to use his body. He gave up the surfing game when he discovered snowboarding. Then he lost the boarder zen when some shit hit with his sister and he gave up that game to go recreational in his spare time. Now, in his not so spare time, he hunted people for Lee and cracked heads together when the mood struck (which was a lot).
Indy didn’t know what the shit that hit with his sister was about, except it was seriously not good and it put Mace in a perpetual bad mood.
One more thing, Mace was hot. Al Lee’s guys were hot in one way or another but Mace was a little different. Mace was broody hot.
Ten minutes after Mace and Vance settled in to the comfy seating area with coffees, Lee and another of his guys, Matt, walked in.
“Powwow,” Duke muttered, eyeing the boys and Indy, Jane and I watched as Matt peeled off to sit with Vance and Mace, and Lee came over and ordered coffee.
Sometimes, Lee would hold powwows in Fortnum’s. I didn’t know why, I didn’t ask and when they did, I steered clear.
The powwow’s significance magnified when Hank arrived and didn’t even bother buying a coffee. Hank was a cop, not one of the boys, and his presence made things official.
It also put the hotness quotient of Fortnum’s seating area into uncharted levels.
“Yikes,” Indy said.
She could say that again, but only in a good way.
The bel went over the door and I looked up.
Tex was wheeling Mom in.
“Hey baby dol ,” Mom cal ed.
“I’m not talking to you,” I cal ed back loud enough that the Hot Crew quieted and looked at me. I ignored them. “And especial y not you!” I said to Tex.
“What’d I do?” Mom asked, eyes round.
“Don’t give me no shit, Loopy Loo,” Tex boomed, but quietly (don’t ask me how, but he managed it), “I’m in no mood.”
“You got my Mom drunk!” I shouted, hand on hip (where I was getting this hand on hip business I did not know but I was digging it).
Tex winced, “Stop yel ing.”
“I’m not yel ing!” I yel ed.
They made it to me. Mom grabbed my hand, total y ignored my outburst and said, “Tex is going to teach me how to make espressos, cappuccinos, lattes, everything.
He says there are at least a dozen syrup flavours, even burnt marshmal ow! Isn’t that right, Tex?” Her eyes were shining.
Dear Lord.
“That’s right, Nance,” Tex replied and wheeled Mom around where I stood in the middle of the front of the store and took her behind the espresso counter.
“Nance?” I asked, turning in a half circle to fol ow their progress.
Mom threw me her majorette smile.
Tex glowered.
Tex glowered.