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Stacia stood near the double open doors and waved. If I disappointed her by bringing my motley crew along, it didn’t show.
Since we had the dogs, we chose a shady picnic table in the fenced, outdoor seating area. Ramen and Cuff settled on the end of Daniel and Gertie’s bench. We ordered a bottle of chardonnay, a family platter of loaded nachos, and Gertie and Daniel each ordered a pint of craft beer.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Stacia said, her eyes puffy and red.
“You sounded upset on the phone. Do you want to talk about it? Is it Nick?” I asked.
Daniel’s eyes flicked from me to Stacia.
She shook her head. With a pained expression, she sighed. “So, my father showed up out of the blue today. He said he and Aunt Vivi had business to discuss. Something in his strange behavior sent off warning bells for me, and I questioned him about their business. He exploded in front of everyone. My aunt and uncle, and the cleaning staff. I was so embarrassed; I could’ve died right there on the spot.”
I tried to keep my emotions over the earlier stalking experience with Vincent Ruffini at bay.
“Oh gosh, it sounds awful.” I allowed my reply to settle for a few seconds and then dug in deeper. “You mentioned his behavior alarmed you. What do you mean?”
“Well, for one, he arrived agitated. He seemed to direct his hostility toward Aunt Vivi. I assumed it had something to do with me and Vin moving here because he’s extremely controlling and a bully. After he and my uncle argued, my uncle stormed out of the house. I walked Nick to his car, and then I went back inside in time to catch my father dragging Aunt Vivi by the arm into her office! The police officer in me reacted, and I intervened.” She paused when the server delivered the wine in a bucket of ice, two glasses, and Gertie and Daniel’s beers.
The server filled our chilled glasses and slid one toward Stacia and me. The server must’ve realized she’d interrupted a serious discussion because she collected her tray and rushed off in silence.
Stacia took a long swallow of her wine.
“The suspense is killing me! What happened?” Gertie spit out.
Stacia choked and covered her mouth.
“Gertrude Lamarr,” I said, shaking my head. I glanced at Stacia. “Forgive my grandmother’s rude manners.” I slid the toe of my boot under the table and tapped what I believed to be Gertie’s shoe.
Stacia chuckled. “That would be my foot.”
“Sorry.” My ears burned as humiliation settled over me. “There’s nothing like an awkward moment to ease tension. Cheers.” I lightly clanked my glass to Stacia’s, smiled, and took a sip. The crisp, buttery warmness of the wine soothed my embarrassment.
Gertie clicked her tongue. “Who cares about awkwardness? What I want to know is what did your father do when you got in between him and Vivienne? What did Vivienne say? And did you ever find out why he came into town?” Gertie asked with no shame in her game.
Doing a facepalm, I closed my eyes. Just kill me now.
Cuff sat up. If you die, I will be sad.
It’s a figure of speech, little buddy.
So, no worries?
No worries.
“To be honest, Mrs. Lamarr, I don’t have a clue why he came. He demanded Aunt Vivi meet with him in private. My father has an explosive temper and is prone to violence. I told him I’d watch through the glass of the office door, and if he so much as touch her, I’d arrest him.” She gulped a sip of wine.
“And did he?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, thank goodness. But his baritone voice penetrated the glass a couple times. He mentioned my younger brother’s name.”
My curiosity piqued. “Vin? What did he say about him?” After my conversation with Vin back at the shop, and Vincent showing up in town, I hoped the kid hadn’t provoked his father in some way.
Worry appeared on Stacia’s face. “I couldn’t hear much other than our father saying his name. My only guess is he’s upset about Vin moving here and blames Aunt Vivi.” Stacia took another sip of wine before continuing. “When he barged out of Aunt Vivi’s office, I warned him to stay away from Vin. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he stormed out the front door like a hurricane.”
“Stacia, are you concerned for Vin’s safety?” I asked.
“Not in the way you’re thinking. But I am worried that if our father convinces him to move back home, I’ll lose him.” Tears filled her eyes as she glanced away.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “What do you mean, you’ll lose him?”
An intense gaze settled on me, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I ... I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.”
Gertie smacked the table, frowning. “Well, shame on your father.”
“I don’t have a good relationship with my father either,” Daniel said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Stacia said.
“Thank you. He disapproves of my lifestyle, you know, being gay and all. It’s his loss.” He shrugged.
Stacia’s eyes popped wide as pies. “That’s terrible.”
“Girl, I am so over it. I haven’t seen or talked to him in years,” Daniel said. “I only wanted you to know you weren’t alone.”
Sometimes, I wished I could be more like Daniel. It didn’t matter if you were a close friend or a complete stranger; he had a sensitive soul and wasn’t afraid to show you. It was his superpower. Mine was a stubborn curiosity. Although, I’m not sure anyone else besides me considered it a superpower.
Our nachos arrived. For the next few minutes, the only sound out of anyone was chowing down on chips.
It would be nice if somebody remembered the pups down here.
I glanced over at Cuff and Ramen up on all fours, tails wagging, tongues out. I swore they both smiled.
Will you toss us a nacho if I said we are smiling?
I snuck a loaded nacho from the platter, snapped it in two, and handed a half to each dog.
Nom. Nom. Nom. Smacking, crunching, and licking happened. Daniel raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“Table scraps give Ramen gas.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said.
“Me too,” Gertie said, her mouth full.
“You too, what?” I asked her.
“Nachos. They give me gas. Must be the refried beans.” She shoved another one in her mouth.
I wanted to ask her why she insisted on eating them despite them giving her digestive issues, but I knew the answer. Gertie was always starving to death.
Daniel and Stacia appeared to be suppressing their smiles. My grandmother may be a tad much, but her comment was the perfect icebreaker to move forward with my questioning.
“Stacia, is your father still in town? Or did he go back home? Dallas, did you say?” I needed to stick to the agenda. Figure out if the case involved Stacia, and if not, discover if she knew anything.
She shook her head. “I have no idea for sure, but I overheard him talking about dogs. Aunt Vivi refused to speak about their conversation and locked herself in the office.”
“Huh,” I said, hoping my face didn’t give me away. “Speaking of dogs, did their conversation mention anything about the stolen Frenchies?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” Her face remained clueless.
Either she was an excellent liar, or she knew nothing about them.
“Just wondering,” I said.
Stacia knocked into her wineglass. “Oops!” Wine splashed over the rim, dribbling down the stem. “Do you think my father or aunt have something to do with the stolen dogs?” Using a paper napkin, she mopped the mess from the table.
“You said you overheard them arguing about dogs.” I shrugged. “A wild guess?” I attempted to curve any suspicion on her part.
Daniel’s head traveled back and forth between Stacia and me, a curious gleam shining in his eyes during the verbal exchange
“I seriously doubt it,” Stacia said, sliding the nacho platter closer to her. “I also heard them talking about my brother, Vin. Knowing my father, he’s embarrassed over Vin doing volunteer work instead of working a paying job. I’m sure he blames Aunt Vivi.” Using her fork, she scooped a few nachos onto her plate.
Cuff leaped onto the table, his sniffer working overtime. The scent of food is driving me crazy.
“Cuff, down!”
Ignoring me, he pounced in Stacia’s direction and dug his muzzle under Stacia’s hand, bumping it. Hand me a nacho and nobody gets hurt.
Stacia giggled and patted his head. “He’s a frisky little fella.”
I’ll show you frisky—if you don’t—
I shot up from the bench and reached over, snatching him up. “You’re being rude, little buddy.”
Gertie’s digestive tract protested her nacho intake—loudly. A second of silence followed her gaseous accident before she clicked her tongue and smirked.
“Told ya,” she said.
“You should try Beano,” Daniel said.
“Beano-shmeano,” Gertie said, dismissing his suggestion with a wave of her hand.
As Gertie and Daniel prattled on about the natural act of flatulence, a look of absolute horror spread across Stacia’s face. I followed her gaze out toward the parking lot. A beefy man dressed in black slacks, a wine-colored golf shirt, black sunglasses, and a straw fedora headed in our direction. Glancing past him, I saw the black Mercedes SUV.
Ruffini.
“Oh no,” Stacia said, visibly trembling.
I stretched across the table and patted her hand. “Take it easy. He won’t cause a scene in public.” But I really had no clue what her father would do. I noted who sat nearby and who might come to our rescue if the situation spiraled out of control. A young couple with a toddler. A group of cackling women sharing a bottle of wine. Terrific.
“Steely, you do not understand what he’s capable of,” Stacia said, shaking her head. “He’s unpredictable and ... he’s dangerous. Trust me.”
Judging by her father’s pace, I had about ten seconds to figure something out.