Rex stabbed the middle of an enormous cinnamon roll, pulling the warm gooey center out with his fork. "This is the way I see it," he said chomping down on his first bite. He swallowed. "We have work to do."
Viv took a sip of hot chamomile tea. He actually thinks we are both investigating this murder. She shook her head slightly, wondering, not for the first time, about his unflinching self-confidence. Bordering on arrogance.
She'd learned over the past months not to return his gaze. Unsure if it was his mentalist thing or that she was just attracted to him, she'd gotten into the habit of looking over his eyes to his carefully coiffed gray hair.
But this morning she took a chance. Staring into his black eyes without flinching, she inhaled deeply. His pupils widened.
And then as if to prove to herself she couldn't be mesmerized by his tricks, she didn't disconnect her gaze. She allowed herself to feel his desire, his need to get closer, to win back her full approval. And she let him feel those things without flinching or taking them on as her problem.
"Okay then," she finally said, clearing her throat. "What kind of work?" Shifting her glance back to the mug of tea, her optimism returned. I'm pretty strong when I put my mind to it. She felt proud of herself.
"So I sensed some extra tension when Farrah first broke into the HOA meeting," Rex began. "None of those guys seemed that alarmed when she barged into the room. Almost as if they expected her. It felt off, at least to me."
"So that’s why you want to look into all of them, the HOA directors?"
Rex pulled out his phone. "Yes, it is. Like I said, they didn't act like you'd think they would. A guy was found with a bullet hole in his head in one of the casitas and they shrugged, like it was just another cleanup, nothing to worry about. So I made a list to get started with what I call my getting-to-know-you plan.
"To start with, all of these guys have jobs. Some are semiretired, like Sammy Daniels, for instance."
Viv closed her eyes to picture the names from the previous night. She opened her eyes to say, "That would be the only African American man, right?"
"That's right. He's a retired Navy admiral. A chaplain, actually. His last assignment was in Washington, DC. He's some relative of a country singer, if my information is correct. Has a bunch of kids. So they decided to retire in Palm Desert. The climate. All that sunshine."
"Does he play golf?" she asked, knowing that nearly everyone played golf in the desert.
"Probably, but golf's not our point of contact," he said.
"Really? What do you suggest?"
"What are you doing this Sunday?" A playful smile lurked at the corner of his mouth.
"The same things I do for the rest of the week," she assured him. "That's my life now that my Desert Doulas has gone…" She hesitated to say defunct. But for all intents and purposes, she was the only doula left. As the head of the company, she could hardly call it an agency with only a couple of employees.
"So we can go to church," he immediately offered. "The Episcopalian one on Judy Garland Drive."
"The one with the big steeple? I drive past that whenever I'm heading to the freeway," Viv said.
"That's where we'll meet the retired admiral. He'll never suspect us at church. Probably think we're weekend visitors who just happened to drop by. We'll cozy up to him at the coffee hour and act friendly. Trust me, this is going to be a piece of cake."
"But we have to listen to a sermon and sing hymns. Doesn't that bother you?"
"Not at all. I was raised Catholic. I can do the rosary and maintain a happy face, still thinking about the television show I saw last night. You could say I learned to multitask from the best.
"Plus we skip communion and watch people. Take notes. Act just like everyone else. Don't forget to bring your phone," he added.
Viv put down her mug of tea. She glanced at Rex's plate. The outside loop of cinnamon roll remained. She reached over with her finger and broke off a small piece, lifting it to her mouth.
She felt him watch her carefully, even as she chewed. When she was finished she took her napkin and dabbed at her lips. "Okay then. I'm in. I'll go home and pick out a church outfit. Can't be too careful. I don't want to stand out and alert Admiral What's-His-Puss."
Rex flagged down the waiter and then reached for his wallet. "We'll blend right in," he told her as he dropped the plastic credit card on the table.
Since when did Rex Redondo blend in anywhere? Viv thought.