Desert Exposure (14 page)

“You know, I can take tomorrow off. Ralph will alert us if anyone comes back around. And you’ve got that big gun.”

He liked that she intended to stick close by him. And she had tomorrow free. His thoughts kept returning there, to that promise of things to come. But he couldn’t let her get any more involved than she would be tonight.
Could he
?

So far she’d proven to be a damn good side-kick. And he probably couldn’t keep her away from the Salton Sea. He tapped his fingers against the dashboard, drumming out a song and switching up the lyrics.

Make a little love, go sing tonight. Go sing tonight.

Chapter Seven

Rachel walked through the market with Michael. They each held a red plastic shopping basket. She’d told him to choose the things he liked, so far he’d picked up nothing. Good heavens this was a bit too domesticated for her, going marketing with a guy. When was the last time she’d done that? Not counting going to the megastore with Grandpa of course.

Shopping with a young guy felt, well, so different. He picked up everything and examined it like he’d never bought anything for himself, ever.

“Eggs?” he asked and surveyed the choices, or the prices. He gingerly opened a container.

“Sure.”

He looked into the container as if he expected evil to leap out from within, and should pull out his gun. He tapped each egg before placing the container in his basket. Morse code for the unborn chickens, maybe. At this rate they’d be in here for the whole afternoon.

“Listen, I’ll concentrate on picking up the staples,” Rachel said, moving away.

“Oh, sure. Yes, ah…what do you want me to get?”

“You can buy whatever cereal, cookies, crackers, and frozen stuff you like. Don’t get too much, we probably won’t be there for long. Grandpa’s freezer is small…well, think little old guy who lives alone.”

She shrugged and headed for the spice aisle knowing Grandpa probably wouldn’t have what she wanted. Most guys weren’t too handy in the kitchen. Grandpa was, but he didn’t use a lot of spice. With most guys, if their food didn’t come in a large box in the frozen section or it couldn’t be tossed onto a grill, they had little idea of what it took to put together a decent meal.

When she came back ten minutes later, Michael stood almost frozen in front of the cereal aisle and didn’t even notice her. All he’d put in the basket so far were eggs and a small package of Oreos. Those reminded her of milk and she headed off in that direction. When she came back again, Michael had moved to the fresh produce section, a small box of Cheerios sticking up out of the basket. She grinned, realizing that he was into the O’s. Not that she minded. She liked his choices.

“Salad?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Not unless you’re desperate for one. It’s so cold down there at Desert Scapes. I figured we’d need heartier food. I’m thinking hot.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot upward. He cleared his throat. “Well, so long as you’re willing to cook it. I’m good with the clean-up.” He laughed and accidentally knocked an avocado off the hill of avocados. She thought she saw an appraisal, and that light had returned to his eyes. The under ripe fruit went rolling along the linoleum tiled aisle. She picked up one off the stack. It had a darker tint to the skin.

“God Lord. It’s rock hard,” she said, and suppressed a grin.

Michael leaned forward to snatch up the wayward fruit and his pants stretched across the most amazing ass she’d seen in a long time. She clutched the avocado to her chest.

Be still my heart
.

“What?” he asked, and straightened but not before she saw him glance down to check out the front of his pants.

Had her thoughts given her away? Rachel could barely contain herself. There was something erotic about being in this aisle with the serious, go-by-the-book detective. Who’d have thought? If Michael had been this much fun to tease in a grocery market, she could only imagine what he’d be like in bed.

“Put it back,” she said, nodding to the avocado. “They aren’t ripe.”

“No. I’ll have to buy this one,” he said, and pulled a plastic bag off the roll.

Rachel frowned at his serious expression. “Why?”

“I bruised it. I can’t leave it there for someone else. It wouldn’t be right.” He put the bag with the fruit in his basket. “Anything else we need here?”

“I’ll get a few vegetables for soup, and then we’re all done.” She walked down the aisle picking up what she needed while Michael happily followed, humming some tune she vaguely knew, and examining every fruit and vegetable that happened to cross his path.

What a straight arrow.
He wouldn’t even put a runaway avocado back onto the heap. She shook her head and smiled softly. The guy was honest to a fault. She had the sneaking suspicion that she would never meet the rigid expectations of someone like Detective Michael. Then her mind played with the word rigid until a laugh burst forth.

“What’s up?” Michael asked.

She shook her head. Then she stood on tiptoe, and gently touched his lips with hers.

“What was that for?” he asked, brushing at his mouth as if something had tickled him. But his eyes showed his pleasure, and so did the soft smile that played around his mouth.

“I don’t know. It struck me as funny that we’ve known each other for two days and we’ve been through so much together. I mean here we are, even marketing together.”

“Yeah.” His eyes glimmered. “We’re like an old married couple.” He turned to her and narrowed his gaze for a second. “Ever been married?”

Rachel shook her head. “Nope.”

“Long term relationships?”

“Not too many. How about you?”

“Nah.” He frowned. “No time. Here let me get that, it looks heavy.” And with that he hefted up her basket and headed to the checkout.

****

Later that afternoon, Rachel moved easily up and down the bar. She was in her element at Cliffs, proud of her bar establishment, and even prouder of the next door restaurant. She chatted with customers, made drinks, filled beer mugs, and replenished the little containers with mixed nuts.

Taking a five minute break from chit-chat, she popped a couple of cashews in her mouth. While stacking the empty glasses in the dishwasher in the back, she chewed hard, loving the flavor and the salt. They were an appropriate snack for her bar and she never went the cheap route with peanuts only. Mixed nuts, sometimes, because she liked to joke that the bar clientele were a tin of nuts. Owning a bar was a huge comfort. She could practice her psychology skills. Having owned the place for fifteen years, she knew and understood people, and she prided herself on that.

“So business is doing well?” a local man, who frequented her place, asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” Rachel said.

“Even in this economy?” he asked, as he took a swallow of beer.

“I’ve got nothing to complain about.” She smiled and moved on to take another order.

“Apple Martini,” a young woman, sitting three stools away, said while pressing up against the counter, her breasts almost popping out of her black knit top. The local guy’s eyes widened, and then he looked away. That same damn woman, Rachel thought, and huffed. She knew during the season the single women frequented her place to pick up wealthy tourists. She wanted to tell her to get a life, but she also needed the business.

“One minute,” Rachel said.

Where on earth did Manuel go
? She manned the bar alone, and more people where filling up the area. Every table in the lounge was taken, and another waitress from the lounge added an order to the already growing stack. Rachel pulled the first order, and then filled the drink requests. Huffing with barely suppressed anger, she remembered the martini. Manuel should be in here doing this work, that’s what she paid him for.

Besides, her only reason for leaving Michael to his own endeavors had been to keep tabs on her senior bartender. How could she do that if he disappeared? He could be outside now, making a cell phone call to some bad guy. She needed to get at least one more full time worker, especially now that she planned to hang out with Michael. A lot.

She’d learn from him. She’d soon discover what had happened to Grandpa Henry.

Manuel strode into the bar area from the back room. “I’m restocking,” he said, putting a box on the back counter top near the sink, and immediately beginning to unpack the contents.

“Oh, of course.”

“Business has been great,” Manuel said, and grinned. “And this weekend there’s the golf tournament in La Quinta. I’m sure we’re going to be super busy by Thursday.”

“The place is already hopping.” Rachel turned away, and poured the martini into the glass. She couldn’t let Manuel know she’d completely forgotten that big event, or the fact that the liquor bottles didn’t refill themselves. She placed a coaster on the bar in front of the busty woman, put the martini glass on top, and placed a paper napkin next to it. “Tab?” she asked.

The woman nodded.

Rachel could pick them. She’d been doing this job for so long that she knew as soon as a customer took a seat, how many drinks they’d be good for. She cleaned up the area, removed the clean glasses, restacked the dishwasher with used glasses, and began to slice lemons. She’d already checked the containers with olives, maraschino cherries, and wedges of lime. She opened a new stack of cocktail napkins and walked the length of the bar, positioning them at quarterly intervals, as she always did. Her mind however, wasn’t on the job.

“Any news on Henry?” a little man with a pock-marked face asked. He sat on the last stool at the far end of the bar, and looked like a lonely old gnome.

Rachel shook her head. Manuel turned and looked hard at the man, then at Rachel. Could he be giving the guy a message to shut up, or did he look for her reaction to the guy’s words?

“Damn shame,” the man said, and took another sip of his scotch on the rocks.

Rachel nodded. She thought she recognized the man, but couldn’t recall where they’d met.

He shook his head slowly. “I went to school with your grandfather.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Crying shame. Had to die at the hands of some idiot. A drifter looking for cash. A bullet to the head.”

“We don’t know that,” Rachel said, feeling the blood drain from her face, and a chill run up her spine. She didn’t know the man well. He didn’t frequent her place. But now that she’d heard his doom and gloom voice, she remembered Grandpa Henry talking with him one day when they were in the hardware store. Grandpa had said he was an odd soul. Apparently he’d been injured during the Vietnam War. And then afterward, had experienced all kinds of tragedy in the loss of life: a wife, a child, and both parents.

“It’s the only answer.” The guy took another swig of his drink, and then slammed the glass onto the top of the bar. His eyes had a faraway gleam, and he nodded his head slowly, deep somewhere in his own memories.

Rachel felt sorry for him, and a surge of the familiar pain of her own loss swept through her. She rubbed at her chest, over her heart.

“I came here today to have one drink for Henry,” the man said. “Wish him bon voyage.” He gave her a sickly grin, showing a row of uneven yellowed teeth. And then he eased his old wizened body off the bar stool, and dug into his coat pocket for his wallet. It surprised her that he looked twenty years older than her grandfather.

Rachel’s heart cramped again. “It’s…it’s…your drink is on the house.”

“God rest his soul. And thank you.”

“I’m sure…I’m—” Rachel said, and stopped to take a deep breath. Her eyes stung. “I’m sure he’s missing—”

“Absolutely,” Manuel said, and moved to stand beside her. He held her elbow, and continued to glower at the old guy.

Rachel felt queasy, but was relieved to have Manuel’s help. She blinked a few times to prevent the tears from falling. He’d always gotten her back. And that thought made her feel guilty for spying on him for Michael. She watched the old guy, and frowned.
Why did people mean well, but say such stupid things?

The man slid a piece of paper to her. “Phone number. Let me know when the memorial service is.”

Rachel wanted to scream, but instead her body shook. A lump that seemed the size of Texas formed in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow. Her knees went weak, and she feared she’d land on the floor, a mass of quivering jelly, a woman distraught over the loss of her one and only relative.

Manuel waved the guy away with the back of his big hand. “Get the hell out,” he hissed. “You’re upsetting Rachel.”

The man bobbed his head. “Sorry, Miss.”

Rachel nodded, but she could hardly see him. She stifled a sob, grabbed a handful of paper napkins, and headed into the back room, and then on to her office. Fancy someone coming here to have his own private memorial service. A sob rose in the back of her throat, and this time she let it out. She splayed her upper body out across her desk, and put her head on her forearms.

Manuel hurried in a moment or two later. He put a mug of steaming hot coffee in front of her, and slid the box of tissues closer.

“They’ll find your grandfather,” he said, and gave her two quick pats on her shoulder. “You keep thinkin’ good thoughts.”

She lifted the mug and took a sip. He’d put in cream. She took another sip. He’d put in sugar. Exactly the way she liked it.