The Throwbacks Read online

  “What’s going on? Have you told the chief yet?” Theresa said from the other end.

  “We’re still looking for him. But we did find a charming British man who knows—”

  “Hurry! And don’t tell anyone else no matter how charming they are. Dad is bursting an artery with worry about the press. Rick is sick with—”

  “I get the picture; I’m on it. Got to go.” Grace clicked the phone off and shoved it back in her bag.

  “Quite a conversation,” David said.

  “That’s Theresa for you.” Grace looked around.

  “The mayor’s daughter. I take it the mayor won’t be attending this party after all,” David said, with his reassuring calm. “Are you going to tell me about Theresa’s secret murder?”

  “You aren’t supposed to know about that. It’s Theresa’s fiancé’s brother who was murdered. The chief has to call the mayor. We need to find him as soon as we can in this hopeless crowd of people.” She knew she was rambling and not making a good impression, but she felt desperate.

  “He’s right over there.” David gave a slight smile and pointed to the large man looking in their direction. “Let’s introduce you.”

  He was so calm it was catchy. “Yes, please,” she said. He put his hand at the small of her back. His hand on her and his calm manner soothed her as he escorted her toward the chief. She realized that her breathing and heartbeat had normalized and it was all because of him. Then as the warmth of his touch spread through her, she felt a frisson of excitement. “Are you a good friend of his?” she asked in the most normal voice she could muster with that touch of his palm on her back beginning to take up more space in her mind.

  “We go way back,” he said. Without interrupting anyone, and smiling at the small group surrounding the chief, he caught his friend’s attention.

  “What’s up, David?”

  He motioned Dan aside. “Excuse us, please.” He smiled and the group melted away with deference. “Evidently there’s been a murder and you need to call the mayor. This is Grace Rogers.”

  “What the hell—I mean heck—are you talking about?” Dan asked with a predictably cloudy look. David kept his grin to himself.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much more. Grace, this is Dan O’Keefe, Boston Police Chief. Can you explain the phone call to him?”

  “Hi, Chief.” She flashed her dimple. “Rick Racer’s brother was murdered at Rick and Theresa’s rehearsal dinner.”

  “Theresa Torini? The mayor’s daughter? Her wedding rehearsal dinner?” the chief said in disbelief with his brows raised as he looked at Grace, who vigorously nodded her head. The chief looked to David for more clues, then he looked back to Grace. “And you are?”

  “I’m Grace…”

  David decided it was time to do his official duty and cut her off. “A friend of Theresa Torini’s. Apparently the mayor didn’t want to make an official call. He wants to keep it out of the media. Instead, Ms. Torini called and asked Ms. Rogers if she would find you here to tell you to call the mayor—on his private cell phone.” David summed it all up as best he could.

  With a frown on his face, Dan plucked the phone from its holster at his waist. “What are you smiling at?” he said to David, who realized he was enjoying himself.

  He still had his hand at Grace’s back and he decided he was enjoying that too.

  “Why don’t we get some food while the chief gets to the bottom of this,” David said, and he moved her in the direction of the table.

  “Don’t go too far.” The chief punched some numbers into his phone and headed to the front entry hall.

  David led Grace and Sophia-the-Pixie to the buffet table. Pixie looked meaningfully at her watch and nodded to Grace. “I hope Theresa’s hysteria is under control because we have to leave soon,” she said.

  “It wasn’t pure hysteria. There really was a murder, but we accomplished our mission and gave the case to the chief.” Grace peeked at the grandfather clock. “One more hour until glass slipper time,” she said with unreasonable disappointment.

  “Oh? You have a curfew?” David gave her a mock alarmed look.

  “Yes—her mom and pop will be here any minute with their shotguns,” Sophia said to him without a smile and then looked at Grace.

  David raised his brow, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He turned to Grace.

  “I only have my sitter until midnight,” Grace told him.

  At this, Sophia let out a loud whoop of a laugh and David opened his mouth but said nothing. Instead, with a frown, he took her hand in his and examined it.

  “What is it, David?” she asked. “What?”

  “Grace, he thinks you have a kid, and possibly a husband, and from the looks of it he’s stupefied.”

  “You don’t have a child?” David heard the hopefulness in his own voice and reined himself in mentally.

  “No. The sitter is for my puppy.”

  “Oh, I see. Forgive my confusion. You can have your hand back now,” he said.

  “What did you want with my hand anyway?” She was looking at him and he didn’t know what to say. He looked at Pixie and thought the nickname he gave her suited her petite form, fiery red hair, and flitting mischievous nature perfectly.

  “He was checking for a wedding band,” Pixie said.

  He coughed to cover his laugh. “Is it common for one to hire a dog-sitter for the evening?” he asked.

  “I only hire the dog-sitter when I go out.”

  Sophia shook her head and patted David on the back. He held in his laugh this time.

  “I don’t know about you, Sherlock, but I need another drink.” Pixie shook her head and walked away. “Let me know if there’s another murder,” she called over her shoulder, causing a few heads to turn. He inwardly cringed and hoped the need for secrecy about the murder had been exaggerated. He’d hear all about it soon enough, he was sure. In the meantime, he felt determined to enjoy Grace’s company before she rushed home to her puppy.

  “Gracie, I think you and I should eat something from this enticing buffet. We’ll need our strength to communicate without our translator,” David said.

  She laughed. “You read my mind.”

  This time he laughed so that she felt the vibration of the deep resonating sound.

  “Come with me. I’ll take care of you,” he said.

  Simple words. They raised goose bumps all over her. She knew better than to make more of them, but her heartbeat kicked up anyway. She felt the vibration in her chest like there was a marching band coming down the street.

  He propelled her forward while she enjoyed his touch way too much. She took a deep breath. The air was filled with the heady smell of him, and she leaned in close. He felt strong and sure as he guided her. She felt protected, not against the world, but against the loneliness of her past. She didn’t remember ever being so swept up in a feeling like this. But all he was doing was taking her across the room to feed her. It somehow felt so much bigger than that. She told herself again not to get crazy.

  “So you have a puppy. That sounds wonderfully heartwarming somehow. Maybe I should get a puppy.”

  “Are you lonely too?” The words leapt from her unguarded mouth.

  The bottom fell out of his stomach and he would have dropped his plate if he hadn’t been such a highly trained professional. He looked at her warm brown eyes and saw the sincere caring in every nuance of her face, every line, every muscle, and the breathless way she waited for his answer.

  This was dangerous. He needed to back up.

  “Everyone is lonely enough to appreciate the company of a puppy. You are an extraordinary woman, Grace. I’m touched that you are caring enough to ask,” he said. He meant the words, even if they were measured. He looked away from the disappointment on her face and concentrated on putting food on the plate—on her plate.

  She needed a caretaker. He wasn’t going to be the one, even as irresistible as she was. He was old enough to be her uncle, and she needed someone to prot
ect her from men like him. Lucky for her he had scruples—a few of them deep down. Enough not to take advantage of such a wonderfully vulnerable and seductively lonely young beauty.

  “What is all this food? I don’t recognize a thing. That’s the problem with these Beacon Hill caterers. I never know what I’m eating,” she said with false cheer. Her attempt at bravery tugged at him. She was letting him retreat. He would keep up his end and remain cheery.

  “Look here—how extraordinarily convenient. The dishes are labeled,” he said.

  “It would be great if I could see. You’ll have to read the labels for me.”

  “You’re blind as a bat too, then? We must be twins separated at birth. We’ve so much in common.” He reached in his pocket to take out his reading glasses and enjoyed the laughter that bubbled from her at his words. He wanted to become the funniest man in the world so he could hear that laugh again and again. Her resilience was a powerful draw.

  And thus very, very bad for him, he reminded himself. She was nothing but temptation—all young fluff—young needy fluff. He couldn’t decide if her neediness was a bad thing or not. He was a protector. He wanted to protect a woman who appreciated being protected and cherished. But that line of thought would only return him to the very dead end of contemplating his dead wife and their less than sterling marriage.

  He unfolded his glasses.

  “Tell me what those round purplish things are.” Grace pointed.

  But as he watched her point, he was distracted by the orange fingernails. Somehow, her hand collided with his glasses and they clattered to the floor.

  “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me get them…”

  “No need to worry. I’ll retrieve them…”

  They both bent to find the glasses and stooped below the tabletop together. He couldn’t help the thought that if they shifted a small measure to his left they could hide under the table. As she studied the floor looking for his glasses, he watched the top of her irresistible blond-curled head. Then she stumbled. He caught her elbow, but he heard a crunch. Her head flew up and she faced him with a perfect wordless “oh no!” look.

  “That was the sound of the destruction of my glasses?” He held her still. They were close. He couldn’t drum up any concern at all for his lost glasses as he stared into her eyes. He could see her very well, and that seemed to be enough.

  “Now I’m really sorry. Of course I’ll get you some new ones,” she said as he lifted her and they both stood. Before he was fully standing, he felt a familiar crick in his spine and held himself in check.

  “Don’t worry about the glasses.” His words came out rather strained.

  “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice would have warmed him all by itself, but her caress of his back had him downright heated to a melting pool.

  “I’m fine. It’s an old leaping-tall-buildings injury.”

  “Oh, so you’re Superman, then? And here I was looking for Batman.” She smiled in a womanly way—the kind of conspiratorial “don’t worry I won’t make too much of your less than one hundred percent physical condition because I know your ego couldn’t take the blow let alone your back” look.

  “I’ve been both. One superhero is as good as the next in the crime-fighting field. Really keeps that Riddler on his toes when Superman shows up and he’s expecting Batman,” he said and was satisfied to hear that laughter of hers. At that moment he aspired to be nothing more than a comic strip hero who could make her laughter increase tenfold.

  He was yet again forgetting all about the fact that she was young enough to be his niece when Dan showed up as a reminder and joined them. Sophia-the-Pixie flitted back to Grace’s side. Reinforcements for a double dose of reality.

  “I talked to the mayor about the homicide. Let’s fly,” Dan said to him and then looked at the two women.

  “Pixie, this is Boston’s police chief and a friend of mine, Dan O’Keefe, but in the comic book world of crime-writing, he’s known as Dick Tracy,” David said. He enjoyed the annoyed smirk his friend gave him—and Grace’s distinct laugh.

  “Ladies,” Dan said.

  “You mean Theresa Torini’s homicide?” Pixie asked.

  “How did you know? This is supposed to be a confidential police matter,” Dan said with concern. “Don’t say anything to anyone about this, ladies. I mean it.” He took David’s plate of food from him and put it on the nearest tray table.

  David downed his drink. Then he placed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray in a perfectly timed move. The shot of Scotch was as good a preparation as any to deal with a homicide. And this was no routine homicide, based on what he’d heard already.

  “Investigating the scene of a homicide—that’s the horrible part of police business,” Grace said. She scrunched her forehead and looked at him with concern in her big brown eyes, still holding the dish of food he’d prepared for her.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s what we crime-fighters do.” He patted her arm and was treated to very smooth, very warm skin.

  Her face cleared. Her dimple showed, and his heart beat a little faster.

  “You have to go,” she said with a hint of real sadness. “What a shame. Without you here the party won’t be the same.”

  “You rhymed.” He was nonplussed.

  “I did!” She laughed with undisguised delight. “I love when that happens—everyone should rhyme.”

  The Pixie rolled her eyes. “Great. Instead of a Scotland Yard party, we’ll feel like we’re at a Dr. Seuss convention.” She tugged on Grace’s arm. “It’s time for us to go, too. You only have the sitter for a while longer, remember? I’ll get our coats.” With that, Sophia-the-Pixie turned and winked again at him. This time he was ready and winked back.

  “It was a real pleasure meeting you David. I love your name—it’s a very strong-sounding name,” Grace said.

  “Appropriately so. Care to arm wrestle?”

  “Oh, brother,” Dan said.

  She laughed and slapped his arm, content with the one-sided fight. “Oh, you! I’m going to miss you.”

  What an astounding thing for her to say. But he was all the more astounded to find himself thinking the very same thing.

  “Make sure you call the decorator. I’d hate to think of you living in an empty house. Everyone needs a homey home.”

  “I will…perhaps,” was all he said when she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. The warmth that enveloped him was completely unwarranted for such an innocent peck. And yet it was there.

  “I really will miss you.” She touched his cheek with her hand in a caress.

  His so-called friend took him by the arm, and he was forced to tear himself away from her. She possessed quite a gravitational force.

  But he decided he was probably better off leaving her behind and never looking back. She was trouble with a capital T—okay, that was old-fashioned, even for him. But she clearly was not right for him. Far too young and far too…everything. He needed to find a good solid woman his own age to share his midlife decline with—if he was going to bother to inflict himself on anyone at all.

  They walked through the front door and straight toward the Chief’s car.

  “Do you want the details now or should I wait for the vision of loveliness I just rescued you from to clear out of your head?” Dan said.

  His so-called friend had some nerve mocking him. He winced all the same at the ring of truth.

  “I bet you’re thrilled that I dragged you away from the dishiest woman at the benefit,” said Dan.

  It was a leading statement, and he knew Dan was hoping to read a response. His friend had been anxious about that revolving door of endless women, although at first he’d been an amused voyeur. After the wasted year, it was time he moved past his past.

  A vision of Grace lit up in his mind, and he dwelled on the dimple before ruthlessly shutting the lights. He felt the warmth of her kiss, and even more so, the warmth of her words telling him she’d miss him.

 
“Of course I’m thrilled. You know I love a good homicide investigation. A nice high-profile homicide involving the mayor’s family—perfect inauguration for the Scotland Yard Exchange Program with the BPD.”

  “Yes, it does seem like the perfect showcase for the exchange program.” Dan smiled at him.

  “Do you need to check with the mayor first?” David asked.

  “Are you kidding? The program is official now. The mayor will love having the fricking Detective Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard’s Flying Squad on the case. It’s about time you jumped in after all the bureaucratic bull of setting up the program.”

  “I agree. He’ll never suspect the real reason I’ve been exiled to the States…at least not until the Commission’s internal affairs report comes out.” David spoke in his driest British voice and added, “It’s a lucky thing I’m independently wealthy.” He gave his friend the single-arched brow of sarcasm. He stepped around to the passenger side of the chief’s unmarked police car.

  “You will be—as soon as the estate is out of escrow.”

  That made David wince out loud. The chief walked around to the driver’s side and stopped.

  “I know this is a sore topic. But it’ll get through court soon and you have to get over the guilt, close out the estate and move on,” the chief said in a guarded voice.

  Even an entire year filled with limousine loads of women hadn’t rid David of the grief over his professional exile and marital baggage. He only shook his head.

  “That’s what I thought. Now for business,” the chief said as they both swung their respective doors open and slid into the car.

  “You’re really enjoying being the wheel man, I see,” David noted.

  “My regular driver may never get his job back. Luckily you acquired a taste for being chauffeured or we’d have to fight for the keys.” Dan turned the key, flipped the switch to the blue flashing lights and stepped on the gas. David felt the flashback to the image of Dan playing the role of “Dick Tracy” in their boyhood games.

  They looked at each other like those two boys of old in perfect sync. David felt the rush of adrenaline and looked ahead. This he could deal with. He was glad to be back in his element here—crime fighting in the States where no one knew the details of his sordid past. Yet.