Page 36

A s I contemplated pizza versus drive-through, in my quest to repress thoughts of my ex and my secretary doing the nasty, my phone rang. The caller ID said KINGSLEY, so I picked up. "Hey, neighbor! Come next door and have some dinner, if you're not doing important lawyer-type stuff. The kids are dying to meet you," she said.

"Hi, Emily. Thanks. I'd love to," I said, smiling for what felt like the first time in days. "I could use a break from my problems."

She started laughing. "Problems? What problems? Oh, those druggie friends of yours giving you a hard time, are they?"

Oh, not her, too . "Look, I promise I'm not a druggie. I?—"

"Stop, already. This is the same paper that accused me of being a threat to the morality of all of northeast Florida, and the 'precursor of the gambling menace.' I don't care what they say about you. In fact, I might like you a little better now that the Post Union has trashed you."

I could hear the laughter in her voice, and the tension in my neck and shoulders melted away. "I'll be right over. Oh, can I bring something?"

"Nope. Just your sweet self. But get over here quick, before the kids get any hungrier. They're cranky when they're hungry, and I don't want to scare you out of the neighborhood in your first week here."

I heard lots of singing and yelling in the background, so took her at her word. Taking a moment to grab one of the two bottles of wine that were the sole contents of my fridge, I headed across the lawn to her house.

A good-looking, bookish-type guy opened the door before I knocked. "Hey, December. Good to meet you. Emily said you're suffering from the local version of tarring and feathering. Welcome to our sinner's nest. I'm Rick."

Rick was tall and slim, with sandy brown hair, and the brown eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were warm and friendly. I shook his hand and returned his smile, but mine felt a little strained. "Yes, it's been an interesting day, to say the least. I've been offered a few cases of what you might call the lowlife variety since the paper came out this morning."

"Daddy, Daddy! Who's that? Can we play with her?" Two small and sticky-looking people shoved Ricky out of the way to get to me. I involuntarily backed up a step when the chocolate-covered one tried to jump me. I haven't had much experience with children, but I tried not to flinch.

"Hi, Miss December. We're so happy to see you!" The older one looked solemn. He held out his hand in imitation of his dad. "I'm Ricky Junior. That's Joker. She's only three, but I'm six. We had a dog, but he's in dog heaven now, where he gets all the biscuits he wants, but not chocolate. Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. Do you have a dog?"

I shook Ricky Junior's hand carefully, wondering which part to respond to first. Rick Senior stepped in to help, catching his son's hand in his own. "How about we let Miss December sit down and relax before we bombard her with questions, buddy? Fifteen minutes of computer time, okay?"

"Putt Putt Saves the Zoo?" Ricky asked, squirming out of his dad's embrace and jumping up and down.

"Yes, that's fine. Let Elisabeth watch," Rick called after the kids, as they made a beeline for the computer table in the corner.

He turned to me. "Come on into the kitchen. I think Emily is out back picking some peppers or something."

As I followed him into the kitchen, I tried not to moan. "She not only bakes cakes and cooks homemade food, she gardens? I either have to hate this woman or marry her myself," I said, laughing. The smell of something tomatoey and delicious wafted through the air, and I took a deep breath.

He nodded. "Yes, it's a little scary, isn't it? The Queen of Poker goes domestic. Oh, there she is."

Emily stepped in from the backyard with a basket of something green and leafy in her arms. "Hey, December. Glad you could make it. Oh, you brought wine! I love wine, and we seem never to have anything stronger than chocolate milk in the house these days."

"I always forget – is chocolate milk for fish or red meat?" I grinned and handed the bottle to Rick. "What can I do to help?"

"Not a thing," Emily said, then handed Rick the basket and went to wash her hands as he placed it on the cheerful yellow-and-white-tiled table. The walls were painted a warm, buttery yellow, and copper pots hung over a center island. Crayon art decorated every inch of the refrigerator. It looked like a kitchen where people actually cooked, like Aunt Celia's. I sighed, trying not to feel inadequate, and slid onto a stool near the counter.

"Seriously, I'm no Rachel Ray, but I can do something. I'm a terrific potato peeler, for example."

Rick grinned at his wife. "Er, you may not want to mention Rachel Ray here, December. Emily thinks any meal that only takes thirty minutes to prepare might as well be eaten from a takeout bag."

I looked at them both. "It can take thirty whole minutes to cook a meal?"

Emily did a mock shudder, then checked something in the oven. "Rick, will you pour the wine?"

"Gladly." He rummaged around in a drawer for a wine opener. "So, tell us about your druggie past, December."

I flinched a little, then dropped my head into my hands. "Argh. I haven't even called Aunt Celia yet. I bet she's hearing about this in a big way from her friends down at the seniors' center. Those women know everything about everybody."

I thought of the kids in the other room, and what I'd be wondering if I were a mom, and sat up straighter on my stool. "Look, I know you don't know me, but I want to assure you that there is not the slightest hint of drug use in my past. Well, I tried one drag of that joint in high school, which is what they were talking about from my bar app, but that was it. It was disgusting. I don't even like to take aspirin. Seriously?—"

Emily held up a hand. "Stop. We know Celia and Nathan. They never would have put some criminal in a house next door to our kids. Plus, we consider ourselves good judges of character, and we can tell that you're a good person."

Rick started putting plates on the table and laughed. "Well, The Psychic over there cooking lasagna is a good judge of character. I have a habit of giving fifty bucks to 'homeless, will work for food' people who turn out to drive Mercedes convertibles."

Emily blew him a kiss. "You just have a big heart, sweetie. And I should have warned you about Glad Hand Luke. The intersection of Blanding and Argyle is his territory, and he talks about his weekly take when he's playing cards down at the Wild Card Room."

I took the silverware from Rick and started setting the places. "You have a panhandler who's a regular in weekly poker games? Now that takes balls . . . er, basketballs . I love to play basketball, don't you?" I grinned a huge, fake smile at a puzzled-looking Emily and jerked my head toward the kitchen doorway, where Elisabeth peeked out at us.

"Hey, punkin tater. Where's Mommy's Princess?" Emily said, holding her arms out. The sturdy little girl, the exact image of her mother with her dark, glossy curls and pink cheeks (except Emily's weren't chocolate covered), ran to Emily to be swept up in a big hug.

"Did you meet Miss December?" Emily settled her daughter on her hip and turned toward me. "She's our new friend, and she lives next door."

"In Grumpy Gus's house?" Elisabeth looked scared for a minute.

"Yes, honey. Grumpy Gus is gone forever," Emily said, smoothing her daughter's hair back from her forehead. "Now go wash your hands and face for dinner and tell Ricky to wash his hands, too, 'kay?" She put her daughter back down on the floor, and Elisabeth ran off yelling "Ricky" at the top of her lungs.

I raised an eyebrow. "Grumpy Gus?"

She shook her head. "He was newly retired from some big oil corporation, and his biggest enjoyment in life was yelling at the neighborhood kids to stay out of his yard and off of his grass. When I mentioned it to Celia, she and Nathan decided not to renew his lease. I don't know why he didn't just buy a house, anyway. He had to be loaded, considering that car he drove. Jerk."

"Now, honey. Let's not scare December off on her first dinner over here," Rick said. I got the feeling he was the pacifist in the family, and Emily was the mama wolf.

Emily carried the lasagna to the table, and I tried not to drool openly. I was so going to love living next door to people like this.

"Hey, speaking of The Psychic, tell me more about this. So you read 'tells,' Max said?"

Emily shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal. Trust me, after you've been a mother and your child stared you right in the eyes and swore up and down that he did not — and never would have — put the goldfish in the microwave because they were probably cold in their bowl, you can read grownup poker players with no problem."

I laughed and made a face. "Did the fish survive?"

"Barely. They were never the same, afterward."

Rick said, "She's being overly modest, as usual. It's a valuable talent on the circuit. Some of these guys have been perfecting their technique for years, and nobody could ever read them until they came up against Emily." He rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. One of those private smiles that some couples can share in the middle of a crowd, and you know they're only seeing each other.

I've never gotten a smile like that.

Emily smiled back at her husband, then yelled for the kids. "Richard Kingsley Junior! I know you're still on that computer! Wash those hands and get in here."

Rick rolled his eyes. "He probably didn't even hear you. He goes into the zone when he reads or plays computer games. I'll go get him."

As he strode off in search of the kids, I looked at Emily. "So, have you ever considered consulting on any legal cases?"

" I f I had even a millimeter of space in my stomach, I'd go for a third piece of lasagna," I said.

Elisabeth, or Joker, as her family called her, made an "Euuwww," sound. "That's yucky, to eat more basketti after your dessert. Don't you know anything?"

"Elisabeth!" her mother said, looking stern. "Please apologize to Miss December. It's rude to ask someone if she doesn't know anything."

I laughed. "No problem. She's right. What kind of person eats more food after caramel pecan cheesecake? The kind who weighs four hundred pounds." I stood up, trying not to groan at the weight of my very full stomach.

"Now, let me clean up the kitchen, since you cooked everything," I said, picking up a plate.

"No way," Rick said. "Tonight is my turn. Trust me, we'll let you do all the dishes you want, just not on your first dinner here. You and Emily go talk about girl stuff, and I'll take care of this. Ricky, will you be a big boy and help Daddy?"

Ricky nodded seriously, ready to take on his big-boy responsibilities. Joker pushed out her lip. "I wanna help. I'm a big girl, too, Daddy." She grabbed her Minnie Mouse cup as Ricky reached for it, then she yanked it away from him.

If I hadn't been covered in chocolate milk, I would have admired the perfect arc of the milk as it flew.

I looked at my drenched clothes, hair dripping down my face, and thought about my day. Then I started laughing.

It might have sounded just a teensy bit hysterical.