Page 27 of The Body in the Backyard

“You don’t want any food?”

“I don’t want to have sex in a janitorial closet. At least not until we’re off the clock.”

Both dimples winked into existence. “How did a guy like me get lucky enough to land a girl like you, Thorn?”

His tone was teasing, but she could feel something else behind it.

“Are you okay?” she asked, abandoning her assessment of the crowd.

Nick popped a shrimp into her mouth. “Baby, with you, I’m better than okay.”

“Did you hit your head getting out of the car again?”

“No. But that dress knocked me out.”

“Champagne?” The offer came from a young cocktail waiter behind them.

“Sorry, man,” Nick said. “We’re on the job, making sure no one tries to murder one of these rich pains in your ass.”

A gentleman with silvery hair and aPhantom of the Operamask who had just reached for one of the glasses changed his mind and swept away into the crowd. Riley craned her neck but lost him when he disappeared behind two men resembling refrigerators in their white dinner jackets.

“If it’s Ing Theodoric, I’ll give you this entire tray of champagne if you look the other way when it happens,” the waiter grumbled.

Riley juggled her appetizer plates to elbow Nick. Ingram Theodoric was on their list of suspects.

“Ow. What was that for? Do you want more shrimp?” Nick asked, rubbing his arm.

“Ingram Theodoric sounds like abad guy,” Riley said pointedly.

“Very subtle, Thorn,” Nick said with a wink.

“He just made my boyfriend get on his hands and knees and mop up the scotch he didn’t spill on the asshole’s wingtips,” the waiter said, drawing Riley’s attention again. He was a gangly white twentysomething with a head full of shockingly blond curls. His dinner jacket was a few sizes too big, his pants were too short, and his bow tie was crooked. He winced. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to say stuff like that. Please don’t tell my boss. I don’t wanna get fired again.”

“Tell you what”—Nick leaned in to read the waiter’s name tag—“Garvey. You point us in the direction of this Theodoric guy, and I’ll be sure to spill this cocktail sauce all over him.”

Garvey’s eyes lit up. “Deal. I’ll save you a bottle of champagne to go if you get some up his nose.”

“Consider it done.”

Riley took a preemptive bite of shrimp just in case they were about to get thrown out by security. It was never a dull moment with Nick Santiago on the loose.

Garvey pointed across the ballroom. “Standing over there by that urn of flowers. He’s the tall dude with the gold mask and the comb-over who looks like he’s got an ice sculpture shoved up his butt.”

Nick popped a crostini in his mouth and straightened his shoulders. “Let’s get to work.”

“Are you sure dumping cocktail sauce on someone is the best way to get them to talk?” she asked nervously as she trailed him across the ballroom.

“Gotta read the situation and adapt. Sometimes you need to throw a punch or hurl some condiments to get someone to open up.”

“Listen, I remember Ingram Theodoric the Third from a fundraiser at Fort Hunter. He’s a bank vice president and colossal jackass,” she warned.

“Then this will be even more fun,” he insisted.

“He makes underlings cry on a daily basis at the bank. According to the suspect list, Griffin says Ing screamed at him on the court after a pickleball match.”

“What the hell is pickleball?” Nick asked. “Never mind. Tell me later.”

“All I’m saying is if you dump cocktail sauce all over him, he’s not going to stand around and answer questions.”