Page 50 of The Body in the Backyard

He was just having a blood sugar crash. Or a panic attack. Or a small mental break. He was not staring at a diamond ring on Riley’s finger and wanting to actually put it there.

Still in character, Riley cocked her head and pouted. “Hmm. I think it’s a littletooclassy. Don’t you, Toby? I think I need a ring that says, ‘Sometimes makes bad decisions but has a damn good time making them.’”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Wilfred promised gleefully.

Riley and Wilfred moved down to the next case. Nick knelt to pet the cat and catch his breath.

He wanted to put a ring on Riley Thorn’s finger. Before her, he’d never even considered things like getting engaged or married or, you know, the future.

They’d only known each other for four months. There was mozzarella in the cheese drawer older than their relationship. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back.

They owned a home together. They worked together. They had a dog together. This wasn’t just another new relationship. This wastherelationship. This was it.Shewas it.

But how the hell was he supposed to pop the question when he’d just blown all his spare cash on a TV? Hell, Griffin had managed to buy her a ring. A real one. Not some diamond chip purchased from the trunk of someone’s shady cousin’s car.

His head felt heavy and woozy. The cat was giving him a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look. Nick wasn’t sure what was wrong. But little pinpricks of light danced before his eyes. Darkness rolled in like the tide, and he decided the carpet looked like an awfully nice place to hyperventilate.

“Toby, honey? You okay?” Riley asked, her voice strained.

“Perhaps try slapping him?” Wilfred suggested.

“No slap,” Nick murmured. He managed to pry his eyelids open and found Riley hovering over him. She was fucking beautiful. And she had what looked like fifteen carats of diamonds on her fingers.

“I’ll call 911,” a worried-looking Wilfred volunteered.

“I’m fine,” Nick grumbled, working his way into a seated position.

“What happened?” Riley asked.

“You know how I get when I don’t get a bag of Sour Patch Kids every few hours,” he said, regaining his feet and his character.

“May I ask how you heard about my store?” Wilfred asked, glancing down at Riley’s diamond-clad finger nervously.

Nick decided to take a gamble. “Griffin Gentry.”

Wilfred jumped like someone had just announced the floor was lava. “You will kindly hand over the jewelry and leave immediately.”

“Now hang on a second,” Nick said, dropping the accent.

“You’re not southern. Is your name even Toby?” Wilfred squeaked and scampered behind the register. With shaking hands, he pulled out a pearl-handled Colt revolver and aimed it at the ceiling. “I am done being victimized by that man.”

Nick stepped in front of Riley, hands in the air. “Let’s take it easy, Wilfred. We’re not here for that. My girl here is going to carefully take off the rings and put them back on the case, and you’re going to keep that six-shooter pointed at the ceiling.”

“Okay,” Wilfred said in a whisper. Sweat dotted his forehead. His mustache twitched.

With Nick as her human shield, Riley slowly removed all four rings and placed them in a neat row back on the blue velvet cloth.

“We’re not here to hurt you or steal anything. We’re here to help,” she said, raising her hands in the air.

“No one affiliated with Griffin Gentry is out for anyone but themselves.”

“He’s my ex-husband. We got divorced because he slept with a coworker; then he fired me and sued me for breaking his nose,” she explained. “I almost went broke because of him.”

Wilfred wavered.

Riley tried to inch past Nick’s shoulders, but he blocked her. “We think he took something from you that’s very important, and I’d like to talk about how we can help you get it back,” she continued.

“How am I supposed to trust you?”