92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [62]
Polite but firm, Troy gave her a stock answer, made his excuses and disconnected. He’d addressed the seniors’ group earlier that week to request help and information, and that had brought his most promising lead to date. He’d acted on impulse, dashing into their monthly gathering. Sometimes crimes were solved in unexpected ways.
Because of the phone call, he was a few minutes later than he’d told Megan. Even before he got to the front door, she’d flung it open; it was as if she’d been looking out the window, waiting for him.
“I thought you weren’t going to come,” she cried.
“I said I’d be here.” He didn’t understand why it was so all-fired important that he show up on a Thursday evening. She must’ve rushed home from work herself.
“I know, it’s just that…” She hesitated. “Never mind. Come in. I baked your favorite oatmeal cookies.”
After the day he’d had, Troy was grateful for an excuse to relax. Sitting heavily in a kitchen chair, he muttered, “What’s the occasion?”
“Think of it as a late Valentine’s Day gift.”
This year’s Valentine’s Day had been a disaster. He’d bought a large box of expensive chocolates for Faith. He’d never expected to pay that much for candy. He’d bought a bouquet of red roses, too. They should’ve been gold plated for what they cost. As it turned out, he might as well have flushed all that cash down the toilet. The day before he’d intended to drop them off, he learned that Faith was leaving town.
So much for romancing her with flowers and candy! The roses were wilting in a vase on the mantel and he’d stuck the chocolates in the fridge. If she wanted to go back to Seattle—or wherever—he wasn’t going to stop her. Not that he had the power to do so, anyway. The woman had a mind of her own, and he could see that it was already made up.
“Do you want coffee or tea with your cookies?” Megan asked, standing attentively beside his chair.
“Coffee.” Anything was better than the stale brew at the station. The stuff was often as black as tar and just as thick.
His daughter brought him a plate holding four cookies and a mug of coffee with a touch of half-and-half, which was exactly the way he liked it. “I assume you want something?” Treats like this generally came at a price.
“Daddy!” Megan put her hands on her hips, her expression one of shock. “How can you even suggest such a thing? We hardly ever have time to talk anymore, just you and me.”
“Okay, what shall we talk about?” He crossed his legs and leaned back. He was certain this little rendezvous was leading somewhere.
Before his daughter could respond, the doorbell rang. A look he could only describe as panicked flashed across Megan’s face.
“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.
She shrugged and glanced away. “Not really.”
Megan hurried to the front door and in that instant everything became clear to Troy. This hadn’t been a random invitation. His daughter had decided to do some matchmaking.
Troy stood, pushing aside the cookies and his coffee, and entered the living room. “Hello, Faith.”
Her face fell when she saw him. She was obviously as surprised as he was—perhaps more so.
“Megan asked me to stop by so she could show me the baby blanket she finished knitting.” Faith’s tone implied that she wasn’t a party to this arrangement.
Troy didn’t need anyone to tell him the entire setup was Megan’s doing.
“I’ll get the blanket,” Megan said cheerfully, acting oblivious to the tension between Faith and Troy. “Why don’t you two talk while I…find my knitting.”
As soon as Megan left the living room, the silence seemed louder than any words they might have said. Troy wondered which of them would speak first. He’d decided it wasn’t going to be him.
Apparently Faith had made the same decision. They both stood there examining the carpet, each pretending to ignore the other.
Okay, fine, he’d take the initiative. “I apologize for this,” he said curtly. “I had no idea Megan was setting us up.”
“I didn’t, either,