In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [26]
She and Harriet were sitting on the front porch of her tiny Santa Monica cottage, drinking Miller Lite from icy bottles, relaxing after a tough couple of days. They had just gotten home and were still in their work “uniforms”—black shorts, sweaty white T-shirts, crumpled black socks, and work boots. A brand-new forty-eight-foot silver truck with MOVING ON in lipstick-red script on its sides had replaced the crashed one and was parked across the street.
Mel loved that truck like her own baby—well, not quite, but she knew what she meant. It was the product of her own brains and body and hard labor. And of the insurance company that had reluctantly forked over the money after she had wrecked the first one. “Isn’t that just the greatest truck, Harriet, honey?” Mel eyed it with a pleased smile.
Today, using that truck, they had moved an eccentric old woman from one expensive condo to another on the same block. The woman had complained all the while about the cost and why she needed such a big van and so many crew, she was sure she could have gotten everything cheaper elsewhere. Nerves frazzled, they had done their job and left her, still grumbling, with her bed made up, fresh towels and soap in the bathroom, her refrigerator stocked, coffee brewing, and flowers in a vase on the hall table. Their signature.
“The old bitch never even said thanks.” Harriet sighed wearily. “Oh, ’scuse me, Riley, I forgot you were there.”
Mel’s seven-year-old daughter, Riley, laughed, a hearty rollicking sound that infected those around her with laughter. She was lying in a hammock strung between two beams. Lola, a feisty little tan-and-white terrier mutt, lay on her chest, eyes blissfully closed as Riley swung gently. “ ’S okay. I’ve heard worse,” she replied calmly.
“No you have not.” Mel was indignant. “There is no cursing in this house.”
“Only when you think I’m not listening.” Riley grinned at them, showing the double empty space where her front teeth used to be. “Visitors,” she added, staring at the black BMW that had just pulled into the parking spot in front of the house.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Mel propped her feet on the porch rail, fanning herself with one hand. She took another swig of the cold beer. The Santa Ana winds were blowing in from the desert and it was hot as hell, even at seven-thirty at night.
“It’s probably the old bitch, come back to complain some more.” Riley giggled.
Lola leaped off her chest and onto the front steps. The terrier stared, tense as a trigger, at the man emerging from the BMW.
“Some guard dog.” Ed Vincent was standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets. “How’re y’doin’, Zelda?”
“Zelda?” Harriet’s eyes met Melba’s in a question. “Who’s he talking about?”
“Oh, oh my gosh.” Mel thrust the Miller Lite bottle hastily behind her chair and leaped to her feet. She tugged down her black shorts and tried vainly to smooth the sweaty T-shirt.
Ed had to smile at her astonished look. He knew that whatever she was feeling, it would show in her eyes, and whatever she wanted to say, she would come straight out with it. There was no guile about Zelda Merrydew. Even if she did hide beer bottles behind her chair. “Love the new truck,” he said, smiling as he imagined Mel behind the wheel. It was quite a picture.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I just happened to be in the area. Thought I’d stop by, take my partner in crime out to dinner, if she would let me.”
“Wow.” Riley clambered out of the hammock, inspecting him closely. “A date, Mom.” Mel threw her a withering look and she giggled.
“What does he mean, ‘partner in crime’?” Harriet asked in a loud whisper.
“Melba is my detective partner.” Ed bent to pat the dog, who promptly nipped his hand. He pulled it back fast.
“Don’t mind Lola, it’s just her way of saying hello.” Riley gave him her gappy smile. “Lola never draws blood. Not unless she really hates you.”
“That darn dog is just plain uncivilized,” Harriet said. “And, Mel, your mother would be ashamed of you. Where