With that thought, I darted a glance at the bar, where Dak was chatting up his regulars—three dudes who loved to talk baseball. We had gone on a few official dates, slipping into our past like old friends. Which we were. Both of us were taking things slow. Well, as slow as one could take it when there was all this pent-up passion that had been strapped down for too many years. Not stripping him naked every time I was with him was quite a chore. I had even sat on my hands once. Wish I were kidding. Things were good, though.
And I had started showing up more for family dinners. Gran was grumbling about going to Weight Watchers, but Cricket had been happy because she was something called a “lifetime member,” and she got some points or something for signing Gran up. She even went to the first meeting with my grandmother. So far, Gran had lost weight and had started some new medication. I still wasn’t on even ground with Ed Earl, but I wasn’t ignoring him any longer.
Cricket made a face. “I am a pro multitasker. Ask any PTA member. I can run a store, launch a clothing line, and take pictures of dirtbags at the same time. I mean, I sorta already did it.”
Griffin, who had just come back over to the table from shooting pool in the back, shot her a look. “You shouldn’t do anything dangerous.”
“I’m not,” she said, sort of bristly. “And you know what, Griff? I don’t like this beer. Life is too short for me to waste calories on something I don’t like. Any chance we can talk Dak into getting Michelob Ultra? Or maybe some seltzer-water things. I like those, and they’re only three points.”
“Three points for what?” he asked, drawing a chair over and sitting on it backward.
“Weight Watchers,” Cricket said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She had a nice tan from her trip to Grand Cayman. Turned out it had been for naught because the Department of Justice had already frozen Scott’s accounts, but Cricket’s attorney had said that since her money was hers and untainted, she had a good shot of getting it back into her possession. She, her mother, and her daughter had spent a week there at the conclusion of school and had just returned, tanned and relaxed. Well, at least Cricket was. Her mother wasn’t really the kind to relax, I didn’t think. Julia Kate was going to therapy, and according to Cricket, they were both working through the mistakes she herself had made. Of course, that meant Cricket was overcompensating for the debacle at the luncheon by indulging Julia Kate. She knew she was doing it and had vowed to stop, but I understood, even if I knew it would probably come back to haunt her.
But what did I know? I didn’t plan on having kids or anything needier than a dog.
Cricket’s husband was too busy avoiding jail time to worry about the money at present. Word from Cricket was that he had also petitioned to get the untainted money unfrozen. He was out on bond and had taken a plea bargain to keep himself out of jail. He was a big squealing pig and was living at the Holiday Inn Express. Someone told Cricket that Stephanie had already lobbed her tennis ball onto the court of a recently divorced judge.
“You don’t need to lose weight,” Griff scoffed, eyeing her with something that made my heart sorta squeeze. My cousin had it bad for Cricket, which amused me to no end. My boss and silent partner in Deconstructed had been true to her word—no hanky-panky until she was officially divorced—but I knew she nurtured a small flame for my big hunky cousin. They met here at the Bullpen once a week with our Blue Moon Sting posse, as Cricket still called us. And I think they texted some. But I respected Cricket. She had a daughter and a reputation to uphold.
“Men always say that, but I refuse to buy new pants. I have to mind my pennies now that I’m a single working mother,” Cricket said, jerking her head toward the bar. Griffin obediently rose and went to find something else for Cricket to drink, mumbling about liking tight pants.
“You should take Cricket up on her offer, Juke,” I said, sipping a crisp pinot grigio that Dak had ordered in just for me. “She’s great with binoculars.”
Cricket rolled her eyes. “Both ends looked the same. And I am good at being a detective. I have a manual that tells me all kinds of stuff. I can open envelopes for you.”
Juke looked a little panicked, cupping his coffee and staring into the dark liquid within.
“You know she’s just teasing you, Juke,” I said.
“Oh, good,” he responded.
“I’m not sure I am. I think I could be helpful. You know, on a big case. I might take the course,” Cricket said as Griffin approached, handing her off a glass of what was likely the same thing I had. Dak followed him, carrying a bottled water.
“Well, I would like to propose a toast,” I said, lifting my glass. “To new friends, to old friends, and to catching cheaterpants and seeing them punished.”
“Hear! Hear!” Juke said, lifting his coffee mug.
Dak bumped his water bottle against my glass, a smile hovering on his delicious lips. I slipped one hand under my thigh just as a reminder.
Griffin clinked his beer to Cricket’s glass and then to mine.
Finally, Cricket looked at me and smiled. “To both of us. For being courageous. For tearing away the old. For making something new.”
We clinked our glasses as everyone said, “Cheers!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I would like to thank my agent, Michelle Grajkowski, who signed me on the premise of this book. It took my writing twenty books before Cricket finally got her spotlight. Thanks for believing in me and making me feel like I’m a fantastic writer on the days I doubt. Most people don’t know that agents don’t just hustle the books; they hustle the author’s fragile ego. Your red-and-white pom-poms are appreciated. Go, Badgers!
Next, thanks to Greg Lott, president of Progressive Bank, who helped me with the particulars of Ponzi schemes and money laundering. Scott Crosby couldn’t come close to holding a candle to you. You’re a true man of honor. I’m so happy to call you friend.
A hearty thanks to Brian Ong, who answered questions about offshore accounts and how the investigation would proceed. Any mistakes are mine. I probably made some. But they weren’t yours. Thanks for giving me your time.
I’m ever so grateful to Jamie Beck, who read the early manuscript and offered advice. I’m so glad to call such a fine writer my good friend.
Love my FFTH deadline pals. I can never, ever thank you all enough for your support, friendship, kicks in the pants, hand-holding, advice, cheering, and everything else you all give me every day. Friendship weathers hard times, mistakes, and failings. I’m so glad that we hold each other up and find our friendship worthwhile. I truly love you, Sonali Dev, Barbara O’Neal, Priscilla Oliveras, Tracy Brogan, Falguni Kothari, Virginia Kantra, Sally Kilpatrick, and Jamie Beck. You chicks are my glue.