“That’s too bad, Mrs. Higgins,” I said, gritting my teeth. I’d installed a birdbath last year to replace the leaking one I’d installed the year before that. The woman just wanted a new birdbath every year, and if she could blame the leak on my handiwork, she could wangle a new one and not get charged for my labor.
Not that I would’ve charged her. It wasn’t a lot of work and it made her happy. My father had been replacing Mrs. Higgins’s birdbaths for years before I inherited the duty.
“And boy howdy! I’ve got a beauty picked out this time. Wait right here.” She toddled up the walkway and disappeared inside her house. A minute later, she was back, waving a mail-order catalog. “I ordered it just this morning. Isn’t it glorious?”
“Oh my.” My eyes boggled at the fountain she wanted installed in her backyard. It was a hideous statue consisting of children and dolphins and fish and birds and a puppy. Water cascaded over everything and ended up in a small pool at the base. There were even angels. Big ones, with wings.
The children were actually two naked boys dancing on the backs of two dolphins. The dolphins cavorted in the waves with a school of fish swimming beneath them. A bird perched on a puppy’s lifted paw, and other birds flitted over its head. A throng of overgrown cherubim frolicked above them all.
Water spewed from every conceivable orifice.
I tried to catch my breath. That thing would scare away any bird that came near it.
“My goodness,” I managed, “that’s quite a birdbath.”
“I know.” She smiled at the catalog. “There’s space at the base of the fountain and I plan to add a plaque, dedicating it to Jesse.”
Now I felt like an idiot. “That’s very thoughtful, Mrs. Higgins. I’ll be happy to install it as soon as it arrives.”
“Thank you, dear. It’s being delivered to Sloane’s sometime next week. I was hoping you’d run out and pick it up for me.”
“Of course.” Sloane’s Stones was a brick and masonry yard out by the highway. They had an enormous inventory and I did a lot of work with them. “Just let me know when it arrives.”
“I will, dear. You’re a good girl.” She turned and continued watering her roses, indicating that I’d been dismissed.
Chuckling, I crossed the street to my house.
“You look like you just heard a good joke.”
I glanced in the direction of the voice and saw my neighbor and tenant, Mac Sullivan, smiling as he held open the gate leading to my backyard. “Hi, Mac.”
The man had a beautiful smile and I took a moment to enjoy it. There was no getting around it: Mac Sullivan was drop-dead gorgeous. With dark hair and blue eyes, he had a dangerous look about him that was utterly masculine and sexy. He was also a bestselling mystery author whose hero, ex-SEAL Jake Slater, had become a worldwide household name in the tradition of James Bond. I still wasn’t sure why Mac had chosen Lighthouse Cove to call home, but the women in town were eternally grateful he had.
Heck, the men liked him, too. He was a great guy and a wonderful writer.
“I was just talking to Mrs. Higgins,” I explained.
“Ah, no wonder you’re smiling. She’s a pip, isn’t she?”
“The word suits her, whatever it means.”
He laughed, and there went that tingling sensation again. Was there anything more appealing than a man with a great laugh? Not in my book.
“Did you get any writing done today?” I winced. “Sorry. I imagine writers hate that question. And it’s none of my business. But I hope you had a good day.”
“I had a great day. And I don’t mind you asking about my writing. It went well.” He grinned. “I killed two people.”
I headed for the steps leading up to my kitchen door. “Sounds delightful.”
“It was,” he said, and leaned against the stair railing. “And to celebrate, I was hoping you’d join me for dinner.”
For a few brief seconds I reflected on the fact that after years of avoiding the dating scene, I found myself interested in two attractive men at the same time. I didn’t know what would happen in the future, but for the moment I was determined to enjoy myself. “I’d love to. Give me ten minutes?”
“I’ll meet you right here.”
*
We ate dinner at Rosie’s Crab Pot, which, despite its name, was a lovely restaurant with an old-world clubroom atmosphere and an excellent wine list. From our quiet corner booth, we gazed out at the ocean and shared a dozen oysters and a bottle of Chardonnay. I ordered salmon and Mac had sea bass. We talked about Jesse and I told Mac how I found him among the chaos inside his house.
“I’d like to get into his house and see it for myself,” Mac said before taking his first bite of fish. He nodded his approval. “You have a key to the place, right?”
“Well, yes.” I bit into my salmon. It was perfectly prepared, not overcooked, with a light butter and lemon sauce. “But you know, it’s probably still a crime scene.”
“I’ll talk to Eric.”