“You did a fantastic job, sweetheart.” He nodded to himself as his experienced eye examined everything. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
What could I say? That meant everything. “Thanks, Dad. I learned from the best.”
“Hey, guess you did.” His chest expanded in mock self-importance and we both laughed.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered as I hugged him again. He’d dressed up in his best navy suit and wore a white shirt and the beautiful silk tie I’d given him last Christmas. He rarely dressed this elegantly these days, so I was especially pleased that he’d done so for Jane.
He took a good long look at me. “Something going on. What is it? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing,” I said blithely, but I should’ve known better. He knew me too well.
“Nothing,” he mocked. “How many times have I heard that before? You realize I haven’t bought that line since you were fifteen and brokenhearted because Deputy Tommy didn’t call when he said he would?”
I sighed and mentally kicked myself. No way should I have expected to fool my dad.
“But I’ll let it go for tonight,” he said, tweaking my chin. “Tomorrow, though, I’m coming over for breakfast.”
I blinked. “Okay. Thanks for the warning.”
“Be prepared to spill your guts.”
Chapter Ten
Dad was already flipping pancakes when I stumbled down the stairs Sunday morning. Robbie, well aware of Dad’s lack of kitchen coordination, stood at the ready to catch any misflipped flapjacks. I couldn’t complain that Dad had broken into the house, since the house was still his, officially. Five years ago, after a heart attack scare, he had handed the house over to me and bought himself a Winnebago, a big one. He wanted to hit the road, explore the great outdoors, just as he and my mom had always planned to do. Dad got as far as the Oregon border before he turned around and came back home.
Traveling alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he realized. He found the best of both worlds when he decided to live in the motor home while it was parked in my driveway. That way, Dad could live in his bachelor pad and still have a place to do laundry. And I still had my dad around most of the time.
Dad especially loved the “man cave” aspect of the RV, with its wide-screen television and comfortable swiveling lounge chairs. His buddies joined him regularly to watch sports and play poker, and at least once a month, he would take off to go fishing with Uncle Pete.
So to find him in my kitchen every so often, whipping up a batch of pancakes and bacon, wasn’t much of a shock. In truth, almost anyone willing to make me breakfast was welcome to break into my house anytime.
“Pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit. Breakfast will be ready in two minutes.”
I did as I was told and sat down at the kitchen table, where a glass of orange juice and a multivitamin were waiting for me.
“Thanks, Dad. You didn’t have to cook.”
“I figured if I was invading your space, I owed you a meal.”
“Okay, but I don’t ever mind you invading my space.”
He placed a big plate of pancakes, bacon, and a fried egg in front of me. “Syrup’s hot, so help yourself.”
“Are you eating?”
“I sure am.” He pulled another plate from the oven and sat down across from me.
Robbie was trained not to enter the dining room, but he had no compunction against begging at the kitchen table. Fortunately he was a polite beggar, keeping a bit of a distance and letting the power of his big brown eyes do the work for him.
I glanced at Dad’s plate. “Only one pancake?”
He patted his stomach. “I’ve got to watch my girlish figure now that I’m retired.” He poured a bit of syrup on his pancake and began to eat. After the first bite, he put his fork down. “Tell me what’s making you unhappy. Is it a man? Can I kick somebody’s butt for you?”
“Nobody’s making me unhappy, but thanks for the offer. It means a lot.” I loved him so much it hurt. The worst day of my life was the day I received the call from Uncle Pete, telling me Dad had had a heart attack.
“I’m always willing,” he said.
“I know, and I appreciate it. No, it’s not about a man. It’s mostly dealing with Jesse’s death. We’re sort of in a holding pattern with the police.”
“Police? What do you mean? I thought he died of a heart attack. Why are the police involved?”
“Sorry, Dad. I forgot you haven’t been around much.” Even though we had talked a few times during the week while he was working at Uncle Pete’s, I hadn’t let him in on all the news about Jesse and the necklace.
I reached across the table and touched his hand. “It’s being kept under wraps, but there’s a strong possibility Jesse might’ve been murdered. According to the coroner, he died of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills.”