Reid poked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Really? When did it work for Bogart? Which movie?”
Eldridge glared at him. “I don’t remember which one, I just... What do you want, Reid?”
Reid’s chest felt light with relief while at the same time his gut twisted with anger. “Answers. What are you up to? Why did you disappear on us without a word? We thought you were dead!”
“Sir?” Aaron called through a lowered window of the Mercedes. “Should I—”
Eldridge waved off his butler. “It’s all right. Go on home. I’ll talk to him.”
Aaron didn’t look convinced, but neither did the butler argue. Giving Reid one last concerned glance, he pulled away from the curb.
Eldridge ripped off the limp mustache and rubbed his upper lip. “There’s a greasy spoon on the next block. Buy me lunch and I’ll explain everything.”
Reid glanced down the street to the crooked sign that read Ken’s Eats and frowned.
“I know,” his father said before he could comment. “Horrendous ambiance, but the food is good and the waitress likes me.”
Cocking his head, he gave his father a skeptical look. “Define like.”
“I tip her well. Money can be very influential. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“I prefer to win over women the old-fashioned way—with my charm and good looks.”
His father started tottering down the sidewalk. “Funny, I don’t see a ring on your finger. Your method must not be working too well.”
He started to mention his budding relationship with Penelope but swallowed the words. Did he have a relationship with his ex-partner’s wife? He had feelings for her, but if he wasn’t willing or able to commit to her, to be the father to Nicholas the boy deserved...
Instead, he just quirked an eyebrow and fell in step beside Eldridge. “Point taken, old man.”
Once inside the greasy-spoon diner, Reid scanned the interior, looking for an open booth. If the number of patrons was any indication, Eldridge just might be right about the quality of the food. He was just about to suggest they take a pair of empty spots at the end of the lunch counter when the waitress, a fiftysomething redhead who reminded him of Lucille Ball with a pixie cut, sashayed up to Eldridge with a toothy grin.
“Well, if it ain’t my favorite customer. How ya doing today, Burt?”
Reid shot his father a puzzled look. “Burt?”
Eldridge waved a hand to shush him. “My regular table available, sugar?”
“It will be in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” She hustled off to an end booth where she began clearing empty dishes from the table where a customer sat idly reading his newspaper.
Eldridge canted toward Reid and muttered, “Hardly serves me to hide out from my family, have the world think something’s happened to me and then tell a loudmouth like her my real name, now, does it?”
Reid shook his head in wry amusement. “Whatever you say, Burt.”
The customer who’d been booted from his table gave them a glare as he passed.
Having cleared and wiped down the table where the newspaper reader had been sitting, their waitress gave a shrill whistle. “All ready, Burt.”
Eldridge led the way to the vacated booth and took the far seat.
“Black coffee, right?” she asked Eldridge and he nodded.
“Same,” Reid told her, and she hurried away to get their drinks. He glanced at the bench seat Eldridge had taken and rubbed his chin. “Um, that’s where I was going to sit.”
Eldridge gave him a blank look and aimed a finger at the bench across from him. “What difference does it make? Sit there.”
Reid tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and shifted his weight. “I always sit facing the entrance. It’s a cop thing.”
Eldridge looked at him as if his son had rocks for brains. “Why?” Then, “You’re not a cop anymore, so...” He waved his hand toward the other seat again.
A sharp pain sliced through him, and he tightened his jaw, trying to school his face, not let Eldridge see how his remark had stung him. Clearing his throat, he said, “Once a cop always a cop. I’m talking about a mind-set, not the job.”
His father sighed, but slowly slid from his seat. “For what it’s worth, I knew it would be you that found me. Hoped it would be you.”
Reid stiffened, raising his chin a notch. “What? Why?”
“’Cause you’re a good detective. No matter how things went down about your partner’s death, I knew you had the right stuff to figure out I was alive and come find me.” His father slid into the opposite booth bench with a groan. “Damn these old bones. Some days, I don’t feel worth shootin’.”
As Reid settled in his seat at the table, he gave Eldridge a nod of thanks, both for moving and for his words of support. If the old man had given him even a shred of that kind of backing and faith in previous years, maybe they’d have had a chance at a functional father/son relationship.
Eldridge wiggled a finger at him. “This police thing with the seat facing the entrance...you think you’re gonna see trouble coming? Is that it?”
He shrugged. “Better than if my back’s to the door.”
Eldridge harrumphed. “And what if there are two doors? What if trouble comes in through the kitchen?”
Reid pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, striving for patience. “What if you tell me now why you disappeared? You’ve had us all in a panic for months!”
“A panic, eh? Is that why it took you more than five months to find me?”
“You staged a scene at the ranch that made us think you’d been kidnapped, possibly killed. The cops have been looking for—”
“And you? What have you been doing? My son, the former detective... I thought a missing-person case would help get your mojo back.”
Reid scowled. “Are you saying this was all a test for me?”
Eldridge flicked a hand. “Hell no. This was a test for everyone.”
Reid shook his head as if he’d not heard his father correctly. “Come again?”
The waitress—Celia, her name tag read—brought their coffee at that moment and they both fell silent.