Behind Chocolate Bars by Kathy Aarons Read Free Book Online

register until I shot her a
get lost
look. She smiled knowingly and went out the front door.
    I poured coffee for the detective and slid the creamer over. He reached for it and I noticed a ring on his left ring finger. The wedding ring finger.
    Whoa. I thought about how to ask him about the ring. It wasn’t that I couldn’t imagine any woman being interested in him. He was attractive in a rumpled big-guy kinda way, and when you threw in that authority-figure thing, it even overcame his somewhat surly nature. It’s just that he’d never talked about his personal life with me.
    I pulled out some of my Wild Huckleberry Milks and put them on a plate in front of him. “Yinz guys have a tough night?” Lockett had a strong Pittsburgh accent and I had picked up some of the region’s unique expressions from an ex-roommate who was also from Pittsburgh. I enjoyed trying them out on the detective, but he might not appreciate it as much as I did.
    He gave me a sardonic look. “You could say that.”
    I leaned my elbows on the counter with chin in my handlike I was listening intently to whatever he had to say. “You’re not here for the coffee or the truffles, even though those Wild Huckleberry Milks are awesome, if I do say so myself. We put the preserves on the top, and the berry flavor is intense. So what’s up?”
    â€œCan I just drink my coffee in peace before you harass me?” he asked. “Actually, I’m here to speak to Erica.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, “but I think she’s in her office talking on the phone with Marino.” That was a lie, but I knew mentioning Dylan’s lawyer would bother him.
    â€œGreat. A media circus is the last thing this town needs.” He bit half a truffle. “Awesome,” he said grudgingly, as if not wanting to admit it. Then he popped in the rest.
    I let him savor it for a minute, giving it the right amount of respect before asking, “You mean we should count on Reese’s journalistic standards to get our information?” I was sure he’d already read her insulting column.
    He shook his head. “Yeah. We really enjoyed her ‘Keystone Cops’ line.”
    â€œShe’s a wordsmith,” I said with sarcasm.
    â€œI was told that Dylan worked here.” He looked down at his truffle. “Do you know him well?”
    That got me ruffled. “Really? You’re here looking for gossip?”
    His jaw tightened, probably gritting his teeth like he usually did around me. “It’s called an investigation.”
    â€œHe’s a good kid,” I said in a flat tone, and then changed the subject. “I like your ring.” Just then it glinted in the light coming through the front window. “Are those diamond chips?”
    â€œYes,” he said, looking wary.
    â€œSo, you’re married?” I probably shouldn’t have used that slightly incredulous tone.
    He raised his eyebrows. “This is so sudden,” he said. “Aren’t you taken?”
    I tilted my head. “Actually, crotchety, reclusive older men aren’t my type.”
    He winced. “Ouch. You went for crotchety
and
old?”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’ll stop being nebby about your personal life.” I paused. “Nebby” was Pittsburgh-ese for “nosy,” and I wanted to get it out there before he used it on me.
    â€œYou’re going to be nebby your whole life,” he said.
    I realized that could have two different meanings. “You mean, like,
curiosity killed the cat
nebby?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he insisted. “Like
old lady spying on neighbors
nebby.” He took a sip of coffee. “You okay? You don’t usually focus your annoying questions on me.”
    I pursed my lips, as if considering which way I wanted to go. “You’d rather I ask questions about that dead body at Cuesta Verde? I mean Green