Nearly Departed (Spring Cleaning Mysteries) (10 page)

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" Mom peered over the rims of her reading glasses, perched on the edge of her nose, like she was deciding on a cut of beef at the butcher's.

I swallowed hard and directed an apologetic glance in Smoke
's direction. "Mom, Dad, this is Smoke. He's Spring Cleaning's newest employee."

My mother looked disappointed. No doubt she
'd hoped I'd brought home a date. My dad on the other hand glared at Smoke suspiciously. He might have been engrossed in his picture-taking, but he knew all too well the kind of "undependable riffraff" I'd been forced to take on in the past.

"
He's a friend of Mike's," I said quickly.

The suspicion cleared from Dad
's features immediately. "Nice to meet you!" He stepped forward to shake the hand of a friend of Mike.

"
Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Spring." He shook my father's hand and nodded politely in my mother's direction.

"
So I'll see you tomorrow, Smoke?"

He raised his eyebrows and refused to take the hint that I wanted him to leave.
"Do you have a special place you store the waste?"

"
I can take care of it. You can go." I frowned at him.

The edges of his eyes crinkled with amusement, but his voice stayed politely businesslike.
"As soon as I've finished helping you load up for tomorrow."

"
No need. As you can see, I've got help." I waved my arm toward my parents as though they were magical helper elves.

"
For goodness sake, Vicky, let the man help you," my mother chastised. "You'll stay for dinner when you're done, Mr. Smoke?"

He didn
't correct her about his name. Instead he flashed a grateful smile in her direction. "I'd like that, ma'am."

I didn
't like it, not one bit. I didn't like how he seemed to be laughing at my discomfort or that she was trying to organize my life. "I don't have enough food to feed four, Mom."

"
Of course you do. We brought over the lasagna."

"
Lasagna's my favorite," Smoke said.

"
I thought Dad wasn't supposed to eat the lasagna," I said through gritted teeth and a glued on smile.

"
A little bit won't kill him," my mother assured me, despite the concerns she'd expressed during our lunch time phone call.

"
Don't be such a party pooper, Vicky," Dad chimed in. "You should get that window fixed," he added, examining the shots he'd taken on the viewfinder of his camera.

Outnumbered, I threw up my hands in surrender, stalked over to the van, and yanked open the door. I grabbed the big bag of debris my newest employee and dinner companion had pulled from the frat boy house. I
'd forgotten how heavy it was, and I stumbled backward as I heaved it out.

"
Let me take that." I hadn't heard him come up behind me, but there he was. I didn't need to look back at him to know he was only inches away.

"
I've got it." I swayed unsteadily beneath the weight for a moment before stumbling toward the garage. "Last time I checked, it's still my life, and I'm entitled to do what I want."

If he heard me, he had the good sense not to comment. Instead, he followed me into the garage
, carrying an overloaded armful of stuff that would have taken me three trips to carry myself. Together we finished unloading the van in record time. Meanwhile my parents went inside to prepare the feast of leftovers.

I started pulling the supplies we
'd need for the next day from the shelves.

"
I forgot to mention to you earlier that I've got something I've got to do tomorrow morning, so we won't start work until eleven. I'll pay you for the whole day though."

Smoke grunted a response as he shoved a heavy box of hazardous waste disposal bags out of his way.

I wasn't sure if he was being agreeable or if he was annoyed I hadn't given him more advance notice. I pretended to examine a shelf, running my hand along its edge. "I need a favor."

"
Name it."

"
Don't tell my parents what happened today."

"
About Detective Reed asking you out?" he teased.

I still didn
't look at him. "I don't want them to worry. Please don't tell them about the intruder."

"
Don't tell them about the intruder or don't tell them you were assaulted?" He backed up against the wall beside me so that he could see my face.

I raised my chin defensively and looked him in the eye.
"Both."

"
And how are you going to explain this?" He raised a hand to trace the bruise forming beneath my eye.

My breath caught as his fingers hovered over the injured area, but he didn
't actually touch me. His focus shifted from the shiner to my eyes as he waited for my answer.

"
If they ask, I'll tell them I banged it working in the bathroom. As long as you don't give them a reason to think otherwise, they'll believe it. My klutziness is legendary."

He lowered his hand but kept that unnerving gaze locked on my face.
"It'll cost you."

I frowned, wondering what the going rate for my parents
' peace of mind would be.

"
I want you to promise me you won't be at the job alone again."

"
That's it?"

"
You were expecting me to ask for something else?"

I shrugged.
"I've never been blackmailed before."

"
Don't think of it as me blackmailing you. Think of it as you developing your self-preservation instincts."

"
It sounded like blackmail."

"
Humor me. Mike would kill me if anything happened to you."

Before I could ask him just what Mike had said about me, my dad poked his head in
to the garage. "Your mother says dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

Smoke pushed himself off the wall and away from me.

"Jerry, my son, built all these shelves," Dad boasted. "Pretty impressive, isn't it?"

"
Great use of the space," Smoke replied easily. Picking up the heaviest box of supplies, he walked out to the van.

"
Your mother said you should wash your hands and face before you come to the table," Dad whispered before heading back inside.

I gathered the rest of the material
s and stowed them in the van.

"
Do we have a deal?" Smoke asked.

"
Do I have a choice?"

He tilted his head.
"Sure. You can choose to have your parents find out that someone broke in and punched you, or you can knock that giant Miss Independence chip off your shoulder and accept my help."

I batted my eyelashes and raised the back of my hand to my forehead in my best impersonation of a damsel in distress.
"Well, when you put it
that
way…"

Smoke
's jaw muscle twitched signaling his annoyance. "So we have a deal?" He extended his hand.

It wasn
't like I had a lot of options. "Deal."

I slid my palm against his, intent on delivering the briefest of handshakes, but he had other ideas. His hand enveloped mine in a firm grip
, and he didn't release me when I tried to tug free. "Victoria, I—"

"
The deal did not include you calling me Victoria."

"
Sorry. I'm not trying to stop you from doing what you want."

So he
had
heard me earlier.

"
I just want to keep you safe. Those frat boys were murdered…viciously. I just don't want the same thing to happen to you." Having had his say, he released my hand.

"
Dinner's ready!" my father yelled.

I glanced over and saw that he had the kitchen door open and was standing on the steps. I wondered if he
'd seen Smoke holding my hand. I hoped not. I had enough on my plate without having to explain that I wasn't involved in any kind of romantic relationship with my employee. I'd leave that to the Stalker Chick.

"
Coming, Dad!" I motioned for Smoke to follow me.

The first thing I noticed when we stepped inside the kitchen was that I could see the counters. I groaned.

"What's wrong, dear?" Mom asked, taking some butter out of the refrigerator.

"
You put everything away."

"
I had time to kill while I waited for the lasagna to heat up."

"
You shouldn't have done that, Mom." She
really
shouldn't have.

My mother fixed her gaze over my left shoulder.
"You'll have to excuse Vicky, Mr. Smoke. I swear we didn't raise her to live like this."

"
Not a problem, ma'am. If you don't mind, I'd like to wash up before we eat."

"
Of course. Of course. The powder room is upstairs. First door on the left."

"
Thank you." Smoke brushed my arm as he moved past me on his way out of the kitchen.

"
Such a polite young man. How did you meet him?"

"
I told you. He's a friend of Mike."

"
Any friend of Mike is a friend of ours," Dad said, taking the butter from Mom, but not before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. He winked at me, which I took to mean he'd seen us holding hands and he approved, but he'd keep our "secret."

I smiled weakly before turning to scrub my hands in the kitchen sink.

"There's no rush on dinner. You have time to freshen up. You don't have to wash up in the kitchen." My mother's hint was less than subtle.

"
I'm hungry."

"
But…when's the last time you had dinner with a man other than your father or Mike?"

"
I'm not 'having dinner' with Smoke. You issued the invitation, you're the one having dinner with him. It's just happens to be in my home."

My mother clucked her disappointment, grabbed the lasagna out of the oven, and marched into the dining room.

I dried my hands on a paper towel and considered the kitchen cabinets. They were full of canned goods, which was not a good idea.

Hearing Smoke
's footsteps clatter down the stairs, I tossed the towel and strolled into the dining room. Mom and Dad were already seated. There were three empty chairs at the table.

"
Where would you like me to sit?" Smoke asked.

"
Anywhere except at the head of the table," my mother said as though it was her house.

Smoke looked to me for confirmation
, and I nodded.

"
Salad, Mr. Smoke?"

"
Please."

"
Vicky has an aversion to china and porcelain, so I'm afraid dinner will be served on paper, plastic and Styrofoam," Mom said, dishing a huge serving of salad onto a plate.

"
Fine by me." Smoke looked at me from across the table.

I busied myself with tearing a piece of French bread off the loaf and passing it to my father.

"We have two kinds of lasagna, Mr. Smoke. Would you prefer yours with or without meat?'

"
He's being polite and not correcting you, but his last name is not Smoke," I muttered. "It's Barclay. He's Mr. Barclay. Smoke is his first name."

"
Legally?" my father asked.

Smoke nodded.

"I bet there's a fascinating story behind that, Mr. Barclay."

"
Call me Smoke. Everyone does. And I'd like to try both lasagnas if that's okay."

My mother beamed.
"I do like a man with a healthy appetite."

Reaching across the table, I picked up the salad and examined
it. "Is this the salad from the birthday party?"

"
Of course," Mom said.

I wrinkled my nose at the limp greens and passed it to my father without taking any.

"So tell us how you came by your name, Smoke." Dad served himself a healthy serving of close-to-rotten lettuce.

Smoke
's lasagna-laden fork hesitated halfway to his mouth.

"
You don't have to," I told him hurriedly.

"
Forgive our daughter, Smoke." Mom reached out and lovingly brushed my hair off my face. "She doesn't like to talk about herself, and so she assumes it makes everyone else uncomfortable too."