“Are you two going to keep talking aboutme like I’m not here?” I interrupt. “Because I have opinions about this conversation.”
“Please,” Dexter gestures for me to continue, “share your opinions.”
“First, I’m not a hussy. Second, my theme park is amazing. Third, your mother has excellent taste in clipboards but terrible taste in daughter-in-law material.”
“Daughter-in-law?” Delora shrieks and gasps twice as hard. I swear a stuffed replica of Chip just slid up one nostril.
“Hypothetically speaking,” I clarify, though Dexter’s grin suggests he’s not entirely opposed to the idea.
“There will be no daughter-in-law situation!” Delora declares. “I strictly forbid it!”
“You forbid it?” Dexter’s voice takes on a dangerous edge. “Mother, I’m not sixteen anymore.” And something tells me that he has the propensity to run in the opposite direction Mommy Dearest tells him. How’s that for using reverse psychology to land myself a man who wields handcuffs and knows how to use them.
Delora bares her fangs his way. “Well, you’re acting like a teenager!”
“I’m acting like an adult who’s interested in an intelligent, capable woman.”
“She’s a disaster magnet!”
“She’s dignified.”
“She finds dead bodies!”
“Once,” I point out. “Twice if you count last week, but that was technically Bizzy’s thing and I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I see a clear pattern developing.” Delora looks faint.
“It’s not a pattern,” Dexter assures her. “More like... unfortunate timing.”
“Unfortunate timing?” Delora’s voice is approaching dog whistle frequencies. “Dexter, this woman is clearly dangerous!”
“The only thing dangerous about her is how distracting shecan be,” he says, giving me a look that makes my knees forget how to function.
“Distracting?” I manage.
“Very distracting. Makes it hard to focus on work.”
“Good distracting or bad distracting?”
“Definitely good.”
“Oh, my word,” Georgie breathes from behind us. “This is better than the latest episode ofAll My Alibis.”
Before anyone can respond, disaster strikes in the form of a rogue squirrel with apparently nothing to lose. The furry kamikaze pilot launches itself from an overhanging maple tree and lands directly on the keychain spinner, which immediately begins rotating at maximum speed while every single keychain starts meowing, purring, and making various cat-related sound effects.
The cacophony is immediate and overwhelming. Keychains fly in all directions like fuzzy projectiles. A small child breaks free from his parents and starts chasing the scattered merch. Someone tips over the kettle corn barrel in an effort to get to them, sending popped kernels cascading across the cobblestones.
Delora gasps with horror. Georgie screams with delight. The squirrel chatters once and disappears.
I take a sip of my salted maple latte and survey the chaos. “You know what? I’m starting to think murder is the least chaotic thing happening around here.”
“You have no idea,” Dexter mutters, and his eyes linger on me a moment too long. “Speaking of chaos...” He glances at his mother, who’s currently attempting to organize the scattered keychains into neat piles while muttering about the decline of civilization. “Would you maybe want to have dinner sometime? Somewhere with fewer flying objects and disapproving relatives?”
My heart does a little tap dance. “Are you asking me out while your motherplots my demise?”
“I’m asking you out despite my mother plotting your demise,” he corrects with a grin that could melt Halloween candy. “Though maybe we should pick a restaurant that doesn’t serve anything that requires a rolling pin.”
Delora nearly gags on her tongue.
