I’ve really been craving some alone time with my faux beau. Here’s hoping we can move our relationship in the right direction, or at least our lips in the right direction. I’ll settle for small lip-shaped strides.
Who am I kidding? I’m just glad to be rid of Delora for the rest of the day. Especially now that I know all of her deep, dark secrets.
Nothing says romantic dinner quite like mechanical wenches flashing tourists with their perky boobs while you’re trying to solve a murder and avoid your boyfriend’s potentially homicidal mother.
The scent of blackened catfish and autumn spices driftsthrough the moody interior of Bayou Lagoon, where the sound of creaking boats mingles with the distant splash of not-quite-seaworthy vessels carrying tourists past the patio platform covered with amused diners.
The restaurant’s faux purple sky twinkles with artificial fireflies that dance between very real mosquitoes, while a fake full moon casts eerie shadows across tables set for romance. Just to my left, the Pirates Plunder boat ride continues its nightly performance of mechanical mayhem, complete with animatronic wenches whose wardrobe malfunctions have become a feature rather than a bug. Figures.
I’m sitting alone at a corner table overlooking the water, nursing a glass of wine and watching a boat full of unsuspecting families sail past just as one of the wenches decides to give them more historical accuracy than anyone ever intended. The collective gasp from the tourists carries across the water, followed by nervous laughter and the rapid clicking of cameras.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Detective Dreamboat: Running five minutes late. Don’t start solving murders without me. - D
The man has a sense of humor. I’ll give him that.
Josie: Already solved three while waiting, I text back. You’re behind quota.
The restaurant’s atmosphere screams romantic ambiance with just a hint of swamp fever. Cypress trees draped in Spanish moss frame the windows, while Edison bulbs cast everything in a golden glow that makes even the mosquito bites look atmospheric. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg from the bread pudding mingles with the earthy smell of the bayou and just a touch of mechanical oil from the boat ride’s aging infrastructure. Have I mentioned the slight scent of mold? Yeah, it’s sort of underappreciated at this point.
“Sorry, I’m late,” comes a familiar voice that makes my stomach do things that probably violate several laws of decency.
Dexter slides into the seat across from me, and even in the dim lighting, he manages to look like trouble wrapped in flannel and good intentions. His dark hair catches the light, and he’s traded his uniform for jeans and a flannel shirt that makes him look ruggedly handsome instead of professionally intimidating. And oh, so very hot.
“You clean up nice for someone who spends his days investigating felonies,” I say with a cheesy wink, trying not to notice how his eyes look in the fake moonlight. Like twin demigods wrapped in sapphire flames, in the event you were wondering.
“You clean up nice for someone who spends her days finding corpses.” His grin could melt the artificial snow at the winter-themed ride. “Though I have to say, your track record is impressive. Most people go their entire lives without discovering a single body.”
“I’m an overachiever. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
He takes a moment to frown. “Mostly a curse for the people who end up dead.”
“Hey, I don’t kill them. I just find them. There’s a significant difference in the job description.”Unlike his mother, I want to say, but clamp my lips shut before the words can escape.
A boat full of college students floats past our window just as the mechanical wench decides to demonstrate advanced eighteenth century undergarments. The screaming and cheering that follows could probably be heard on Mars.
“Your park certainly provides unique entertainment,” Dexter says, nodding toward the chaos ensuing as the ships float by.
“I prefer to think of it as an authentic historical reenactment with modern enthusiasm.” I take a sip of wine. “Besides, it’s not like I can control what the animatronics decide to do. They’ve got their own agenda.”
“Clearly. Any plans to fix the wardrobemalfunctions?”
“I thought I had it fixed, but the wenches outsmarted me. I’ve tried everything short of hiring a mechanical seamstress. At this point, I’m considering marketing it as a feature.Pirates Plunder: Where History Comes Alive and Occasionally Undressed.”
His laugh is rich and warm, the kind that makes you want to hear it again. “That’s definitely one way to increase attendance.”
“Tourism is all about giving people experiences they can’t get anywhere else. Trust me, they’re not getting this level of mechanical dysfunction at the big name parks.”
“Speaking of dysfunction,” he says, as he begins to glower, “how’s your investigation going? Find any more clues about a certain murder?”
I consider telling him about my conversation with Nadine, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the way the moonlight makes his eyes look, or maybe it’s the fact I’m not entirely sure I trust anyone right now—including the devastatingly attractive detective sitting across from me. And maybe it’s the fact I know all of his mother’s dirty little secrets that gives me pause.
“Making progress,” I say carefully. “Though I have to say, the suspect pool is more dysfunctional than my boat ride.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning everyone had reasons to want Dilly Thatcher dead, and most of them aren’t particularly subtle about it.”
