He smirked. “I might. Although it’s a bit too light-hearted for the kind of thing I write.”
It hadn’t felt light-hearted at the time, but I’d take his word for it.
“So the black widow showed up at your place of business two days ago…” Greg prompted, and I picked up the narrative.
“She hired me to determine whether her boyfriend was cheating on her. The boyfriend she had before, and probably during, the time she was sleeping with David.”
Greg blinked. “That falls under karma, surely.”
“You’d think,” I agreed, “although that part seemed to go right over her head.”
“Ah,” Greg said, “youth.”
Maybe. Although more likely—since I knew Jacquie and he didn’t—it was just plain stupidity.
“I wanted to turn her down,” I said, “but it isn’t like we’re drowning in business, and it’s better to have something to do than not.”
He nodded sympathetically. “And is he?”
“Cheating? I haven’t seen any sign of it. He told me he wasn’t. Although she’s right that he’s acting weird.”
I described the uneasy atmosphere at the Body Shop, and the mysterious man with the briefcase and the Porsche. Greg listened with focused attention. By the time I finished, he was grinning. “And he came here, did he? Is he here now?”
I had another look around the dining room, just to be sure, and shook my head. “I haven’t seen him. But it was hours ago that he came here. Late lunch, if he was eating.”
Greg nodded. “Still fascinating. So you’ve got a possibly cheating car mechanic, a mysterious blonde with a kid who may or may not be his, and a well-dressed man in an expensive car—possibly a lawyer—delivering what might be paperwork to a body shop.”
That was it in a nutshell.
“It’s an interesting little setup,” Greg said. “I could take this in a lot of different directions.”
“Such as?”
“Well.” He leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand, and his eyes went fuzzy. I could practically see the wheels turning. “Here’s maybe the most likely theory: Nick and Megan had a one-night stand six years ago and never saw one another again. Until now, when she’s been hired to work at his place of business.”
He glanced at me to see if I was following. I nodded.
“He recognizes her, realizes she has a kid, suspects the kid is his, and hires a lawyer to prove it. The reason he was nervous this morning is that he knew the lawyer was coming, and he probably knows—or thinks he knows—that Megan won’t want to share the kid with him.”
“That’s possible,” I admitted, “although it doesn’t explain the two of them looking nervous together.”
Greg made a face. “You’re right. How about this, then? Theory number two: Megan and the mystery-man had a fling and the kid is his. He’s suing for custody, and Megan is crying on Nick’s shoulder about it.”
“Better.” At least it explained why Nick and Megan were huddled together. And I wouldn’t want to share my child with the guy in the Porsche, either. He didn’t look like the type who’d make a good father.”
“Or,” Greg said, warming to the task, “here’s another possibility: Sal pays the local mob for protection. The mystery-man is a mob enforcer collecting payments, and Sambuca is where he reports to his boss, who likes to have lunch here.”
“That’s possible.” Or at least it wasn’t impossible. “So the unease is because the mob is involved?”
“Wouldn’t you be uneasy if the mob was extorting you?”
Of course I would. He didn’t wait for me to answer, however, just went on. “Or maybe—listen to this!—maybe business is bad, and Sal has a hard time coming up with the protection money. Maybe everyone’s waiting for the guy in the Porsche to start breaking kneecaps.”
I laughed. “That’s very cinematic of you.”
“I write thrillers for a living,” Greg said. “Of course it’s cinematic.”
Of course. “I’m not sure we have a huge mob presence in Nashville, to be honest. Russian mafia, yes. I ran into some of them a couple of months ago. But I don’t think the Cosa Nostra has a big foothold, and the guy looked Italian.”
