“I didn’t!”And he knew that, because I’d told him so before.I inhaled a deep breath through my nose.“You have my phone number.Why didn’t you just call?”
Was it possible—be still, my heart!—that he had taken the opportunity to drive out to see me?
“I have to go tell Mrs.Grimshaw that she’s safe,” Mendoza said.And added, as I deflated, “Plus, I wanted to make sure you weren’t stalking someone else.”
He was joking.At least I think he was.Told myself he was.
“I’m stalking Steven,” I said.“Legally.His wife hired me.And I have a license to stalk.”
“Good for you,” Mendoza said.“I hope you and your license will be very happy together.”
He straightened, and glanced up at the house.“I should go see Mrs.Grimshaw now.”
“Tell her I’m nice.And harmless.”
Mendoza snorted.
I thought about getting huffy, but then I smiled sweetly instead.“Be careful, Detective.Don’t let any desperate criminals get the drop on you.”
“It was an old lady with a golf trophy!”Mendoza said, referring to the woman who had knocked him cold a few weeks ago.The same woman who had locked him in the vault I mentioned earlier.And she hadn’t been all that old.Older than Mendoza, certainly, by a lot of years.Older than me, too, but not by as many.
“Mrs.Grimshaw is probably an old lady, too.”Unless she wasn’t.Maybe she was a hot divorcée in her thirties with an interest in Hispanic cops.
“Probably.”Mendoza gave me a nod.“Stay out of trouble, Mrs.Kelly.”
“You too, Detective,” I told him, and watched as he headed up the driveway.He passed the picture window on the way, and the outline moved away and headed in the direction of the front door.
Mendoza stepped up on the stoop and knocked.A second later—someone had definitely been waiting—the door opened.A small black-and-white-and-brown shape darted out of the crack, yapping hysterically, and threw itself at Mendoza’s knees.
He staggered.I giggled.And although there was no way he could have heard me—I was a football field’s width away, on the other side of the lawn, with my windows up—he scowled in my direction.
The small shape—dog, obviously—kept dancing around his feet.It was moving so fast I couldn’t get a good look at it, but eventually it collapsed on the toes of Mendoza’s shoes and stuck four stubby legs in the air.He leaned down to scratch its belly.
Must be a girl dog.He has that effect on me, too.All I want to do when I see him, is roll over and beg.
But I digress.
After scratching for a second, Mendoza straightened.The dog stayed where it was, obviously hoping for more, and when no more was forthcoming, it rolled to its feet and trotted inside, bat ears flapping.Mendoza talked to the open door for another minute before walking away.The door closed.Moments later, the figure reappeared in the picture window.
I waited for Mendoza to come back down the driveway and over to my car window before I told him, “You made a new friend!”
He glanced back at the house.“It wasn’t me she had the problem with.I’m the good guy.You’re the one sitting out here in your big, black car, looking suspicious.”
“I wasn’t talking about Mrs.Grimshaw,” I said.“I couldn’t see Mrs.Grimshaw.I meant the rat.”
“Dog.”
I rolled my eyes.“I know it’s a dog, Detective.What happened to your sense of humor?”
“I left it at the office,” Mendoza told me.“When they called to tell me you were out here, acting suspicious.”
He looked up at the sound of a car engine starting up the street.“Here comes Steven.”
I looked up, too, away from Mendoza.It was harder than it should have been.He’s just so nice to look at.But yes, the brown sedan was backing out of the driveway and onto the street.
I reached for my key.“That’s my cue to get out of here.”
“Give him a minute,” Mendoza said, leaning down to rest his arms in my open window.“You don’t want him to make you.”
