In spite of her anger, Libby felt herself soften a touch. He looked so ridiculous, waving the makeshift flag in front of his handsome face. “All right, a truce. But just for the remainder of the meal.” She smiled slowly. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s discomfort due to indigestion.”
“Good. Now tell me how you came to be in the pawnshop business.” He replaced the napkin in his lap and smiled at her expectantly.
“I practically grew up in the pawnshop. It never entered my mind to do anything else.” Her features softened and a smile touched her lips, her earlier anger tempered by thoughts of Vinnie. “My father always told me I was brought into the pawnshop by an angel who pawned me in exchange for a harp of gold.” She laughed softly. “For the longest time I couldn’t figure it out because I always thought gold harps were standard equipment that every angel received upon entering heaven. You know, every angel got wings, a white robe and a harp of gold.”
“Your father sounds like a very special man,” Tony observed.
“Oh, he is. My mother died when I was very young. My father raised me. He’s a tough old cougar, very strong and independent.”
“And I have a feeling his daughter has an independent streak in her, as well,” Tony said, efficiently twirling a bite of spaghetti neatly onto his fork and popping it into his mouth.
“Something my ex-husband couldn’t accept,” Libby explained. Then, realizing she had provided herself with the opening she’d been looking for, she continued. “Speaking of Bill, I’d like you to do me a favor. When you report back to him or whatever it is you private eyes do, please tell him to stop this harassment of my life. Tell him to stop spying on me.”
“He doesn’t think of it as spying. From what he told me, he thinks of it more like a guardian angel service he’s providing for you. He’s concerned about the neighborhood where you live, the kind of work you do.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I don’t need a guardian angel,” Libby scoffed. “All I want is to be left alone to get on with my life.” She pushed away her half-eaten hamburger.
“He still loves you,” Tony said, as if to explain Bill’s actions to her.
“He doesn’t love me—he thinks he does, but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t like to lose. He’s sure that I left him for another man, and he won’t be satisfied until he’s proved the fact. That absolves him from failure. Then the breakup isn’t his fault, it’s the ‘other man’s.’” She closed her mouth, realizing she’d said far too much.
They finished the meal in silence as Libby withdrew into herself, mentally contemplating the problems the vandalized shop held for her. She would have to contact her insurance company about the dishes and vases that had been destroyed. She cringed inwardly at this thought. She’d already paid an exorbitant price for insurance. Another rise in the premiums would really crimp her budget.
Still, that thought didn’t begin to depress her as much as the task of telling some of her customers that their items had been destroyed. Her customers had entrusted their valuables to her, believing she would hold those items safely until a time when they could come back and claim them. She had betrayed their trust, and it was this knowledge that pained her more than anything.
“Are you all right?” Tony’s eyes gazed at her sympathetically, making her aware of how sensitive he seemed to be to her moods.
She nodded. “I was just thinking about the mess at the shop—all the things that were broken. Monetarily speaking, none of the things were worth much, but to my customers many of the items were invaluable.”
“You can’t blame yourself for the break-in,” Tony said, pushing away his now-empty plate and shaking a cigarette out of the pack.
“Yes, but I should have had some sort of security system installed…or something—” She broke off helplessly.
“You’re the victim, remember? Don’t make the mistake of blaming yourself. If you want to lay blame, do it at the doorstep of the person who broke into your shop, but don’t blame yourself.” His voice rang with an authority and conviction she couldn’t ignore, and she nodded at him gratefully.
“Ready?” he asked, standing up as he lit his cigarette.
“Ready,” she agreed, also rising. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Lunch is on me,” she said firmly as they approached the cashier.
“Oh, no. I invited you to lunch,” Tony protested.
“Please, I want to do this. After all the help you gave me in cleaning up the shop, I feel like I owe you,” she said earnestly.
“And I’ll just bet you always make sure you aren’t obligated to anyone for anything,” he observed, a touch of amusement making his mustache twitch once again. “Okay.” He relented after a moment. “Lunch is on you. Are you going back to the shop?”
She shook her head. The morning events had been too unsettling. “No, I think I’ll just go home and make some phone calls to the insurance people.” She looked at him curiously. “So, what are you going to do now that your cover has been blown and you won’t be following me anymore?” she asked as they left the restaurant.
“The first thing I intend to do is sleep for about twenty-four hours.” He smiled and for the first time she noticed that he looked tired. “Then I’ll wait for the next case to come up.”
“Will you have to wait long?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes. In the meantime, I have several ongoing jobs with large companies as a sort of unofficial security consultant. I come in periodically and check out their security systems, evaluate their effectiveness and make suggestions as to how the systems can be improved.” They stopped walking as they arrived at Libby’s car. “I’ll follow you home,” Tony said.
“That really isn’t necessary,” she protested stiffly, some of her earlier resentment coming back.
“But I insist. I always see my subjects home.” He opened her car door, allowing her to slide in behind the steering wheel. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Libby muttered as he slammed her car door. She started the engine and took off, laughing aloud when she caught sight of Tony’s surprised expression as he realized she wasn’t waiting around for him. She turned the steering wheel, pulling into the traffic and ignoring the honk of the irate driver she’d cut off as she’d pulled out.
