“Ben arranged for us to get our feet professionally measured for custom shoes,” Mom explains with far too much enthusiasm. “It was actually quite romantic. Who knew foot measuring could be so intimate?”
Leo laughs so hard, his beer nearly slips out of his hand.
“Please tell me you’re talking about an actual shoe fitting,” Jasper says just below a whisper.
“Of course, we are,” Mom trills as if it were hilarious. “Although the measuring process was surprisingly... well, let’s just say it was thorough.”
Georgie gives a wicked grin. “Ben always was detail-oriented. I remember when he used to organize his Halloween candy by color, size, and flavor profile.”
“He said he did that when he was eight,” Mom protests.
“Eight, eighteen, fifty-eight—some things never change,” Georgie sings.
Jasper turns his attention back to me. “Thank you for not bringing the baby.”
“I tried, but your mother threatened legal action.”
He nods. “It’s sort of her go-to.”
I clear my throat before this conversation can venture into territory that requires marriage counseling. “Jasper, why don’t you go back to the guys? We’re not here to interrupt your good time. Mom, Georgie, and I are going to grab that corner booth over there with the excellent sightlines of your table.”
“Sightlines?” Jasper’s detective instincts are clearly pinging.
“For safety purposes,” I say as I bat my lashes. “You never know when a brawl might break out in a place like this.”
“It’s a craft brewery, not a biker bar.”
“Details.”
Leo grins and tugs Jasper’s arm. “Come on, Detective Killjoy. Let your wife do her thing. The faster she solves this murder, the faster we can all stop pretending we don’t notice Conrad hitting on every woman with a pulse.”
Georgie perks up. “And lucky me, I’ve still got a pulse.”
“For now,” Mom muses.
As Jasper and Leo head back to their testosterone-fueled gathering, I steer Mom and Georgie toward a high-top table positioned perfectly for surveillance. The dark wood surface is scarred with years of beer rings and carved initials, and the elevated seats give us a clear view of the guys as they raise their beers and nosh on juicy steak dinners.
“This is perfect,” I declare, sliding onto a stool. “We can observe, eavesdrop, and eat overpriced pub food all at the same time.”
“Multitasking at its finest,” Mom agrees.
A server with multiple tattoos and a friendly smile approaches our table. “What can I get you ladies tonight?”
Mom grunts while looking at the menu. “Bizzy, would you order for me?”
“Me, too.” Georgie flings the menu back to the server as if it were a Frisbee. “I forgot my glasses.”
“We’ll all have the loaded nachos to share,” I tell him. “Then I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger with sweet potato fries; she’ll have the grilled salmon,” I point to Mom. “And she’ll have whatever has the most cheese and or fried components.” I gesture to Georgie.
“The mac and cheese burger with onion rings,” the waiter says with a nod.
“And a beer that doesn’t taste like sadness,” Georgie is quick to tell him.
“Coming right up.” The waiter grins and disappears into the controlled chaos of the kitchen.
“So,” I lean forward, “any observations on our suspects?”
Georgie perks up. “Conrad looks even better in casual clothes. Those jeans should be illegal in at least twelve states. And did you see the way he’s leaning back in his chair? That’s pure alpha male confidence on display.”
