“Come to think of it, I haven’t. Which is weird, because he missed Tuesday night, which is eggplant parm night, and Heinz never, ever misses his eggplant parm. You think he’s okay?”
“I hope he is, but I’m starting to get worried. The last time I saw him was Monday night, when he found Austin after he went missing,” Kerry said. “He had a terrible cough, and he looked so pale.”
“Yeah, he was here for lunch Sunday and I noticed he didn’t look so good. I shoulda known something was up when he didn’t get the tiramisu. Old guy has a raging sweet tooth.”
One of the busboys emerged with a paper bag with her order. “Here ya go,” Danny said, handing it over. “Let me know what youfind out about Heinz. I’ll check around with some of our other regulars, to see if they’ve seen him.”
“I’m guessing he lives in the neighborhood,” Kerry said. “Maybe I should stop in and check on him? Do you know if he has family?”
“He’s never mentioned family to me. He’s a quiet guy. Doesn’t talk that much. I assume he lives close by since he’s here so often, but I got no clue exactly where. If you see him, let him know I saved him an order of eggplant parm, will ya?”
Murphy was awake and stoking the fire barrel when she returned to the Christmas tree stand. She sat down at her worktable and opened the still-steaming container of soup.
“Smells good,” he said, sitting opposite her.
She held out the container. “Want some?”
“Nah. I, uh, listen, Kere, maybe I could use some help with figuring out what to wear Friday night.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“I went through my clothes a little while ago. They’re, uh, kind of raggedy.”
“Understatement of the year. Look, Murph. You’re gonna need a decent pair of slacks, and a shirt, and probably some kind of sport coat.”
“A sport coat?” he whined.
“You want my help or not?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Whatever. Danny hooked me up with reservations at a little French place here in the neighborhood, so we’re all set on that end.”
“That’s great,” Kerry said. “Way to show some initiative. Now, are you going shopping, or am I?”
He recoiled as though she’d asked him to stick his hand in the fire. “Oh, hell no. I ain’t shopping.”
“Okay, fine. I already know your sizes. I’ve been helping Mom buy you clothes you hate since you were sixteen. But you’ll have tobuy your own big-boy shoes. Real leather. Think you can do that by yourself?”
“No problem,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Just one thing. No pocket squares, and no ties.”
Two hours later, Kerry returned to Spammy with a blue-gray Harris tweed sport coat and cashmere scarf from her now favorite vintage clothes dealer, and charcoal-gray slacks and a white dress shirt bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s.
She unpacked her shopping bags for Murphy’s inspection. He gingerly touched the fabric of the sport coat. “Not terrible,” he said.
“Can I make one more teensy suggestion?” she asked.
“Hell no,” he retorted. “I got trees to deliver. Mind the store while I’m gone.”
As soon as Murphy pedaled the bike back into the stand, she pounced.
“You need a haircut,” she said flatly. “The whole ‘work up front, party in the back’ mullet look is history.”
“I was gonna cut my hair before Friday. I even sharpened my scissors.”
“I’m talking about a real haircut. Also, your beard needs trimming. You look like a wooly mammoth.”
Murphy recoiled in genuine horror. “You want me to let a stranger cut my hair and trim my beard?”
“News flash, big bro. There are professionals who do that for a living. And they don’t use pruning shears.”
