Page 50 of The Alibi Club

Had good hair.

Lorna nodded slowly and put a hand on his shoulder. “You need a ride home?”

Rick put his head in his hands and for a moment, she saw the man within the man; the mask slipped just enough for her to see the soul inside. Hmm.

She finally said, “Actually, I think you are perfect for this date. Here’s my card. My assistant will call you with the details.”

Rick cradled the pink business card as if it were precious rare treasure. Perhaps it was. A lifeline to something real.

Lorna took the handles of his wheelchair and pushed Rick Montague toward the sliding glass doors of the hospital into the bright sunshine.

In the distance it took to get outside in the fresh air, the self-satisfied smile of Rick Montague had returned as if he felt he had pitched and won.

Lorna had completed the table. If she couldn’t find a soulmate for Rick Montague, Advertising God, then at the very least she could find someone who would pick him up from the goddamn hospital.

Dinner for Six was set.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Date Night

JAMIE

After fretting over her outdated hair, trying on seventeen different outfits, and doubting the shade of her lip gloss, Jamie was finally ready for date night.

Jamie had succumbed to Derick’s styling, advice, and beratement, signed up for Dinner for Six, and after some commitment to the gym, it had all come down to now. She caught a glimpse of herself just as she was leaving the house. Her hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, her eyes were bright, her skin glowing, nails on point. Not bad.

She heard a vicious dog-barking ring tone and looked at her phone. Elaine Cromwell Frisco was calling.

Jamie answered, “Hi, Mom, I’m just heading out.”

“Oh, I know. The big date. I wrenched that information out of your obstinate brother when I went to see the ultrasound photo of my granddaughter. I’m just calling to let you know you’re behind the eight-ball, so make this date the date. Lest you wind up penniless and destitute.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Mother. I’ve got to go.”

“My wedding looms. Tick tock. Remember, your ovaries aren’t getting any younger.”

“God!” Jamie fiddled with her phone to hang up, but Elaine Cromwell Frisco beat her to it. Jamie didn’t even get the satisfaction. Flustered and now miffed, Jamie grabbed her keys and walked out the door.

Located on Fourteenth Street and Ocean Avenue on a narrow pedestrian-only walk street that emptied onto The Strand in Manhattan Beach, Jamie arrived at Piccolo Restaurant at five forty-five PM.

She’d been on high alert since the call with her old supervisor, Max Crandall. Melvyn Ott was now out of prison. Between dealing with that looming strand of dread, combined with a threatening call from her mother and first-date jitters, Jamie’s nerves were frazzled. She tried to focus on the task at hand, which was almost as dreadful as a psychopath on her trail: Be charming. Find a date. Get this over with.

Set up by Lorna Gray, founder of Dinner for Six, her date was at six PM sharp. Jamie wanted to arrive early, get the lay of the land, note the emergency exits, and have a drink.

The scent of fresh basil, tart balsamic, and warm baked bread hit her when she came through the doors of Piccolo. The space was small and intimate, with a large oak table in the center of the room, an elegant chandelier dangling above it. Four smaller tables were against the wall. Seated at one of the smaller tables was an older couple in their sixties sipping champagne and scowling at each other.

Candlelight flickered off white linen tablecloths, and a dark wood-paneled ceiling added to the coziness of the room making it inviting, like only good ambience can. Jamie spotted a small bar at the back of the room, three lit taper candles inviting her to it. She sauntered that way, knowing nothing tamped down frazzled first-date nerves like a well-made Old Fashioned.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the far wall. She was grateful she let Derick pick out her outfit. She looked slim and stunning in a midnight-blue wide-leg jumpsuit with a halter top that showed off her shoulders. A perfect single gold necklace set off her golden hair, which fell in soft waves to her shoulders. She was unaccustomed to feeling confident in her appearance, but she felt dazzling tonight. Must be the lighting.

As if sensing an approaching patron, a bartender materialized from around the corner. Tall, lanky, slicked-back hair, aloof, and smelling of surf wax and weed poorly hidden behind some cheap cologne. He was exactly Jamie’s type. Aimless, uncomplicated, Peter Pan syndrome. She felt the stirrings of her baser instincts waking to the moment but tried to tamp them down. She could almost hear Derick Hampton’s voice in her head: “For God’s sake, get your mind in the game. You are not going home with a bartender. Snap to!”

“Hi. I’m Justin,” the bartender said, friendly and flirtatious.

Of course you are.

He stood relaxed but at the ready while Jamie wrestled with her thoughts. “What can I get you?” he asked.