A Match Made in Mystery (9 page)

She could feel his gaze on her across the crowded dining room, but she didn’t look in his direction.

“A little help on seventeen?” Ann, the only other waitress who’d bothered to show up for their shift, pleaded as she rushed toward the bar to fill the drink orders of a large table.

“Sure, if you can deliver table twelve’s dinner.”

“Your stalker?” Ann looked over at the fifty-something man in a plaid shirt who sat alone in Amy’s section. “Sure no problem.”

Amy let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.” After delivering her own customer’s orders, Amy strode over to table seventeen and surveyed the group of businessmen laughing loudly at what no doubt was a bawdy joke.

“Have you gentlemen made your choices?” Amy yelled above the din.

A couple blinked at her, surprised at her arrival. A few leered. Only one was stupid enough to say, “Are you on the menu, sweetheart?”

Years of practice enabled Amy to fix him with a steady stare that indicated she wasn’t going to play his game or be a victim of his antics. She counted a beat, two, three, and then, sure enough, he looked away, muttering. “Steak. Well-done.”

“Baked, mashed, or fries?” she asked calmly, jotting down the order.

“Fries.”

After that the rest of the table fell into line and ordered their meals docilely.

Heading back toward the kitchen, she avoided looking at the man who sat alone before handing off the order to Ann. “Seventeen.”

“Thanks, Amy. You’re the best. I couldn’t handle them.”

Amy was pretty sure that Ann’s predilection of wearing tops two sizes too small had made the situation that much more volatile, but she just smiled and kept her opinion to herself.

“Busy night,” a familiar male voice said from her right.

She turned in his direction. Adrian, Bea’s nephew, held a martini as he surveyed the packed dining area.

“We’re shorthanded. Mind pitching in?” she suggested, trying to keep her dislike of the man out of her tone.

“You know that’s really not my thing, darling.”

Amy clenched her jaw, wondering if her promise to Bea to help Adrian learn the ropes of the restaurant business had an expiration date. He’d started ‘“working,”‘ a term she used very loosely, at Busy just a month before Bea’s sudden death. Amy had done her best to pick up the slack in the six months since her passing, trying to keep the other woman’s legacy alive, but it had been an uphill battle as Adrian alienated the formerly loyal staff.

“Ann and I can’t do it alone,” she said finally. “Customers will get tired of waiting and leave.”

“There will be others to take their place,” he declared airily. “Like the gentleman who’s alone in your section. You
could
make an effort to be nicer to him.”

“Your order’s up, Amy,” the newly hired busboy told her as he burst out of the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Deciding that she was wasting her time to talk to Adrian, she turned away from him.

“Amy?”

Hoping Adrian had changed his mind about pitching in, she turned back to him with an encouraging smile. “Yes?”

“Do me a favor and don’t come in looking like that tomorrow.” He waved a hand to encompass her from head-to-toe. “We have standards to uphold.”

Steaming mad, Amy stalked away. Glancing down she realized she did look rather bedraggled, but if Bea had seen her looking like that, she would have asked her what happened. Adrian just wanted her to clean herself up.

Then she remembered how Brady Stewart hadn’t seemed to mind how she looked, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so annoyed with the world.

Brady sat in his car in the parking lot of Busy Bea’s, wondering when Amy would leave work. A glance at his dashboard clock revealed it was after midnight. No wonder she had circles under her eyes.

He yawned and then took a sip from the soda he’d picked up on his way back from introducing Mildred and Alyssa. He’d been relieved when the two strong women had hit it off and even more relieved when Alyssa had revealed she had a packed bag in her car and was ready to start work immediately. Knowing that Mildred was protected gave him one less thing to worry about.

Now he just had to concern himself with helping Amy Winn. It was a role he found he enjoyed playing.

His cellphone buzzed, startling him.  The number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Found your purple people eater?” a woman’s voice trilled.

“Armani?”

“The one and only. You called?”

He’d try reaching her on the ride over to Mildred’s place, but had been forced to leave a voice mail message asking her to call him back.

“It’s after midnight.”

“I knew you were up.”

“How?”

“I
know
these things,” she assured him with a sexy chuckle. “So tell me why you called.

“You don’t
know
?” he mocked.

“Spill, pretty-pink-drink man.”

“I have a business associate interested in retaining your services.” It was the truth. It wasn’t the primary reason he’d called her, but it was one of the reasons.

“Are you kidding me?”

“He wants his daughter set up.”

“I’m not a freaking butcher counter where you take a number and I hand over your order of fresh meat.”

He imagined the eyes of the dark-haired beauty on the other line flashing with indignation.

“So you won’t help him?”

“No.”

He watched as the waitress who’d delivered his purple people eater hurried out of the restaurant, rushing toward a car parked at the back of the lot. Like the other night, her breasts practically bounced out of her shirt with every step she took.

“But I
may
help her,” Armani said in his ear.

“The waitress?”

“What waitress? Does your business associate own an eatery? I
love
to eat,” Armani purred enthusiastically.

Flustered, Brady babbled, “Not the waitress. I think his daughter works for her father’s company.”

“Which is not a food services organization?” Armani asked.

“No.”

“Too bad. Anyway, I’ll meet with her. If we click, if my gift does its thing, I’ll help her,” Armani declared. “But not just because Daddy wants her married off with children before his heart gives out.”

Brady blinked as she paraphrased what Keith Hasburgh had said. It was hard not to believe in Armani’s ‘“gifts”‘ when she seemed right about so much.

“So tell me about the purple people eater,” the would-be matchmaker urged.

“A waitress knew what one was,” he said slowly, “but she’s not the one who delivered it.” He took another sip of soda as Armani considered his revelation.

“Forget the one who delivered it,” the psychic snorted derisively. “I bet that chica doesn’t even know her own bra size.”

Brady choked on his drink. It was freaky how accurate Armani could be.

“Have you seen the other one again?”

“Y-yes,” he spluttered, wiping cola from his chin. “She showed up at my office today.”

“But she wasn’t looking for you,” Armani guessed.

“No, she wasn’t.”

“You have to help her,” the psychic urged intently.

“So I’ve been told.” Brady eyed the door of the restaurant. “I’m trying.”

“Good. I have some more advice for you.”

“Okay.”

“Postcard.”

“Postcard?” he parroted back. “That’s it? One word?”

“One word is enough.”

He rubbed the spot between his eyes, trying to banish the tension headache trying to settle there. “I’m confused.”

“Me too,” Armani admitted grudgingly.

“But it’s your advice,” Brady countered.

“That doesn’t mean I know what it means,” she reasoned. “Just help her.”

“I will.”

“
Now
would probably be a good time.” With that Armani hung up on him.

As he put the phone down, he realized that he’d missed Amy leaving the restaurant. She was already across the lot, sidestepping puddles from the earlier storm.

He fumbled to start the car. “She said to help her, not run her over,” he reminded himself, easing the car into drive.

He pulled alongside her as she marched down the road, head held high. She ignored him.

He rolled down the passenger window. “Need a ride, Amy?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and peered into the car. “What the hell are you doing?” Anger made her tone sharp.

Brady winced. “Offering you a ride home. I promised Mildred…”

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is to pull alongside a woman walking down the street at night?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Did I say you scared me?” she practically shouted. “I said you were creepy. I already have one stalker, I don’t need another.” Stiff-backed, she marched away. He made sure the car kept pace with her.

“You have a stalker?”

She kept moving. “
That
was not the point. The point is that it’s creepy that you’re sitting in a dark parking lot watching me.”

“You’re right. It was a creepy thing to do.”

“Doing this,” she waved her hand at the car rolling beside her, “is creepy too.”

“Then climb in so that I can take you home.”

“I don’t—” She halted again as a thought occurred to her.

He hit the brakes, hugging the curb.

She bent down to stare at him again. “Did you sit in the parking lot for my entire shift?”

“Not for your
entire
shift. I left to introduce Mildred to her new bodyguard and I stopped to buy a bribery gift for Phyllis.”

Intrigued, Amy stepped closer to the car. “Really?”

“I really set Mildred up with someone to protect her. I really bought Phyllis a box of chocolate covered cherries. And I sat in the parking lot a
really
long time waiting to drive you home.”

“You didn’t have anything better to do on a Friday night?”

“No,” he answered honestly. Reaching across the car, he unlatched the passenger door and pushed it open.

Without a word she climbed in and put on her seatbelt, which caused her to half-twist toward him.

“Where to?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail off her cheek.

A thrill shot through him as she shuddered at his touch. He fought the urge to touch her again just to see what kind of reaction he could elicit.

Turning away, she pressed herself back into her seat, intent on pretending the attraction between them hadn’t just seared her too. “Did you have dinner?”

Not wanting to scare her off by pushing for too much too soon, he held up his nearly empty cup of soda. “Just this.”

“I’m starving. There’s a twenty-four hour diner open around the corner. Do you want to get something to eat?

“You don’t eat at work?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“It’s a busy place.”

“It’s understaffed.” She tilted her head back, leaning against the headrest. “The new owner’s a jerk.”

“So why work there?” Brady eased the car away from the curb.

“I promised Bea I’d help him.”

“The old owner?” Brady guessed.

When she didn’t answer, he glanced over and saw that her eyes were scrunched tightly closed.

“So you have to keep your promise to her like I have to keep mine to Milton Willen?”

“Yes. Turn left up here.”

Brady made the turn. “Do you really think she’d want you to keep the promise if she knew how much you struggled with it?”

“Who says I’m struggling?”

“The shadows under your eyes,” he replied gently, easing the car into the parking lot of the diner. “Do you think she’d want you doing that to yourself?”

“I have to,” she muttered. “At least I can keep my promise to her. I haven’t kept the promise I made my mother.”

He parked the car and looked over at her. It was hard to make out her expression in the murky darkness, but he could tell her chin was lifted defiantly.  “What did you promise her?”

She shook her head. “That’s between her and me. They make great French toast here.”

Before he could stop her, she tumbled out of the car. She stood there, framed in the glow of a streetlight, watching him expectantly, tapping her foot and he found himself whipping out his phone to take a picture of her as he climbed out of the car.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked suspiciously.

Stepping closer so that she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, he answered honestly. “Because you look so damn beautiful.”

Ducking her head, she laughed awkwardly. “I think your hunger has gotten the best of you.”

He leaned forward, taking care not to touch her, and whispered, “Trust me. I haven’t allowed my hunger to get the best of me. Yet.”

Even in the dim light, he was pretty sure he saw a flicker of desire skip across her face.

“Hey, babe,” a male voice slurred, intruding on the perfect moment. “There you are. Is this guy botherin’ you?”

Amy’s gaze jumped from Brady to the new guy, a frown twisting her mouth.

“This guy bothering you, babe?” A tall, lanky Latino stumbled toward her.

Balling his hands into fists, ready to defend her, Brady moved to step in between them, but she was faster. Darting around him, she greeted the newcomer with a hug around the waist.

Brady froze, unsure of what to do.  His blood boiled as the guy whispered something in her ear before straightening to drape a possessive arm around Amy’s shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind the display of affection.

“We were just going to get something to eat,” she told the man, sliding a worried glance in Brady’s direction.

Brady held her gaze. “Actually I’ve lost my appetite.”

She flinched slightly at his cold tone.

“I’m hungry, babe.” The other man made a show of pretending to bite her hair.

When Amy did nothing to push him away, Brady turned back to his car.

“Brady, wait,” Amy called.

He stilled, but didn’t turn toward her.

“Are we still going tomorrow?”

“I keep my promises.” He struggled to keep his tone even. “I’ll pick you up outside of Bea’s at 8:30.”

“Thanks.”

He got the impression she wanted to say more, but nothing else came out of her mouth.