Lost but not Forgotten

“Tell me again this isn’t a conspiracy,” Gillian muttered, half to herself and half to Mitch.

“She must be psychic. Honestly,” he said, “I didn’t prearrange anything.”

“Bert just happened to know you wanted a burger?”

“I hate admitting how predictable I am about food. Ask him. He’ll tell you I ate here an average of three days a week for six or so years. Rain or shine, I ordered a burger.”

“I don’t know why I believe you, but I do. It’s too bizarre to be a lie. You win. Go wash. I’ll join you for lunch.”

Mitch felt like clicking his heels together. He was careful not to act too triumphant. On the way to the men’s room and back, he tried to figure out arguments that might convince her to go with him to Ethan’s on Saturday night.

“You’re right about this soup,” she said, flashing a smile as he returned and slid into the booth. “It’s delicious.”

“Now that you know I’m so wise, we’ll save time if you trust everything I say.”

She paused, her spoon halfway to her lips. “Do I have gullible stamped on my forehead? I don’t think so.”

Mitch grinned around a bite of hamburger. After he’d chewed and swallowed, he changed the subject. “Flo calls you Gilly. I like that. It fits you. Can anyone call you that?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she went by her middle name of Noelle. She hadn’t realized how hard it would be to watch her words in personal conversations. Shrugging, she focused her attention on opening a packet of crackers. “Suit yourself. I answer to a broad range of names.” She gave him a brief smile.

His brows drew together quizzically. “Oh. I guess you mean customers yell, hey you, miss or waitress—things like that. Before I became a detective, when I still wore a uniform every day, I got called a lot of other things, too,” he said wryly.

“You mention your old job a lot. Maybe you shouldn’t have quit.”

Unconsciously, he rubbed his thigh. “Cats may have nine lives. People don’t. I woke up in the hospital positive that if I made it through surgery, I’d leave there living on borrowed time. So I quit the force.”

Gillian considered the damage bullets did. Daryl, killed on his doorstep. Mitch had probably hung on by a thread. She didn’t realize she was crumbling her crackers until Mitch reached across the table and took her hand.

“I made Ethan promise no cop-speak if I managed to talk you into going to his house for dinner with me on Saturday night. And here I’m guilty of doing the same thing. Really, that part of my life is behind me. The most dangerous thing I’ll be doing in the future is breaking a green horse or two. Not for a while, either.” He smoothed his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Gilly. I’m a normal, everyday Joe now.”

She pulled her hand loose, unable to decide if he was trying too hard to convince her. Was he attempting to lure her into his web of deceit? No matter. At the moment he represented the only tie she had to the men in the blue car. The men who most likely had her small suitcase. Gillian shoved the mangled packet of crackers under the edge of her plate and picked up her spoon again. “Sorry. I may not be keen on eating while talking about bullet wounds, but there are aspects of detective work I find fascinating.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She rolled one shoulder. “Methods used to find stuff that’s lost or stolen.” Realizing she might be sticking her neck out too far, Gillian ignored the escalated pounding of her heart and plunged on. “I’m reading a mystery that opens with hidden documents,” she improvised. “The character who hid them dies suddenly, but not before sending a garbled note to a friend saying his, uh, girlfriend had the key to wherever he’d hidden the papers. No one can find the key. So, ex-detective Valetti, where do you suppose he put those documents?”

Mitch polished off his hamburger, took a sip of lemonade and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Skip ahead to the last chapter and find out.”

“Thanks a lot. Somehow I doubt you did that on your cases.”

He laughed. “You like mysteries, huh? Police procedurals? Well, well, I guess that means you’ll enjoy spending the evening with me, Ethan and his wife, Regan. Dinner’s at six this coming Saturday. Where shall I pick you up?”

Gillian had walked into that one with her eyes wide-open. This was where he’d been headed all along. She felt the control she wanted to maintain slipping out of her hands. “Tell me where the Knights live. I’ll meet you there.”

“Huh? What kind of date is that?”

“No date.” Rising, she stacked their dirty dishes. “Take it or leave it.”

“Sheesh, woman. Okay.” He heaved a sigh. “Hand over a pencil and tear off an order form. I’ll write down their address and draw you a map. Starting from where? Where do you live?”

“If I wanted you to know that,” she said, “I’d have agreed to let you come by for me. Start at the caf'e. I’ll find my way from here.”

Mitch fiddled with the pencil. “You really aren’t very trusting. Makes me wonder about your ex. I know you said your divorce wasn’t bitter, but I’ve seen abuse before. If he knocked you around, it’s better to admit it. Getting all that out helps heal the wounds.”

Hit hard by his unexpected strike at Daryl, Gillian felt a sudden welling of tears. With her hands full of dishes, she couldn’t brush them away. Mitch, of course, saw her blinking frantically. “You’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion about my marriage,” she finally managed to say. “My ex-husband’s only mistake was that he married the wrong woman.” She paused. “On second thought, I’m not ready to participate in a couples thing.”

“Sure you are,” Mitch insisted, stuffing the address he’d written into her apron pocket. “An evening playing cards and having a few laughs has gotta beat sitting home alone reading a bad mystery.”

“No, Mitch. Look, I was wrong to think—”

He touched a finger to her lips. “Don’t think. Please.”

Before Gillian could answer one way or the other, the front door banged open and Royce Jones stomped in. He had a wild look in his eyes as he made straight for her and Mitch. This time, his sidekicks were missing, Gillian noted. Which probably meant he was more likely than not to start a brawl.

Mitch, his gait always slow and uneven after he’d sat a while, remembered Ethan’s warning. The last thing he wanted was to bring trouble down on Bert and Flo. Nor did he want an unpleasant scene in front of Gillian. Especially after he’d been so quick to tell her that trouble didn’t follow him anymore.