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Room, before long.”
    In his midforties, Tony was barrel-chested, with a square jaw, bulbous nose, and steely eyes, handsome in a man’s man kind of way. Also a woman’s man kind of way, if I’m the woman.
    â€œA two-digit midget,” Joe said with a nod.
    At my sudden, wild-eyed entrance, both men looked at me quizzically.
    Straightening, Tony asked, “Anything wrong, Brandy?”
    Frozen in the doorway, I replied, “That’s what I’d like to know.”
    Mother, on my heels, bumped into me.
    â€œEverything . . . all . . . right ?” she asked, out of breath.
    Tony gestured with a big paw. “Everything’s fine. I just stopped by to ask how the filming went.”
    Brightening, Mother said, “The pilot is wrapped, as we say in the biz. Now all we can do is hurry up and wait.”
    Joe said, “That’s what they say in my biz.”
    I bent down and picked up Sushi, who had come trotting out from her bed behind the counter.
    Joe, gathering his duffel bag, said, “Well, guess I’ll be bookin’ it. You Bornes need backup again, just call.”
    â€œJust a moment, Joseph,” Mother said.
    While she raided the till to pay our military-minded helper, Tony took my elbow and guided me into the parlor, which was vacant of customers at the moment.
    â€œHow about dinner?” he asked, gazing down easily from his six-foot frame. “The Sombrero, maybe?”
    They had the best guacamole. “Good choice,” I said, scratching the head of the dog in my arms. “When’s your shift over?”
    â€œSeven. Pick you up at home?”
    I nodded. “Any word on your chief of police application?”
    After Tony’s sudden departure last year, Brian Lawson had been installed as interim chief, which gave the younger man the inside track. And to complicate matters, Brian was my former boyfriend. To further complicate them, Tony (as you may recall) was my current one.
    Tony shook his head. “Won’t know until the end of the month.”
    â€œHow are you and the interim chief getting along?”
    Tony shrugged. “We try to keep out of each other’s way. We’re professionals.”
    â€œBut the men are used to taking orders from you.”
    Another shrug. “It can be awkward . . . but not really a problem. I do my best to stay out of the middle.”
    Sushi, bored with the scratching, squirmed out of my arms, then trotted out of the parlor, passing Mother who was entering.
    â€œDear,” she said, “I hate to break up your little tête-à-tête . . . but we do have boxes to unpack.”
    Tony touched my arm, whispered, “See you later.”
    â€œCan’t wait.”
    I walked him to the door, almost traded kisses but settled on knowing smiles instead. Then Tony was gone and I was joining Mother by the counter where she was using a box cutter to open the considerably larger of two cartons.
    â€œWhat’s in those?” I asked.
    â€œSwag, dear.”
    â€œLike in curtains?” Our shop windows already had drapes.
    â€œNot that kind of swag! These are T-shirts to sell when our show goes on the air.”
    She held one up, displaying the front: IVIVIAN , and on the back ANTIQUES SLEUTHS .
    â€œMother,” I said, wide-eyed, “what if the show doesn’t go on the air? It’s just a pilot! Then we’re stuck with a bunch of shirts.”
    She put hands on hips and raised her chin. “Dear, that’s just the kind of negative attitude that keeps you from achieving your true potential.”
    My response was a witty grunt. I nodded to the smaller box. “And what’s in there? Vivian and Brandy bobble-heads?”
    The slightly magnified eyes behind the lenses grew even larger. “No, but that is a fine idea! Now you’re thinking! Uh, that smaller box contains your T-shirts.”
    I lifted an eyebrow. “Obviously you’re assuming I’ll