Unfinished Business Read Online Free PDF Page B

Martin.”
    “Jaime Mendoza.” They shook, and if Dix
tried to crush bones, Mendoza gave no sign of it. Dix was either
behaving himself, or Mendoza was made of sterner stuff.
    “The groom didn’t bother to show up,” Mother
said. “I don’t suppose you’d want to marry my daughter?”
    Mendoza’s dimples deepened.
    “Mother!” I exclaimed, somewhere between
shocked and embarrassed and furious, at the same time as Mendoza
said, his face solemn but his eyes twinkling, “While I appreciate
the offer, ma’am, I’m not entirely divorced yet. I figure I’ll
better wait until it’s official. No offense.” He winked at me.
    “None taken,” I said. “Sorry.”
    He just shook his head, and turned back to
Grimaldi. “See you around, Detective.”
    “Likewise,” Grimaldi said. “Be careful out
there.”
    “Always.” He bathed us all in the glow of
that thousand-watt smile. “Nice to meet you all. Have a nice
day.”
    And then he headed for the door. I barely
waited until he was out of earshot before I turned on Mother—and I
do mean on . “How could you ask him that?! He’s a stranger!
He doesn’t need to know that my fiancé didn’t show up to the
wedding. And besides, I don’t want to marry him. I want to marry
Rafe.”
    “It seems,” Mother said, her lips tight,
“that Rafael doesn’t want to marry you.”
    “You don’t know that!” My fingernails dug
divots into my palms because I was curling my fists so tight. The
tiny pinpoints of pain kept me from launching myself across the
table and going for her throat. “It’s only been a few hours. He
could have gotten caught up in something. Or he could be hurt. He
could be dead. He could be in terrible trouble, and we’re sitting
here waiting to eat while you ask a perfect stranger if he’d like
to take your pregnant daughter off your hands! I’m surprised he
didn’t run screaming out of the restaurant!”
    “Inside voice, darling,” Mother reminded me,
with a glance around to make sure no one else was listening.
    “I don’t care about my inside voice!” I
shrieked, just as Diana Morton walked by. She sent me a startled
look, and then did a double take, as if she thought she recognized
me. She hesitated for a second, but then she moved on. No doubt she
realized that now wasn’t a good time to ask me if I was Bradley
Ferguson’s ex-wife.
    On the heels of Diana came the waitress, who
by now looked acutely uncomfortable, like she wished she’d called
in sick and stayed in bed today. I wished I could go back to bed,
too, and pull the covers over my head, and wake up tomorrow with
this all having been a horrible dream.
    But of course I couldn’t. And with Mother on
the opposite side of the table, I had to keep a stiff upper lip.
“I’d like a Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad,” I told the waitress as
she put my iced tea on the table. “With extra cheese.”
    Mother gave me a look across the table, and
I added, “Dairy is good for the baby.”
    She had no answer to that, just turned to
the waitress and ordered a Cobb salad of her own. Catherine
followed suit—we’ve both been brought up by the same standards of
eating—while Dix wanted a turkey sandwich on wheat with a side of
coleslaw. Grimaldi, bless her heart, bucked the system and asked
for a blue cheese burger with extra bacon and a side of onion
rings.
    Mother sniffed.
    “I love you,” I told Grimaldi.
    She stared at me for a second, and then she
grinned. “Thanks. But I’m not marrying you.”
    “I don’t love you that much. Besides, I
haven’t given up on Rafe yet.”
    “No,” Grimaldi said, “don’t do that. He’ll
be back.”
    “I hope you’re right,” I said.
    Grimaldi had her mouth open—probably to tell
me that she was always right—but her cell phone rang, and she
excused herself to answer it.
    As she walked toward the back of the
restaurant, phone at her ear, I turned to Dix. “I love her.”
    He nodded. “I know. I heard you.”
    “You should marry her.