Connie laughed. “Heck, no. Sometimes you just gotta hit ’em over the head, girl. Men just don’t get subtlety.”
“I heard that,” Lindsey muttered with a sigh, remembering all the subtle messages she’d sent Dan in past months. Messages that had apparently gone right past his thick male head.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who it is you’re trying to catch?”
Lindsey shook her head and answered gruffly. “Never mind about my reasons. Just teach me how to use this war paint, will you?”
“That’s my job.” Connie reached cheerfully for a mascara wand. “By the time I get through with you, you’re going to knock that guy—whoever he is—right off his feet.”
Lindsey was beginning to believe this entire day had been an exercise in humiliation. But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d started this, she might as well finish it. “What color lip liner should I use? And why the heck do my lips need lining, anyway?”
At six o’clock Friday evening Dan was helping two of his officers subdue a couple of angry and belligerent drunks in the parking lot at Gaylord’s, a bar-and-Cajun-food establishment on the seamier side of town. It was earlier than usual for this type of altercation. He’d gotten in on it only because he often dined at Gaylord’s on Fridays, and he had arrived just in time to see a drunk take a swing at one of his officers. His presence signaled a quick end to the commotion, and he watched in satisfaction as the two brawlers were subdued and hauled away.
He was greeted the moment he walked into Gaylord’s by the burly owner who worked behind the bar. “Hey, Chief, how you doing?” Chuck shouted over the manic zydeco music blaring from numerous speakers.
“Fine, thanks, Chuck. How’s the gumbo tonight?”
“Same’s always. Best you ever put in yo’ mouth. Find yourself a chair and I’ll send Gary over with a bowl. You want a beer with that?”
“Better make it water. I’m still on duty.”
“You always on duty, eh, Chief? I’ll send some corn fritters with your gumbo. Save room for dessert now, you hear? Mama’s been baking all afternoon, and I’ll make you a pot of fresh chicory coffee.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Looking forward to the first hot meal he’d taken time for in several days, Dan crossed the scarred hardwood floor to his favorite booth, a small one in the back just big enough for two. He intended to dine there alone, as he usually did.
He certainly didn’t expect to be joined almost immediately by Lindsey Gray.
It took him a moment to realize it was Lindsey. She looked different somehow…and it had little to do with the red glow from the strings of chili-pepper-shaped plastic lights hanging over their heads. She’d changed her hair—it looked softer, a bit curlier. And she was wearing more makeup than usual. She didn’t need it, of course—but he had to admit she looked great.
Only then did he notice what she was wearing. It was a long-sleeved knit dress—unusual in itself for Lindsey—and it was cut up to here and down to there. Not a lot up top to flaunt, but what was showing looked good. And her legs—well, who’d have thought a woman so short could have legs that long?
“Hi, Dan. Fancy meeting you here.” The voice was definitely Lindsey’s—unexpectedly husky for such a little bit of a thing.
“Lindsey. What are you doing here? Do you, uh, have a date or something?”
“No,” she answered, and he wondered why he was glad to hear it. “I’m just in the mood for company and Cajun food tonight.”
“Will my company do?” He motioned toward the other side of the booth, managing at the same time to glare at a greasy-looking guy who was checking out Lindsey’s legs from a table nearby.
Lindsey hesitated just long enough to make his scowl deepen. So how come she was taking such a long time to answer? Had she been hoping to hook up with someone else tonight? Was that the reason she’d dressed to thrill? Did she like being ogled by greasy goofballs on the make? “Sit down.”
Lifting a freshly plucked eyebrow in response to his growled command, she slid onto the other bench. “I don’t want to intrude if you want a quiet dinner alone.”
Though he wasn’t entirely sure he bought the excuse, he answered, “I always enjoy visiting with you. You know that.”
Her dimples flashed in a smile that made her look more like B.J.’s gamine little sister than the sexy redhead who’d greeted him a moment earlier. “Very nice. What did you order?”
“Gumbo. Want the same?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Catching Chuck’s eye, Dan held up two fingers. Chuck responded by making a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
Knowing the food would arrive eventually—service here being dependable if not overly speedy— Dan tried to think of a conversation opener. “So…how’s your week been? I haven’t seen you around much.”
“I’ve been busy. And so have you, I hear. Riley said he’s had to practically chase you down whenever he had a question for you.”
“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? How come Riley’s suddenly covering my office?”
Lindsey shrugged, one shoulder almost emerging from the deep neckline of the black dress. “I’ve been working on a series of features we’re going to run next week. They’re about the town’s oldest five citizens. It’s been fascinating.”
“Did you talk to Marshall Collier?”
“Of course. He’s 102—and still sharp as a tack. He tells great anecdotes.”
“And Nellie Pollard? You couldn’t interview her.”
“That was a bit more challenging,” she admitted. “Poor thing just sits in a chair and rocks and hums all day, when she’s not sleeping.”
“So what did you do?”
“I interviewed her one surviving son. And her grandsons. Then some of the people she gave piano lessons to during her years as a music teacher—her life reflected through the lives she touched.”
“Did you feel you got to know her that way?”
“I sat with her for a while yesterday,” she said. “The song she hums all the time? It was her favorite—one she taught all her students. Her husband sang it to her the night he proposed to her. She hasn’t played piano since I was in diapers, but she still hears that song in her head.”
“That’s pretty sad.”
“I know. She’s been in a steady decline for the past ten years. But for the almost sixty years prior to that, she brought music into the lives of several generations of young people. Now a lot of them are old, too—but they remember her music.”
Dan studied Lindsey’s face in the glow of the chili-pepper lights. She looked…dreamy, he thought. As if she could hear the music playing even now.
He had no doubt that the articles would be good. Better than should be expected from the average small-town newspaper. But then, the Evening Star was better than the average small-town paper, he conceded—especially now that Cameron had become managing editor, and as long as Lindsey and Riley wrote most of the articles. Cameron would stay—after all, he’d married the paper’s owner. But Riley would be leaving eventually, once he decided to get serious about that book he’d been writing for so long.
As for Lindsey—well, she probably should be utilizing her talents in a bigger market—as much as Dan hated to admit it.
Chuck’s son, Gary, appeared then, bearing a heavily loaded tray. Two big bowls of rice, two of spicy seafood-and-vegetable gumbo. A platter of warm corn fritters. Two mason