Heimlich maneuver once a week.”
My T-bone steak was delicious to the last morsel. I’d worried it was too much dinner for me, but a good portion was bone, plus I snuck a few bits into my purse for my cat.
After Butch and Marie had cleared the dinner plates and left for the kitchen, Franco leaned back in his chair and reached around me to poke Benji on the shoulder.
“I know your secret,” Franco said.
At the mention of a secret, my ears couldn’t help but tune in.
“It’s not a secret anymore,” Benji said. “The whole Biggs Foods empire went from a valuation of five million to zero, overnight. I’m broke. If you want to kick me while I’m down, get in line.”
Franco said, “Not about that, genius. I know about the fender bender with your Plymouth, and why you swore me to secrecy. I just put it all together.”
His voice cold and hard, Benji said, “Stay out of that matter. Trust me.”
“You’re bluffing, and you were never a good bluffer. That’s why we loved playing poker with you.”
“Let this one go,” Benji said. “Can’t we make one last memory with the gang all together without you ruining it?”
“One last memory? What do you mean? Is someone dying? Are you dying?”
“I’m not exactly living,” Benji replied.
The sadness in his voice alarmed me, so I turned to him, concerned. He hunkered down over his perfect cubes of carved beef, avoiding my eyes.
After our dessert of miniature no-crust cheesecakes with three different fruit toppings, we enjoyed specialty hot drinks with our favorite liqueurs. Jessica and I both chose the deceptively-named blueberry tea, with amaretto, orange liqueur, and not a blueberry in sight.
The conversation had faded into silence when Jessica proudly announced, “Stormy is working toward getting her private investigator’s license.”
Christopher said, “Tell us more about that. I’m curious to hear what led you to this new career path. It can’t possibly be the compensation, so what is it?”
The others leaned in, equally curious, except for Franco, who said, “Bah! Who needs a detective these days? All you need is an internet connection.”
I gave him a sweet smile. “Care for a demonstration?”
“For free? Sure. Hit me with your best shot.” He crossed his arms.
“You didn’t have wine, and Marie brought you beer in the bottle, so you could read the label. Most commercial beers contain trace amounts of gluten, but that particular brand is popular with people who have celiac disease, because it’s made without wheat. You have a serious gluten allergy, and trust issues when it comes to your food. Your friend Marie knows that about you, and she also cared enough to prepare this entire meal without gluten—except for the bread rolls, which you haven’t touched.”
Franco started clapping a sarcastic, slow clap.
“Too easy,” he said. “And who cares about someone’s food allergies? Show me something useful. A genuine secret.”
“A genuine secret? You would have to check your friend Benji’s inner suit pocket, on the left. The room’s gotten quite warm, and he’s the only man who hasn’t removed his jacket. Plus he keeps touching that area of his suit. See? He’s doing it right now.”
All eyes turned to Benji, who jumped up so fast, he toppled his chair over.
“Not cool,” he said to me, scowling. “Extremely not cool.”
Franco stood. “What’s in your pocket, Benji? Are you going to show us, or do I have to make you?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Show us what you’ve got,” Franco said. “We’re all friends here. How bad could it be?”
While the two of them squared off, I gave Jessica a wide-eyed, innocent look. I hadn’t been sure of either of those things until I’d said them, and I honestly hadn’t expected Benji to be hiding anything other than his cell phone.
Christopher caught my eye. In a judgmental tone that echoed his mother’s voice, he said, “Stormy-Lou, you never could back
My T-bone steak was delicious to the last morsel. I’d worried it was too much dinner for me, but a good portion was bone, plus I snuck a few bits into my purse for my cat.
After Butch and Marie had cleared the dinner plates and left for the kitchen, Franco leaned back in his chair and reached around me to poke Benji on the shoulder.
“I know your secret,” Franco said.
At the mention of a secret, my ears couldn’t help but tune in.
“It’s not a secret anymore,” Benji said. “The whole Biggs Foods empire went from a valuation of five million to zero, overnight. I’m broke. If you want to kick me while I’m down, get in line.”
Franco said, “Not about that, genius. I know about the fender bender with your Plymouth, and why you swore me to secrecy. I just put it all together.”
His voice cold and hard, Benji said, “Stay out of that matter. Trust me.”
“You’re bluffing, and you were never a good bluffer. That’s why we loved playing poker with you.”
“Let this one go,” Benji said. “Can’t we make one last memory with the gang all together without you ruining it?”
“One last memory? What do you mean? Is someone dying? Are you dying?”
“I’m not exactly living,” Benji replied.
The sadness in his voice alarmed me, so I turned to him, concerned. He hunkered down over his perfect cubes of carved beef, avoiding my eyes.
After our dessert of miniature no-crust cheesecakes with three different fruit toppings, we enjoyed specialty hot drinks with our favorite liqueurs. Jessica and I both chose the deceptively-named blueberry tea, with amaretto, orange liqueur, and not a blueberry in sight.
The conversation had faded into silence when Jessica proudly announced, “Stormy is working toward getting her private investigator’s license.”
Christopher said, “Tell us more about that. I’m curious to hear what led you to this new career path. It can’t possibly be the compensation, so what is it?”
The others leaned in, equally curious, except for Franco, who said, “Bah! Who needs a detective these days? All you need is an internet connection.”
I gave him a sweet smile. “Care for a demonstration?”
“For free? Sure. Hit me with your best shot.” He crossed his arms.
“You didn’t have wine, and Marie brought you beer in the bottle, so you could read the label. Most commercial beers contain trace amounts of gluten, but that particular brand is popular with people who have celiac disease, because it’s made without wheat. You have a serious gluten allergy, and trust issues when it comes to your food. Your friend Marie knows that about you, and she also cared enough to prepare this entire meal without gluten—except for the bread rolls, which you haven’t touched.”
Franco started clapping a sarcastic, slow clap.
“Too easy,” he said. “And who cares about someone’s food allergies? Show me something useful. A genuine secret.”
“A genuine secret? You would have to check your friend Benji’s inner suit pocket, on the left. The room’s gotten quite warm, and he’s the only man who hasn’t removed his jacket. Plus he keeps touching that area of his suit. See? He’s doing it right now.”
All eyes turned to Benji, who jumped up so fast, he toppled his chair over.
“Not cool,” he said to me, scowling. “Extremely not cool.”
Franco stood. “What’s in your pocket, Benji? Are you going to show us, or do I have to make you?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Show us what you’ve got,” Franco said. “We’re all friends here. How bad could it be?”
While the two of them squared off, I gave Jessica a wide-eyed, innocent look. I hadn’t been sure of either of those things until I’d said them, and I honestly hadn’t expected Benji to be hiding anything other than his cell phone.
Christopher caught my eye. In a judgmental tone that echoed his mother’s voice, he said, “Stormy-Lou, you never could back
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