Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) by Terri L. Austin Page B

my mom.” I actually said it with a straight face. And it was semi-true. “She’s friends with Annabelle.”
    Dane shoved his hands into his pockets. “Your mother ,” when he realized he’d raised his voice, he closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths. “Your mother wants you to look into a murder investigation?” he asked, somewhat calmer this time.
    “Even crazier, ” I agreed.
    He shook his head. “No, that’s not crazy. That’s typical.”
    I poked one of the studs on his dinner shirt. “Good one. Now what have you heard? Give me all the dirt.”
    He checked his watch. “I have to get back.”
    “Oh? Hot date?” I peeked around his shoulder.
    “The one with the leopard print dress. She hasn’t stopped texting all night.”
    I spied her on the fringe of the crowd, an ash blonde standing at a high table, tapping away on her screen. She was also in her mid-fifties. I eyed him. “Dating someone with a little more life experience, are we?”
    “No,” he said. “It’s my boss’s sister-in-law. She’s newly divorced and visiting for two weeks. They didn’t want to leave her at home, although I’m not sure why, she’s been working all night. Even through dinner.”
    “You must really want to make junior partner. Since she’s occupado with the cell, you have time to tell me all the rumors about Delia Cummings.” I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. When Dane started removing his jacket, I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
    He glanced at his date. “My boss will be looking for me. I’ll call you tomorrow. Let’s have dinner and I’ll tell you everything I know. I still think this is a big mistake, but I know you don’t give a damn about my opinion.”
    Without waiting for my reply, he grasped my elbow and tried to propel me back inside. But just as I started to let him tug me along, David Ashby stepped out onto the porch, an unlit cigar in his hand.
    “You go on,” I said, keeping my eyes on Ashby. “Call me.”
    His lips tightened. He hesitated, then with a brusque nod, strode into the club.
    Ashby watched Dane walk inside before his eyes strayed to me. “Lover’s tiff?”
    I shook my head. Damn, it was cold out here. “No.”
    With long legs, he strolled down the stairs and stood next to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. David Ashby.” He held out his cigar-free hand.
    I shook. “Rose Strickland.”
    His brows, a darker shade of blond than his hair, lifted. “That name sounds familiar.”
    “I’m John and Barbara’s daughter.”
    “No, I don’t believe I’ve heard them mention you. Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.” He nodded at the cigar. “Do you mind if I light this?”
    Freezing, I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. “Go ahead.”
    He flashed a brilliant smile. I was surprised his teeth didn’t give off a cartoon sparkle. He really had the All American look down. And he seemed to have an innate confidence that women were drawn to. It’s probably what attracted Delia. How had Martin felt about that? Maybe he clued in on the fact that his mistress was two-timing him with his friend, David, and killed her for it.
    Ashby pulled a gold lighter from his pocket and with narrowed eyes, lit the smelly cigar. “My wife hates these things. Won’t even let me smoke them at home.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink.
    I wanted to ask him if Delia Cummings let him smoke cigars. After a round of hot, extramarital sex. But I refrained. Even though my mother would never appreciate the sacrifice.
    “You’re that prosecutor,” I said. “The one I read about in the papers?”
    He tried for a humble grin. And failed. “I am. For some reason the papers like to follow my cases.”
    I used the simpering, bullshit technique that had entranced Judge Mills Keeler. “Probably because you’re so handsome.” Then I dropped my eyes, but peered up at him.
    He laughed around the stogie. “Thank you for the compliment. But I doubt that’s the