Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) Read Free Page A

they say—you marry
a person and inherit their family and friends, for better or
worse."
    "So true," she said. "Guess I'll learn to get
used to his friends."
    "And vice versa," I told her, taking back my
credit card. "I'll call you next week and we'll set up a dinner
date."
    "Sounds good."
    Now that I had committed to it, I had to
double check my schedule and make sure I hadn't overcommitted.
    * * *
    I had just returned home and set my new
plants down on the counter when my cell phone rang. Grabbing it
from my back pocket, I saw that the caller was Brent London. He was
asking for a video chat.
    Feeling I was presentable enough, I clicked
it on.
    "Hey you," he said, sporting a half grin on a
face that was still handsome, if not a bit more seasoned now that
he was pushing sixty. He still had a full head of rich, gray hair
and gray-blue eyes.
    "Hey back," I said, thinking that it must
have been mental telepathy that he should call, since he had been
on my mind lately.
    "Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," he
said.
    "You didn't." I figured that working on my
plants could wait.
    "Do you have any dinner plans?" he asked.
    "No."
    "Good. There's a nice place called Cheri's on
Hagadorn Avenue. It will be my treat."
    "Yes, I've been to Cheri's a few times," I
said. "They have great food."
    "I think so too. So are we on?"
    "Yes, I'd be happy to have dinner with you,
Brent. We can catch up."
    He nodded. "I'd like that. What time should I
pick you up?"
    I pondered his request. Though I felt quite
comfortable with him, knowing Brent as I did, I didn't want to give
him the wrong impression with the dinner date by making it seem
more personal than it was. Especially since, the last I knew, he
had a lovely young girlfriend, whom I couldn't possibly compete
with. Not that I wanted to. As far as I was concerned, anything
romantic between us was ancient history. Fortunately, we were still
able to stay friends.
    "Actually, why don't I meet you there," I
told him. "I have a few errands to run in the area first. How about
we have dinner at say, six?"
    He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the
corners. "Six works for me. See you then."
    "Goodbye, Brent."
    When I disconnected, I couldn't help but
wonder if he wanted to have dinner for some reason in particular.
Or was it simply to get together for a friendly chat between former
lovers?
    I would find out soon enough. It also
occurred to me that this might be a great time to offer my two
cents about him accepting a teaching position at Elk Community
College, assuming the offer was still on the table.
    * * *
    I dropped some things off at the post office
just before five, and then stopped by a department store to buy a
new tablecloth, which I planned to use when Peggy and her fiancé
came to dinner next week. After that, I headed over to the
restaurant to meet Brent. Though our friendship had remained steady
over the years, I was happy that we had ended the romance when we
had. For one, he had a terrible track record when it came to
successful relationships, with four ex-wives and more than his fair
share of girlfriends during and after, including his current one.
His first ex, Sheryl, had literally dropped dead of a heart attack
two months after the divorce and well before I came into the
picture.
    Wife number two, Deidre, had lasted for a
year before she filed for divorce, according to Brent, citing
irreconcilable differences. One month after their divorce was
finalized, she married a local farmer named Mitt Carter.
    Brent's third wife, Ashley, came into the
picture after I bowed out as his possible bride. In fact, I had
known Ashley indirectly. We both had the same hairdresser and
actually ran into each other there once—whereby she happily
announced her engagement to Brent. After he verified this to me,
second thoughts crept up about the one I'd let get away. Those
regrets ended quickly enough when I realized that we weren't right
for each other, no matter how many women came after me.
    I wished