One Foot In The Gravy Read Free Page B

straightened with a cringe-worthy wink. “No tastes? For a good neighbor in the downtown business community?”
    I stared at him. Putting aside that he’d never offered me a professional discount at his shop, it was the first time Hoppy had let on that he knew me from a hole in the wall. “How about I give you the same kind you give me?” I said.
    Hoppy’s mouth twisted in thought. “Well, now, I can’t quite recall—”
    “Exactly,” I said, swinging into the hallway.
    The gourmet kitchen was at the end of the hall past a door to a storage or linen closet. I heard guitar-playing from inside as I rushed closer, and then saw Luke, dressed in a black Western shirt and matching skintight slacks, strumming away on his Gibson acoustic beyond the entrance.
    “You mind if I ask what you’re doing?” I said, stepping through.
    He looked at me from where he stood beside a countertop. “I’m workin’ out tonight’s theme song, Nash.”
    “Theme song?” I hesitated. “News flash! This is a catered party. It is not one of your nightclub gigs.”
    I wasn’t nearly old enough to be Luke’s mom. But his baby-blue eyes always brought out my maternal instincts. He smiled, all innocence. “I just figured that if we’re gonna do these parties as a regular thing from now on, I could provide some special musical touches. Here, let me show you.”
    “Wait a sec, Luke. I need to find the—”
    Too late. He was already plucking out a chord. And singing along to it. “It’s a deadly deli mystery, killer could be you, victim could be me. Time will tell, we’ll have to see, what happens when the clock strikes three . . .”
    I held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Luke, please. Do me a favor and hit the pause button a sec.”
    He blinked a little woundedly and aborted the tune. “Sorry. I figured you’d love it.”
    “That day may come,” I said. “I mean, I think it’s really good.” Talk about feeling guilt-tripped. “But it’s way past three o’clock . . .”
    “Right. That’s how come I was smoothin’ the kinks in here. I need a different word to rhyme with ‘see.’”
    I cleared my throat. “Maybe we ought to discuss this later,” I said. “At the moment, I’m looking for the flank steak gravy. Have you seen it?”
    Luke nodded and swung the guitar strap from his shoulders. He stood the instrument up against the counter and went over to a large stainless-steel sauce pot on the range.
    “I was warming it while I composed,” he said. “Ought to be about ready.”
    Ready or not, it was going out to the dining room. I spotted our terrine on the central kitchen island, hurried over to get it, ladled it full, and carried it toward the entryway, declining Luke’s offer to take it himself. I was in too much of a hurry to fuss around.
    That was when my foot seriously cramped up again. It was like a sadistic gorilla had my toes in its fist.
    “Ouccchhhh!” I blurted out unbecomingly.
    “Nash, you all right . . . ?”
    “Yeah, don’t worry. Just put away your guitar and come help us in the dining room pronto. ”
    I limped through the entry without waiting for his arm. At least six or seven minutes must’ve passed since Lolo had waved her dinner bell high in the air, leaving me with no time to waste.
    I’d barely gotten into the hallway when I heard a loud crash over my head. And I mean loud enough to halt me dead in my tracks.
    I looked up, the terrine in my hands. There was more crashing and pounding in what seemed to be the room directly above me. And whatever was causing it had made the ceiling visibly shake.
    “What’s that about?” Luke said. He’d raced to my side from the kitchen. “Sounds like some wild ol’ orangutan’s jumping around upstairs.”
    I glanced over at him. It was a banner day for primate similes, I guessed. I was tempted to ask if it might be the same one that had mashed my foot.
    I never got the chance to ask that or anything else. Before I could get out a word, or