Page 84 of Holding On To Good

“Just saying you were moping around last night. Grunting and groaning and acting like you lost your dog.” He paused a beat, his expression solemn. But his dark eyes gleamed. “Or your best friend.”

Urban glanced over his shoulder at the open kitchen, where Toby—in a black apron, his hair covered with a backward Drillers’ baseball cap—cooked something at the stove.

He hoped that stupid, stubby ponytail caught on fire.

“Toby,” he said slowly, succinctly, “is a dead man.”

Miles sat up with a shrug. “Yeah. He’s got a big mouth. Do me a favor? Wait to kill him until after I’ve eaten? Working a murder investigation on an empty stomach is the worst.”

“That statement is so wrong on so many levels,” Verity said as she appeared at Urban’s elbow, a stealthy, ninja-like waitress in black pants and a white button-down shirt. She carried Urban’s dinner—grilled salmon, red quinoa salad and sautéed broccolini—in one hand, a large, shallow bowl of artfully arranged salad in the other, along with a set of silverware wrapped in a black cloth napkin. She balanced a smaller plate of salad on her forearm. “I’d think if a murder was about to be committed, you might at least try and stop it. You know, because of that fancy uniform and shiny badge and all. Not plan how to stuff your face beforehand.”

“A man has to eat.”

“Yeah, except you don’t eat like a man,” she told Miles as she served Urban his food. “You eat like a twelve-year-old boy. Which is why I brought this.”

And she set the smaller salad in front of him. If you could call greens and shredded carrots, topped with Toby’s homemade buttermilk ranch dressing, a salad.

“You’ll get your cheeseburger and fries,” she continued, “after you eat every last bite of that.”

“It’s illegal to knowingly charge a customer for something he didn’t order.”

“It’s on the house. Just my little way of making sure you get at least one serving of vegetables this week since I know you didn’t eat any salad last night.”

Miles frowned at the salad. Then up at her. “There goes your tip.”

“Oh, no,” she deadpanned. “What will I ever do without twenty percent of your bill? I mean, you did order a burger and fries. And you’re drinking water. Talk about a missed opportunity for me to make some serious cash.”

“Next time,” he said, stabbing a bite of salad, “I’m not sitting in your section.”

“Now that just breaks my heart,” she murmured, setting the other salad down—mixed greens topped with a red wine poached pear, toasted walnut halves, gorgonzola and grilled chicken breast.

Verity’s favorite.

She slid into the booth next to Urban, forcing him to move over.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Urban asked, bringing his plate with him as he made room for her.

“It’s my break,” she said, leaning back and straightening her legs so she could reach into her front pocket. She pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. “And I’ve decided to share my precious twenty minutes of downtime with you two. Let you soak up the joy and sunshine that is me while you still can. You’re welcome.”

She held the sanitizer out like a holy offering and both he and Miles dutifully gave her their palms.

You didn’t fuck around with Verity when she had the hand sanitizer.

Not unless you wanted a twenty-minute lecture on the sorry state of public health in the US and how the rates of contagious diseases could be drastically cut if everyone was more vigilant about proper hand hygiene.

“Now,” she continued, rubbing sanitizer into her hands, “since you two were discussing murder and it wouldn’t be a normal Monday without one—or more—of my brothers wanting to kill one—or more—of my brothers, who should I warn of their impending demise?”

“No one,” Urban said at the same time Miles spoke. “Tobias.”

A forkful of salmon halfway to his mouth, Urban froze and glared at his brother. “Toby’s not the only one with a big mouth.”

“She was going to find out eventually.”

“Find out what?” Toby asked as he joined them, carrying Miles’s original order and two glasses of water.

Urban’s hand tightened on his fork. Jesus Christ. Couldn’t a man eat dinner in peace?

“That your days are numbered,” Miles said. “Might want to make right with God.”

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