Page 43 of Skin and Bones

“Don’t worry, boy,” I said, scratching his wrinkled head. “I’ll feed you dinner first.”

After locking up, we walked into the parking lot and I noticed his Tahoe parked next to my car. “I’ll follow you home,” Dash said, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

Ten minutes later, I stood in my bedroom, looking in the mirror and barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. I’d chosen a royal-blue dress that had been hiding in the back of my closet for years. The fitted bodice hugged my curves before flaring into a full skirt that swished satisfyingly when I moved. A matching fabric belt cinched my waist, tied with a small bow that added a touch of whimsy to the classic silhouette.

I’d painted my lips a deeper red than usual and pinned my hair in soft waves that framed my face. Pearl earrings caught the lamplight as I tilted my head, examining this strange creature in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with something I hadn’t seen in years—anticipation, excitement, life.

The blue made my blond hair seem brighter, my skin more luminous. I looked…awake. Like someone had finally tugged aside the heavy curtains I’d been hiding behind and let the sunlight pour in.

“Get it together, Mabel,” I whispered to my reflection, catching myself humming “Fly Me to the Moon” as I adjusted an errant curl. “This is just dinner to discuss the case.” The lie tasted sweet on my tongue, easy to swallow but impossible to believe.

I met Dash downstairs five minutes later, my pulse fluttering when his eyes traveled over the blue dress in unhurried appreciation. We took his car for the short drive to the restaurant, the silence between us comfortable yet charged with anticipation.

The Salt House was a white clapboard building nestled among ancient live oaks dripping with Spanish moss just before the expressway that led into Charleston. Twinkling lights wound through the tree branches, casting golden pinpricks against the deepening twilight sky. The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air, mingling with the salt breeze off the water.

A hostess with a neat blond ponytail greeted us at the door. “Welcome to The Salt House. Do you have a reservation?”

“No,” Dash said. “A quiet table if you have one.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at Dash and gave him a flirtatious smile. “We have patio seating available. Right this way.”

She led us through the dimly lit restaurant and out onto a pergola-covered patio. The roof was covered in trailing jasmine and the tables overlooked the water. The soft light of a candle glowed from each table.

“Enjoy,” the woman purred at Dash, placing leather-bound menus on the table and lingering longer than she should have.

Dash never glanced at her, but instead held out my chair for me, his hand briefly grazing my back, and waited for me to sit down. That simple touch sent sparks shooting across my skin like electricity finding a new conductor.

“This is beautiful,” I murmured, relieved to be outside and away from any prying eyes. I’d seen at least three people I knew on our walk through the restaurant.

“You look…different,” he said, the word carrying unexpected weight.

“Different good or different bad?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious, spreading my napkin to give my hands something to do besides fidget.

“Different good,” he confirmed, a slight smile playing at his lips. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in that color before.”

“I was saving it for a special occasion,” I replied, then immediately wanted to kick myself. “Not that this is a special occasion. You want to talk about murder and the case. I just mean, I don’t get out much so I wanted to wear it.”

“Why do we wait for special occasions for the things we want?” he asked. “Why not wear the dress because you want to? Or drink the expensive wine that’s meant for a celebration?”

“Are you a sheriff or a philosopher?” I asked.

“Being a cop means knowing a lot about human behavior and how people think,” he said.

A sommelier appeared with the wine list. “Good evening. Can I start you with something to drink?”

“What wine do you suggest for celebrations?” Dash asked, his gaze never leaving mine.

I saw the humor there, but also something more—something deeper and darker that I had no idea how to handle. I was way out of my league with a man like Dash Beckett, and girlish fantasies weren’t going to cut it.

“I have the perfect selection,” the sommelier said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

After he’d gone, Dash raised his water glass, the crystal catching the candlelight. “To unexpected partnerships.”

I hesitated and then picked up my glass and clinked it against his. “To finding the truth.”

It was only moments before the sommelier returned to the table and filled our glasses. The wine was velvet on my tongue, dark cherries and spice and something deeper, more mysterious. I took a second sip, feeling the tension of the day begin to loosen its grip on my shoulders.

“So what was your impression of Brooks?” Dash asked, his voice pitched low for privacy. “You’ve not mentioned your visit with him today.”

---