Page 21 of Devil in the Details

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Marcy, huh.”

His tone wasn’t too thrilled, and Delia could see why. Marcy Talbott had been selling houses in Las Vegas for a long time, and he had every reason to be concerned that she was going to beat him to the punch on this one.

Which was just the way it worked. Real estate was all about timing.

And location, and money, and a whole lot of other things, but if someone got ahead of you in the queue, there wasn’t a whole lot you could do about it.

“But I don’t know when she’s going to show the place,” Delia said, doing her best to sound cheerful and upbeat, and to give Aaron some hope that he hadn’t been outmaneuvered yet. “So maybe you’ll want to see if your client is available to come look at it during their lunch break.”

His expression brightened at once. “That’s a good idea,” he replied. “I’ll text her and see what she thinks.” Another two bites, and the cookie was gone. He wiped his hands on the napkin, then tossed it into the stainless steel trash can discreetly placed under the island’s overhang. Now looking almost diffident, he said, “Any dinner plans?”

One of the more oblique ways of asking a person out, Delia supposed, but she still couldn’t view the question as anything other than an invitation to a date.

Luckily, she had the perfect excuse ready — and it wasn’t even a lie.

“Actually, yes,” she said. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner.” A glance at her watch, and she added, “And I need to start closing things up if I don’t want to be late.”

At least Aaron was perceptive enough to recognize her comment for what it was. “Of course,” he said quickly. “Then I’ll get out of your way. And I’ll let you know if I’m going to come by with my client tomorrow.”

“Sounds great.”

He headed out, and she emptied the crumbs off the wooden platter she’d used to serve the cookies before slipping it into the tote bag she’d brought it in. With that taken care of — and after using a damp paper towel to wipe away the few crumbs that had escaped — she went upstairs to make sure nothing had been disturbed and no one had left anything behind.

However, everything looked just as neat and tidy as it had been when she opened up the house a few hours earlier, so she descended the stairs, performed the same visual survey of the lower floor, and had the place closed up and the lockbox installed about ten minutes after six o’clock. That would give her barely enough time to get to the restaurant, but she wasn’t too worried. If Caleb arrived before she did, she knew she could trust him to get a table — or put their name on the hostess list if it turned out there was a wait.

Hopefully not, though. It was still a little early for people to be going out to dinner, and even on weeknights, people tended to eat later unless they were seniors who wanted to get their buffet discounts and head home before Celebrity Jeopardy was on.

Traffic had probably died down a little from its peak right after five, but enough cars packed the roads that Delia guessed she’d be at least a couple of minutes late. Not much she could do about it now; Caleb knew she was coming straight to the restaurant from her open house, and obviously, she couldn’t have left until everyone was gone.

Luckily, there were plenty of open spots in the parking lot, confirming her suspicion that most people wouldn’t be venturing out to dine until a little later. When she came into the restaurant, she spied Caleb’s shaggy, dark blond head at one of the booths, so she murmured to the hostess that she was meeting someone and hurried over there.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, knowing she sounded breathless as she slid into the booth. “Traffic was worse than I thought it would be.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. “I just got here a couple of minutes ago.”

He looked cheerful and relaxed, wearing his usual black leather jacket over a dark green button-up shirt. Most of the time, he wore tees or henleys, so she guessed the dress shirt was a nod to the poker tournament.

“How’d it go?” she asked, although the expression he wore was a pretty good indication that his luck had held.

“I’m going on to the next round of eliminations tomorrow,” he said and paused, since a waitress had just approached them and asked if they wanted any appetizers.

They both declined and then picked up their menus after she’d departed, promising them the glass of chianti that came with all the meals here.

“Still no hanky-panky?” Delia asked, not quite suppressing a smile.

She’d expected him to grin back at her. Instead, his expression sobered abruptly.

“You didn’t,” she said, her tone flat, and at once he shook his head.

“I absolutely did not,” he returned. “But I’m kind of worried someone else did.”

For a moment, she only stared at him. “What?”

His mouth opened as if he intended to reply, but the waitress came back then with their glasses of wine and asked what they wanted to order. Delia stepped in, since she figured she knew the menu better than he did, and ordering first would give him a chance to quickly scan it and decide what he wanted to eat.

“Pasta carbonara, please, and a side salad with balsamic vinaigrette,” she said as she handed over her menu.

The waitress made a notation on her notepad. “And you, sir?”

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