Page 8 of Bachelor Cop Finally Caught? (Hot off the Press! 2)

“Gumbo. Want the same?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Catching Chuck’s eye, Dan held up two fingers. Chuck responded by making a circle with his thumb and forefinger.

Knowing the food would arrive eventually—service here being dependable if not overly speedy— Dan tried to think of a conversation opener. “So…how’s your week been? I haven’t seen you around much.”

“I’ve been busy. And so have you, I hear. Riley said he’s had to practically chase you down whenever he had a question for you.”

“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? How come Riley’s suddenly covering my office?”

Lindsey shrugged, one shoulder almost emerging from the deep neckline of the black dress. “I’ve been working on a series of features we’re going to run next week. They’re about the town’s oldest five citizens. It’s been fascinating.”

“Did you talk to Marshall Collier?”

“Of course. He’s 102—and still sharp as a tack. He tells great anecdotes.”

“And Nellie Pollard? You couldn’t interview her.”

“That was a bit more challenging,” she admitted. “Poor thing just sits in a chair and rocks and hums all day, when she’s not sleeping.”

“So what did you do?”

“I interviewed her one surviving son. And her grandsons. Then some of the people she gave piano lessons to during her years as a music teacher—her life reflected through the lives she touched.”

“Did you feel you got to know her that way?”

“I sat with her for a while yesterday,” she said. “The song she hums all the time? It was her favorite—one she taught all her students. Her husband sang it to her the night he proposed to her. She hasn’t played piano since I was in diapers, but she still hears that song in her head.”

“That’s pretty sad.”

“I know. She’s been in a steady decline for the past ten years. But for the almost sixty years prior to that, she brought music into the lives of several generations of young people. Now a lot of them are old, too—but they remember her music.”

Dan studied Lindsey’s face in the glow of the chili-pepper lights. She looked…dreamy, he thought. As if she could hear the music playing even now.

He had no doubt that the articles would be good. Better than should be expected from the average small-town newspaper. But then, the Evening Star was better than the average small-town paper, he conceded—especially now that Cameron had become managing editor, and as long as Lindsey and Riley wrote most of the articles. Cameron would stay—after all, he’d married the paper’s owner. But Riley would be leaving eventually, once he decided to get serious about that book he’d been writing for so long.

As for Lindsey—well, she probably should be utilizing her talents in a bigger market—as much as Dan hated to admit it.

Chuck’s son, Gary, appeared then, bearing a heavily loaded tray. Two big bowls of rice, two of spicy seafood-and-vegetable gumbo. A platter of warm corn fritters. Two mason jars filled with ice water.

“You guys don’t want beer with this?” Gary asked, setting the food in front of them.

“No.”

“Yes.”

They’d spoken simultaneously. Dan glared at Lindsey. “No,” he repeated.

She frowned, but shrugged. “No,” she said to Gary.

“Whatever. Give me a sign if you need anything.” Gary shuffled off at his usual speed—a mosey.

“I’m on duty,” Dan said in response to Lindsey’s questioning look.

“I’m not.”

He spooned gumbo over his rice, then added a liberal dash of hot sauce. “Since when do you drink beer?”

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