having reached the backyard, began to bark. The sound was the purest joy, and Melissa had to smile.
Tom stopped in his tracks as soon as he’d rounded the far corner of the house, and Melissa, bringing up the rear, almost collided with him.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured.
She peeked around him.
And there was the Wild Bunch, the men dressed like matadors, except for their hats, the women in flamenco outfits and holding roses in their teeth, tangoing like mad across the wide stone patio.
The music, pouring from a boom box, was deafening.
Elvis stood near the edge of the patio, a delighted witness to the festivities, barking his brains out as he followed the action.
Spotting Melissa and Tom, John Winthrop hurried over to crank down the volume on the boom box. He was wearing one of those round hats trimmed with tiny pom-poms.
The other man in the group finished up the dance by dipping his partner.
Melissa, more impressed than she would have admitted to Tom Parker or anyone else, could only assume that osteoporosis wasn’t an issue in this particular crowd.
Tom cleared his throat, then summoned Elvis to his side.
Melissa stepped up next to him, concentrating on one thing. Not laughing.
“Why, it’s Melissa,” said Mr. Winthrop, beaming, taking off his hat and bowing deeply. “How nice to see you again!”
“That’s quite a costume,” Melissa said.
“Rented,” Mr. Winthrop replied. He drew in a deep, robust breath and let it out in a whoosh. “We got to talking about our trip to Spain—we went three years ago—and I guess we got a little carried away by all the memories.”
“There’s no costume-rental place in Stone Creek,” Tom said, sounding suspicious.
“We called a shop in Flagstaff,” Winthrop explained jovially. “They were kind enough to deliver.”
“Oh,” Tom replied, clearly at a loss.
“The neighbors are complaining about the music,” Melissa told the gang. “It was too loud.”
The women looked annoyed. The men were crestfallen. Melissa felt like the original wet blanket.
“Well, I guess there’s no harm done,” Tom allowed. “If you’ll all just keep the noise down a little, everybody will be happy.”
“Not everybody,” said the woman in the red dress, trailing ruffles behind her and fiddling with the Spanish comb in her hair.
“We’ll behave,” Mr. Winthrop promised.
The woman in the red dress harrumphed, arms folded.
“Fair enough,” Tom said agreeably.
By then, Melissa was wondering why she’d come along on this mission, since Tom didn’t seem to need her help. If asked, she would have said it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
She smiled apologetically at the croquet/tango team. Winced when Tom took a light grip on her arm.
“That does it,” he said to Melissa, as they walked away, Elvis ambling along behind them. “I’m taking you over to the clinic in Indian Rock.”
Melissa sighed. “I’m just fine,” she protested. “In fact, I was thinking I might like to try the tango—”
Tom flashed her a grin as he opened the door of the squad car for her and helped her to ease inside. “No way,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because,” Tom said, with a wicked light in his eyes, “it takes two to tango, and I’ll have no part of it, thank you very much.”
Melissa groaned. “That was such a bad joke,” she said.
But then she laughed.
Tom turned serious. “I still think you should see a doctor. I could run you over to the clinic in Indian Rock in no time—”
“I’m fine, Tom,” she insisted. “And I’m not going anywhere but back to the office.”
Tom didn’t answer until he’d gotten behind the wheel again. “Not much going on there,” he observed. “Andrea can probably hold down the fort. Why not stay home for the rest of the day, if you won’t go to the doctor, and take it easy?” He indicated her purse with a nod of his head and another grin. “You could take care of all those phone messages. Reassure Bea Brady that you won’t allow the toilet-paper contingent to get out of hand when it comes time to decorate the floats for the big parade. Tell Steven Creed you’re hot for him and he’s welcome to come by for supper anytime.”
Melissa punched her old friend in the arm. “I’m going back to work,” she told her friend. “If I have to feel lousy, I might as well do it at the office as at home and, besides, my car is there.”
“Never argue with a lawyer,” Tom sighed, heading for the center of town.
“Maybe I will invite Steven over for supper again, though,” she said, after musing a while. “Care to join us?”
Tom pulled the cruiser into the usual parking spot behind the courthouse and looked over at her. “I smell a setup,” he said.
MELISSA GOT OUT of the squad car, opened the back door for Elvis, who leaped nimbly to the ground, and semi-hobbled toward the side entrance to the brick courthouse. Tom’s words echoed in her brain.
I smell a setup, he’d said, when she’d invited him to supper, moments before.
“You have a suspicious mind, Tom Parker,” she accused.
“Part of the job,” Tom admitted, holding open the heavy glass door for her.
It occurred to Melissa then, as it might have to Tom as well, that it was a shame their relationship had always been platonic. They’d have made a good couple, she guessed, but there was no spark on either side. Hanging out with Sheriff Parker was like being with her brother, Brad—easy, low-key and safe.
Keeping company with Steven, on the other hand, had the same charge as bungee jumping off a high bridge or riding a unicycle across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope.
“Taking risks is a part of your job, too,” Melissa replied briskly, as they moved—man, woman and dog—along the corridor. “But when it comes to romance, you’re nothing but a coward.”
“So it was a setup,” Tom said, with a note of triumph. “I knew it.”
“I might have been thinking of asking Tessa Quinn to join us,” Melissa answered, as they reached the outer door of her offices.
Melissa O’Ballivan, Prosecutor, read the faux-metal sign affixed to it.
She waited out a small rush of frustration. Once, she’d loved her work. Now, she was just marking time, it seemed, waiting for someone to break the law, so she could try them in court. Was that any way to live?
Tom frowned down at her, though there was a benevolent light in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to a platterful of Ashley’s spare ribs,” he said.
“You haven’t won yet,” Melissa pointed out. “In fact, the way you’re dragging your feet—you’ve had plenty of time to ask Tessa out, it seems to me—you’re looking more and more like the new chairman of the Parade Committee with every passing moment.”
“I’ll ask her,” Tom said.
“Fine,” Melissa retorted. “Let’s see some action here. I’m not going to let you drag this bet out until we’re