Page 45 of Blame it on the Bet
“There you go!”
And there it is—the sound I’ve been hoping to hear for days. Hennessy O’Halloran throws back her head and laughs. It’s as sweet and melodious as I suspected…and it’s infectious.
“Hey, I wanted to tell you what a great job you did with the chili cook off.”
She very graciously accepts my lame excuse to talk with her.
“Well, thank you, Bryan. And thank you for judging.
You did a great job, too. I’ve gotten a lot of comments from folks who were there.”
“Really? I was sure you’d have them all chasing me down with torches and pitchforks by now.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, we save that for after dark. Makes more sense with the torches, you know?”
“Ah, of course,” I agree with a thoughtful nod. “Makes perfect sense. So, hey, I was just out stretching my legs…”
Total and utter BS. I caught sight of her leaving the pub and pulled on my ridiculous snowmageddon suit so I could stalk her.
“Mind if I walk with you for a minute?”
“I don’t mind at all,” she begins, “but I’m not going very far.”
She gestures to the green awning two doors down. The Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop.
“Oh, right. That’s the one with the…the…” I struggle to find a diplomatic way to say “batty pie lady.”
“The one with the whacky mystic? Yes, it is.” I drop my voice a little as I explain.
“I’ve been wanting to try the pie shop since your sister Bailey told me about her. But, honestly, I’ve been a little spooked by the whole thing. Do you think… I mean, would it be okay if I maybe went in with you?”
She quirks an eyebrow at me, and I can see I’m pushing my luck. Time to pull out the big guns. The guns with the irresistibly crooked smile. It must work, because she sighs, rolls her eyes, and shakes her head all at once.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret this?” she asks no one in particular.
“First slice is on me. Does that help?”
“Yes, it does. If you throw in a cup of coffee, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Ah, the woman’s got negotiating chops,” I comment. “I suppose you’d need them in your line of work.”
“You’re not kidding about that,” she agrees, her lovely, bright face darkening with the change in subject.
“What? My spies tell me you’re an amazing attorney!” She doesn’t seem at all surprised that I have spies. “That’s the problem,” she mutters. “Come on, before I change my mind about the pie.”
Uh-oh. Gotta get us back on happy ground. I stomp clumsily behind her, trying not to trip over my own feet.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” I inquire, and she glances back at me over her shoulder.
“Sure, I guess…”
“What’s the deal with all the cats and the sweaters?”
She seems confused for a moment, but when she spots the cat sunning itself in the window of Kelly’s Books, she understands why I’m asking. This particular feline, a very sexy looking Siamese with bright-blue eyes, happens to be sporting an equally blue sweater with a hoodie.
“The Knitty Kitty,” she says, as if I should understand this bit of code.
“Huh?”
