Free Rosemary's Gravy by Melissa F. Miller

chairs, a small glass and metal bar held two rows of glasses and several decanters filled with various liquors.
    Suddenly light flooded the interior of the house. More out of reflex than anything else, I drew back from the window and pressed myself against the edge of the building. I noticed Felix did the same on the opposite side of the window. I held my breath and listened to Pat bang around in the house. He must have passed through the parlor and gone into the kitchen because the back of the apartment was flooded with light and the door to the patio banged open.
    I sought Felix’s eyes frantically. Was Pat coming out back?
    Felix mouthed ‘it’s okay’ and gave me a reassuring smile. Sure enough, after an excruciatingly long minute, the door banged shut and the outdoor lights went off. I exhaled and peeked through the window. Pat was standing near the bar with a handful of freshly picked mint and a white marble mortar and pestle.
    Ah, he was just muddling mint for a drink. I exhaled and nearly went limp with relief. I considered that perhaps I wasn’t cut out for this secret spy stuff and flashed Felix an embarrassed grin. He looked as though he were about to say something but the sudden roar of a car engine cut off the words before he formed them.
    I’m no gearhead, but even I could tell this car was much noisier and more muscular than the Mercedes had been. Instead of purring, it roared. It sounded as loud as a racecar as it pulled into the driveway behind Pat’s car. I felt my eyes go wide. Felix motioned for me to join him on his side of the window. I crouched low, under the window, just in case, and duck walked over to him.
    We peered through the window as Pat hurried toward the front of the house with a glass in each hand. I sort of figured Pat was meeting his mistress, but I nearly fell over when I saw who came striding into view and grabbed Pat in a long, tight embrace.
    “Is that … Antonio Santos?” Felix asked.
    I blinked. When I opened my eyes, the scene hadn’t changed. “Yep.”
    We watched as Pat pulled back, held the racecar driver at arm’s length, and drank in the sight of him. Pat’s entire face softened from hard-edged music mogul to adoring partner.
    “I didn’t know your dad was gay,” I said stupidly.
    Felix was speechless. I guess he didn’t either.
    I’m not sure what he would have done next if sirens hadn’t pierced the air from all directions. A black and white patrol car screeched to a halt out front, most likely blocking the driveway unless television shows had lied to me. A second unit rolled through the alley and parked just in front of the gate. Two figures emerged from the car and cleared the low gate like hurdlers in a track and field event. One headed directly for the back door, gun drawn. The other made a beeline straight toward the side of the house where we were hiding.
    Felix pressed his finger against his lips as if maybe I’d been planning to blurt out a greeting.
    Bright light arced over us. I shielded my eyes and turned to squint into the face of none other than Detective Drummond. He trained the flashlight on us much longer and more directly than I personally thought was strictly necessary.
    “I wish I could say this is a surprise,” he cracked.
    Beside me, Felix was covering his face. “Would you turn that thing off already?” he demanded.
    Detective Drummond took his time lowering the beam so it pointed at the ground. Then he jabbed a finger at us in the air. “Don’t go anywhere. After we take your father into custody, we’re going to want to talk to you,” he said to Felix. Then he turned to me. “Same goes for you, Ms. Field.” I figured it had to be my imagination, but I thought I heard a note of disappointment in his voice—as if he expected better from me.
    “You’re … arresting my dad?” Felix sputtered.
    He suddenly looked even younger than he was, like a lost little boy, really. It made my heart ache.
    Detective Drummond apparently