Free Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) by A.W. Hartoin Page B

threatened to kill Mickey with a hammer. By the time they left, everybody was laughing. Craziness.”  
    “Yeah. I saw them last night at Aprés. I thought they would come to blows,” I said.
    “When you first came in, I thought you were her.”  
    “Her who?”  
    “Gotta go,” said Stephen.  
    DBD and their people, twelve in all, had sidled up to the counter in slow motion. They were so cool it was weird, like they thought they were being filmed. The family raised their eyebrows at me and I mouthed, “Double Black Diamond,” at them.  
    The parents blinked in surprise and looked again. Then they recognized what used to be the biggest band on the planet. The guys were showing their age, but looked pretty good considering what they’d put their bodies through in the late seventies and eighties. If I remembered correctly, all four remaining members were recovering alcoholics or drug addicts or sex addicts or perhaps all three. The fifth member had died from an overdose. I only remembered that because Dad went into a month-long mourning, which consisted of him playing their CDs constantly and dressing in parachute pants. He only stopped because Mom threatened to barbecue his vintage DBD concert posters if he didn’t. I was right there holding the lighter and it took some work to convince me not to barbecue the CDs. Mom bribed me with chocolate.  
    Dad would totally lose it if he knew I was in the same room with “The Band” as he called them. Since Rory still hadn’t showed and I had to stop myself from laughing I called Dad. He must’ve been working, because it took five rings for him to answer, and by that time, I was biting my lip so hard I probably had a permanent indent. The parents at the other table were losing it, too. Their teenage children were staring at DBD like they were seeing some sort of accident. Wade Cave, the lead singer, was absent, but his brother, Jimmy, was posing next to the counter with Darren Echols, the bassist. You would’ve thought they were in the middle of a photo shoot with a thousand adoring fans, instead of hanging in a waffle joint with five people who were thinking they’d suffered some kind of head injury. There was lip pouting and snarls at the ceiling.  
    “What?” bellowed Dad into the phone.  
    “Hi, Dad,” I said. “Miss me?”  
    “Are you gone?”  
    “I’m in Colorado.”  
    Dad growled. “With the boyfriend.”  
    “With Pete, yes,” I said.  
    “How much does the mother hate you?” I could hear Dad perking up. He was pretty sure I shouldn’t be allowed to date until I was thirty-seven, but Mom had overruled him. I’d been with Pete longer than anyone before and Dad was starting to get nervous. My getting married was a subject that he refused to acknowledge as a possibility and he figured Nancy would get rid of me with a quickness. The thought made him happy and he didn’t try to hide it.  
    “She doesn’t. Even her pug dog likes me. Can you believe it?”  
    Silence.
    “Dad?”
    “Is that what you interrupted me to say?” he asked, his voice low and throaty.
    “No. I just wanted to let you know that I’m breathing the same air as your favorite thing on earth.”  
    “A convicted murderer on death row?”  
    “That’s your favorite thing on earth? A murderer beats out Mom, me, cheeseburgers, and hockey?”  
    “You’re in the top ten,” said my father, the one who gave me life and had vowed to spend the rest of his life annoying the crap out of me.  
    “Forget it. You don’t deserve to know.” I hung up.  
    Five seconds later my phone rang. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it.  
    “What is it?” he asked in his charming voice that he saved for those not related to him.  
    “DBD.”  
    Silence.
    “Dad?”  
    “Are you serious?”
    Thank goodness I was or I think Dad would hurt me when I got home. “Yep. They’re sitting ten feet from me, eating waffles.”  
    “They eat waffles. What kind of waffles?