Free Wolfe Watching by Joan Hohl Page B

company that delivers furniture in the evening—Sunday evening?
    While Freeman and Reber carried the chair into the house, the short man disappeared into the interior again, to reappear once more, shoving another chair into the opening. Moments later, Freeman and Reber returned to collect the second chair. The minute they had it off the truck, the driver jumped out, shut the door and hurried back to the cab of the truck. Before the other two men reached the house, the engine fired and the truck was backed out of the driveway. The truck took off down the street as the men lugged the chair through the doorway.
    Altogether, from the time the truck pulled into the driveway until it backed out again, the entire process required less than fifteen minutes to complete. Of course, the rain was coming down pretty hard, so it was perfectly understandable that the men would hustle through the job.
    Understandable, yet also curious, Eric mused. Curious because the job would have been made both faster and a little easier with illumination from the four trouble lights. He knew the lights would have made it possible for him to read the lettering he’d glimpsed on the side of the truck as the driver swung it around, out of the driveway.
    Dark as it was, all Eric had been able to catch was one word—Acme. Acme. Hell, he thought in disgust, was he on a stakeout or in the middle of a Roadrunner cartoon?
    Oh, well, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, Eric thought. He reached for the phone directory to begin searching for furniture stores or companies with the name Acme. He had barely started when his stomach growled in complaint against emptiness. Glancing at his watch, he was stunned to see that it was going on seven, and Tina had told him dinner would be ready at six-thirty.
    He was going to be late, Eric fumed. But if he hadn’t been in a near stupor from boredom, and unconscious of the passing time, he’d have been in the shower or dressing in the bedroom, and would have missed the truck.
    Tossing the directory aside, Eric sprang from the chair and dashed into the bedroom. After a record-setting shower, shave and teeth-cleaning sprint, he shrugged into a blue-on-blue striped shirt, stepped into almost-new designer jeans, and then, carrying his shoes and socks, returned to his post at the window.
    Eric was watching the house, while sliding his feet into soft leather slip-ons, when the front door opened and Glen Reber emerged. Eric’s eyes narrowed on the man as he hurried along the walkway, then turned in the direction of his car...and Tina’s house.
    Cursing aloud, Eric leapt from the chair, grabbed his jacket from the back of the only other chair in the room and tore out of the apartment and down the outside stairway. He hit the ground running, and as he whipped around the side of the garage the Lincoln’s engine roared to life. Checking his headlong rush, he strolled down the macadam drive. The headlights flashed on as the car was set in motion. It cruised past Eric as he gained the sidewalk and sauntered toward Tina’s place.
    Dismissing Reber, the couple in the house across the street and the puzzle of a Sunday-evening delivery of furniture from his mind, Eric strode up the walk to Tina’s door and gently pressed his finger to the doorbell button and held his breath. He was over half an hour late.
    Eric hoped Tina didn’t open the door with a heavy object in hand, prepared to bean him for ruining her dinner.

Six
    “T hat was great. You’re really an excellent cook.”
    Tina felt her cheeks grow warm with a pleasurable flush at Eric’s praise—not that she had needed to hear his verbal approval of her culinary efforts. The proof of his enjoyment of the meal lay in the empty dishes and decimated remains of the bird on the table before her.
    No, Tina didn’t need verbal confirmation, but hearing it was lovely, just the same. His vocal appreciation of her offering canceled the last lingering shred of annoyance