Free In a Heartbeat by Elizabeth Adler Page B

expecting anyone.” Mel propped her feet on the porch rail, fanning herself with one hand. She took another swig of the cold beer. The Santa Ana winds were blowing in from the desert and it was hot as hell, even at seven-thirty at night.
    “It’s probably the old bitch, come back to complain some more.” Riley giggled.
    Lola leaped off her chest and onto the front steps. The terrier stared, tense as a trigger, at the man emerging from the BMW.
    “Some guard dog.” Ed Vincent was standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets. “How’re y’doin’, Zelda?”
    “Zelda?”
Harriet’s eyes met Melba’s in a question. “Who’s he talking about?”
    “Oh, oh my gosh.” Mel thrust the Miller Lite bottle hastily behind her chair and leaped to her feet. She tugged down her black shorts and tried vainly to smooth the sweaty T-shirt.
    Ed had to smile at her astonished look. He knew that whatever she was feeling, it would show in her eyes, and whatever she wanted to say, she would come straight out with it. There was no guile about Zelda Merrydew. Even if she did hide beer bottles behind her chair. “Love the new truck,” he said, smiling as he imagined Mel behind the wheel. It was quite a picture.
    “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
    “I just happened to be in the area. Thought I’d stop by, take my partner in crime out to dinner, if she would let me.”
    “Wow.”
Riley clambered out of the hammock, inspecting him closely. “A
date
, Mom.” Mel threw her a withering look and she giggled.
    “What does he mean, ‘partner in crime’?” Harriet asked in a loud whisper.
    “Melba is my detective partner.” Ed bent to pat the dog, who promptly nipped his hand. He pulled it back fast.
    “Don’t mind Lola, it’s just her way of saying hello.” Riley gave him her gappy smile. “Lola never draws blood. Not unless she really hates you.”
    “That darn dog is just plain uncivilized,” Harriet said. “And, Mel, your mother would be ashamed of you. Where are your manners? Aren’t you going to ask your visitor in?”
    “Oh . . . yes, of course.” Mel was suddenly nervous. “Riley, grab the dog. Won’t you please come in, Mr. Vincent. This is Harriet Simons, my friend and partner. And my daughter, Riley.”
    “Are you going to have dinner with him, Mom?” Riley demanded. “He asked you a question and you always told me I should answer when I’m asked, and so should you.”
    “Oh, oh . . .” Mel threw Ed an embarrassed smile. “Okay. Yes. I guess so. Thank you. I mean . . . well, I guess I have to change. . . .”
    “That would be a good idea, Mom,” Riley said dryly. “Now,” she said, taking charge, “would you like a cold drink, Mr. Vincent? A Diet Coke, or lemonade?”
    Mel hurried to take a quick shower, leaving Ed with Riley and Harriet. He looked around, pleased. Mel’s home was a mixed bag of pretty antiques, probably from that antebellum Merrydew plantation house, and scruffy overstuffed pieces. An ancient baby grand was squashed into a corner, and the sea breeze wafted the gauzy cream curtains at the open windows.
    Bunches of mixed flowers in jolly yellows and oranges wilted in pottery jugs; there was an unfinished sandwich on a plate on the window seat, and Riley’s schoolbooks were spread out on the old pine table in the cheery blue and white kitchen. The hardwood floors bore many scratches, and dust motes floated in a beam of sunlight. It looked comfortable, lived in. It was exactly right, he thought, satisfied.
Exactly Zelda.
    The dust got in his nose and he sneezed, accepting a lemonade from Riley, who proceeded to question him closely about where he lived and what he was doing in LA.
    “A proud mama could not have interrogated you better,” Harriet told him afterward, with a grin.
    Ed hauled himself out of the big sofa as Mel appeared, wearing what looked to him like a dress made out of black elastic bandages stitched together. It fit closer than any glove. It was