Free Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) by Joanne Pence Page B

the door, and couldn’t help but wish Richie was bolder than she was, and would come to her room.
    But she knew he would never do it, not when she had made her feelings about that quite clear.

     
     
     
    CHAPTER 9
     
    Rebecca awoke to the sun shining into her room and Spike scratching at the door. She glanced at her cell phone, surprised to find it was already 9:00 A.M. She had either slept through her alarm, or turned it off in her sleep.
    She raked her f ingers through her hair, and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up. She needed to call Eastwood and tell him not to worry. She was rarely late, and he might think something had happened to her after her horrible Saturday night.
    Spike again clawed at the door and whimpered. “Don’t do that, Spike,” she said. “You’re a guest here. Don’t mess up the door. Just wait, I’ll take you outside.”
    She got out of bed. She slept in what was basically an over-sized sweatshirt with the sleeves cut to her elbows. It was so thick, unrevealing and sexless she thought nothing of walking out of the bedroom in it. She hadn’t brought a bathrobe with her because she didn’t own one.
    She opened the door just a crack and heard some noises coming from the kitchen. Richie must be awake already, and was hopefully making coffee. “Let’s go, Spike,” she said softly, letting him out of the bedroom.
    He raced down hall, his little legs pumping so fast they were a blur. He skidded across the living room’s hardwood floor, ran into the kitchen … and that was when Rebecca heard a high-pitched shriek. She ran through the house as barking and a loud female voice bellowing words she didn’t understand came from the kitchen.
    “No! No! Aspet’! Lasciami! Richie! Che schifozz’?! Richieeee!”
    Rebecca froze in the doorway to see Carmela Amalfi, Richie’s mother, sitting on the kitchen counter, kicking her feet to keep Spike away from her as he jumped up and down, sometimes springing so high he nearly reached the countertop, barking the whole time.
    She scooped Spike up and rushed him out the back door, then turned around. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Ma!”
    She heard Richie’s voice, spun to face him, and swallowed. Hard. He was barefoot, wearing pajamas bottoms, and pulling a big, loose T-shirt over his head. His chest, she couldn’t help but notice, was a lot more well-toned and muscular than she would have suspected.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “Help me down.” Carmela ordered.
    Rebecca had to wonder how the little woman got up on the counter in the first place. She wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t very tall and was definitely pear-shaped.
    Richie put his hands on her waist and Carmela held his shoulders as he lowered her.
    “Basta! Scorciamend’!” she cried, waving her hands, as soon as her toes touched the floor. “ Ma che cozz’u fai, Richie? What’s going on here? ”
    “Nothing.” he said. “Uh…you know Reb…uh, Becky.”
    She glared at Rebecca, her lips a thin line. “Becky? I thought you said her name was Reba.” To Rebecca, the way Carmela looked at her, her name was Mud.
    “My name is Rebecca,” she said. “And I’m here because—”
    From behind his mother, Richie was vigorously shaking his head, and wildly sliding his fingers under his chin in the classic movieland signal for “Cut.” as in “Don’t tell her what’s happening.” Rebecca didn’t know why he didn’t want his mother to know, but she had to respect that.
    “Because?” Carmela asked, her hawk -like nose high in the air as her mouth scrunched and her black eyes narrowed as she took in their states of undress, then zeroed in on Richie. “Perch é?”
    “Because we’re crazy about each other.” Richie scooted to Rebecca’s side and wrapped an arm around her. “That’s the way it is, Ma.”
    “Humph. There’s more going on here. I thought so when you showed up at church yesterday. Not that it wasn’t about time.” Carmela’s harsh gaze leaped