Free Dating is Murder by Harley Jane Kozak Page B

loved by two German girls, and probably hundreds of American ones. He was over six feet, slim and muscular, with a swimmer’s body, in black denim jeans and black T-shirt. To me, he looked a little like Doc. A taller, younger, handsomer version, but to me, all sexy men looked a little like Doc.
    He spotted us and approached like someone confident of his welcome. He shook hands, then conferred with the waitress who’d materialized, sucked into his magnetic field. Uncle Theo asked for hot water and produced from his cardigan a crumpled tea bag. We’d had the car windows open since Oxnard, and his white hair stuck straight out in every direction, producing a halolike effect. For an instant I was back in high school, suffering from the strain of trying to appear hip for some boy while simultaneously being related to Uncle Theo.
    Rico took a cell phone from his jeans pocket, placed it on the table, and leaned back. “So, okay,” he said. “Annika. Yeah, she hasn’t been around. What’s up with her?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me,” I said.
    “Why would you think that?”
    “Well, I was under the impression—aren’t you her boyfriend?”
    He gave a rueful smile, one corner of his mouth turned up. “That depends on who you’re asking.”
    “Let’s say I’m asking you.”
    “Look. Annie’s great. Got a lot going for her. We hooked up. Fun girl. But if she told you it was, like, serious—” Our waitress set down an ice tea and tried to weave around a cluster of bodies. A man entered the restaurant carrying a baby in a car seat. The car seat got caught in the screen door, requiring people near the door to move and, in a domino effect, the rest of us move accordingly, chairs scooting toward tables.
    “Actually,” I said, “she didn’t talk about you at all. When did you last see her?”
    He shrugged. “Week or so ago. We’d hook up after my chem class, that’s Tuesdays, so . . . Tuesday. Last week.”
    “Not this week?”
    “No. I kind of expected her to call, but . . .” He stirred his ice tea, then looked up through long black lashes. Another half smile. “She didn’t talk about me at all?”
    I smiled back. “Not to me. But to other people, her friend Britta—”
    “Britta.” His smile expanded. “Now there’s a—”
    The baby in the car seat screeched, awakened by a collision with the waitress. I half-stood, propelled by something other than my conscious mind, then sat again. The man put the car seat on the floor and crouched down to unbuckle the screaming baby. I turned to Rico. “So you weren’t serious about Annika?”
    “I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but we weren’t getting married or anything. Come on, I’m twenty-one. Who needs that?” He laughed. “I’d like to catch my dad’s face, seeing her at the dinner table. Yeah, Dad, she’s a professional babysitter. Doesn’t go to college. Oh, and by the way, she’s German. Yeah, like that’s gonna go over.”
    He looked a little less attractive to me. “Did Annika know you didn’t consider her . . . relationship material?”
    “I guess. I mean, her visa’s up next month, what’s she expect?” His eyes dropped. “I try not to lead them on, but girls seem to . . . I don’t know . . .”
    The baby continued to cry, sounding like a cat. “Rico,” I said, “was Annika into drugs?”
    He looked at me quickly, then away. “No. Not Annie.”
    “Sex?” The word just popped out of me.
    He looked at me again, and smiled. “You mean did she like it? Uh, yeah. As far as I could tell.” There was a moment of actual heat between us. Good heavens.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to get personal, I’m just trying to figure out what happened to her. Actually, I’m trying to figure out who she was. I get a different picture from everyone I talk to.” Math whiz, gunrunner, drug user, sex fiend. Babysitter.
    He chugged his ice tea, then set down the empty glass. “It’s the accent. I thought it was hot at