Dirty Martini

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew the car door was opening. Wilbur held the door, gri

“Are you sure this is okay?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t want to seem grateful.

“It’s a pleasure. Are you hungry?”

“No. Just tired.”

“I have an extra bedroom. It hasn’t been used in a while, but I have some clean linen in the closet.”

I restrained myself from saying thank you, and followed Wilbur into his house.

“It’s the last door at the end of the hall. Let me get you some fresh sheets.”

I frankly didn’t care if the sheets were fresh or soiled, as long as they weren’t covered with bees. I was so tired I could sleep on anything. But when I entered the room and flipped on the switch, all of my exhaustion disappeared.

There were three large picture frames on the wall, each containing dozens of photographs in individual borders. And I was the subject of every picture.

The first frame was all from my youth. Baby pictures. School pictures. I’d seen most of them before, in my mother’s photo albums.

But the second frame contained entirely new pictures. New to me, at least. They were from my teenage years. I wasn’t posing for any of these; they’d been taken from the side, from behind things like cars or trees, or from a distance using a long lens. There were a few closer, clearer shots; pictures of me at my high school graduation, college graduation, police academy graduation, shaking the mayor’s hand.

In the third frame, my wedding. My eyes welled up. I had no wedding pictures, and to see me in my wedding dress was an unbelievable gift. It was a little blurry, as if taken in a rush, but I touched the glass and a sob escaped my throat. Next to it, me walking down the aisle, with Mom. Exchanging rings with Alan. Even one of us kissing.

“Oh, my. I’m sorry, Jacqueline. I should have told you about those.”

I looked at Wilbur, standing in the doorway with some folded sheets. “You were… at my wedding?”

“I had to stay in the background. I didn’t want your mother to see me. Jacqueline, I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of crazy stalker-”

“And at my graduations?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean any harm. I was so proud of you and-”

I opened up my arms and held him, held him so tight, I thought I might break him.

“You actually do care, don’t you?”

“Of course I care. You’re my daughter. I never stopped loving you.”

I sniffled, rubbed my eyes, regained a little composure.

“I missed you at my wedding.”

“I was there. Hiding in the shadows.”

“I missed dancing with you. I remember thinking, at the reception, that there was no father-daughter dance, and it made me sad.”

Wilbur said, “Hold that thought,” and then turned on the clock radio next to the dresser. An oldies station came on, a classic Sinatra tune. Wilbur bowed.

“May I have this dance?”

I giggled, suddenly feeling like a little girl again. “I think I can squeeze you in.”

He was a better dancer than I was, and after a few failed attempts at spins, we settled for holding each other and moving in small circles.

“You know,” I said, “I’m seeing someone else now.”

“Who?”

“His name is Latham.”

“The accountant? The one from the Gingerbread Man case?”

I held him at arm’s length.

“How do you know about that?”

“Want to see my scrapbooks with all of your press clippings?”

I laughed, hugging him again.

“Maybe later, Dad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, putting my head on his shoulder. “Later, for sure.”

EPILOGUE

Three Weeks Later

I WATCHED LATHAM FROM BEHIND. He was standing between a set of parallel bars, his effervescent physical therapist urging him to take another step. He did, followed by another, and another, until he reached the end of the bars and had to turn around. I walked up behind him and kissed his cheek.

“Hi, honey.”

“Are you here to save me, Jack? It’s like a prison camp. Terrible food, unbearable torture.”

“Can I borrow him for a minute, Julie?” I asked the therapist.

“Just for a minute. Then we have to do our sets.”

Latham rolled his eyes in mock horror. “God, I hate sets. Carry me out of here, Jack. I don’t need to walk anymore. Walking is overrated.”

“Latham, I need to be serious for a moment. Can you do that?”

“Sure.”

I breathed deep, let it out slow.

“I know we said we weren’t going to talk about engagements and marriage until you’re a hundred percent again. But that’s not working for me.”

Latham stared at me so deeply I felt he could read my thoughts.

“What are you saying, Jack?”

I clapped my hands once, and the mariachi trio entered, filling the hospital gym with music. Latham gri

“Latham Conger, I care about you more than any man I’ve ever met, and I don’t want to wait to be engaged because every minute we’re not together is a minute I’m dying inside.”

“Really? Dying inside?”

I took his hand and tugged the ring out of my pocket. A gold band with a single diamond set inside. I was scared, but if I could handle bees crawling all over me, I could handle anything.

“Will you-”

“Wrong hand, Jack.”

I grabbed his other hand.

“Will you-”

“Wow, that’s a nice ring.”

“Latham Conger,” I said, loudly so he wouldn’t interrupt me again, “will you marry me?”

He smiled at me, and my heart melted.

“Yes. I will.”

Acknowledgments

FOR MY THIRD JACK DANIELS THRILLER, Rusty Nail, I WAS on tour for more than three months. I visited over six hundred bookstores in twenty-seven states, and drove 13,500 miles. While touring, I met more than eleven hundred wonderful booksellers, and promised I would thank them in the acknowledgments of this book. After all, you do all the work!

If your name was accidentally omitted or misspelled (it’s not my fault, I swear!), e-mail me through my website, www.JAKonrath.com, and we’ll fix it for future editions of Dirty Martini.

Thank you so very much for all of your help. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today. Booksellers rock!

BOOKSELLERS:

Trish Abood, Cynthia Abraham, Al Abramson, Marsha Acevedo, Jen-na Acree, Matt Adair, Monica Adams, Nikki Adams, Starr Adamson, Mary Adkins, Jamie Agnew, Robin Agnew, Doris Ahrens, Augie Aleksy, Tracy Aleksy, Betsy Alexander, Gretchen Alexander, Timothy Alexander, Irwin Alexis, Manuel Aliceq, Jessica Allen, Nicholas Allen, Alex Almieda, Ashley Altado