Like Pizza and Beer. Elle Parker

      It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself standing alone outside Ed’s Garage wondering what to do next. I was supposed to meet Seth here for dinner, but he was nowhere to be found. Seth Donnelly is my best friend and my mechanic. He also happens to be my boyfriend. If that’s what we’re calling it now. I still don’t know for sure. I’d already tried to call him once, but it went to voicemail. None of this would be especially unusual, except he was the one who’d suggested the date.

      I got out of the car and went to peer through the office windows. I already knew the doors were locked up tight from the first time I’d been here. On the off chance I had the details wrong, I’d gone back to my place to see if Seth was there. He wasn’t.

      My cellphone rang, and I pulled it from my pants pocket, answering without looking. “Dino Martini.”

      “Hiya, sexy,” came Seth’s voice.

      “Where in the hell are you?” I snapped. “I’m at the garage, and you’re not. The last time I got a call from you when you were supposed to be here, but weren’t, it didn’t go down well for us.”

      That time, the call had led to the two of us chasing illegal drugs all over Miami while gun-toting thugs chased us. Just to make it interesting, one of Miami’s big baddies expected us to do it all in record time or suffer the consequences. He’d given Seth a taste of what those might be so everyone was clear, and the whole thing still made me a little edgy.

      “Relax. This is going to go down just fine for both of us. In fact, if you play your cards right, I might go down for you.”

      “That would be easier for you to do if we were in the same place.”

      “Which is why you need to come to me, because where I am is better than where you are.”

      “So, where are you?” This was starting to sound like a vaudeville act.

      “Not telling,” Seth said with a smug voice.

      I sighed. “Then how am I supposed to come to you?”

      “You’re the detective, you have to figure it out.”

      “Seth, what the hell are you talking about?” I walked out into the parking lot and looked around to see if I could spot him hiding or watching me from an upstairs window.

      “If you want me, you have to find me. It’s like a scavenger hunt, and I’m your prize.” He sounded exceedingly pleased with himself.

      “You’re not serious.”

      “Oh, yes I am. I’ll even give you a hint. I’m not at Mama Gets anymore.” He hung up on me before I could fish for more information.

      That was fine. Mama Gets is a great sandwich shop within walking distance of Seth’s place. It’s also about halfway to the beach, and since I heard the surf pounding in the background during our phone call, I had a pretty good idea where he was. It made sense. With Seth’s patience level, he wasn’t going to make it too hard to get to him.

      I pulled Matilda into a proper parking space and locked my briefcase in the trunk. Matilda is my burgundy 1966 Mustang convertible, named after the old ladies she resembles when her white rag-top is up.

      The weather was gorgeous, so the walk to the beach was pleasant, and only took me fifteen minutes. When I got to the end of the sidewalk at the public access, I kicked off my shoes and socks and rolled up the cuffs of my slacks before heading off over the sand to find Seth. The sun hung low over the Gulf, and it was hard to spot him in the fading light, even with his telltale red hair. I finally found him camped out on one of the wide rental beach chairs scattered along the coast. He had the shell up, but given the hour, I gathered that was more for privacy than shade.

      “You pay for this?” I asked, dropping my shoes in the sand and sitting on a corner of the chair.

      “Sort of,” Seth said, grinning at me. “I do work for the guy who owns these, and he told me to feel free to use them anytime. You got here pretty quick. I’m impressed.”

      “Well, you didn’t make it real difficult to narrow down your general location. But, how were you expecting me to find you out here in the dark?”

      He held up a lighter and snapped on the flame, waving it around in front of me. I rolled my eyes. He said, “Not only would you have found me just fine, but since you don’t consider it a real date without symbolic fire involved, I’m covered on that score too.”

      “Lots of people put candles on the dinner table. My ma lit candles for dinner every night of my life. You don’t get to make me out to be some kind of romantic sap until I light candles in the bathroom and shove you into a bubble bath.”

      Seth shook his head and opened the large bag sitting on my side of the chair. He produced two wrapped sandwiches, two bottles of beer and a bag of chips. “You like Mama’s seafood salad, right?”

      “Yep. Thanks.” I moved the bag so I could sit next to him and look out across the water. Orange and pink streaks filled the sky, and two pelicans flew past.

      “Listen, I need to ask you a favor.” Seth licked a gob of mayonnaise off his wrist.

      “Oh? What kind of favor?”

      “A professional one. I intend to pay you in blow jobs.”

      “Are you serious? You mean like hire me for a case?”

      “Yeah.”

      I could tell by his demeanor we weren’t talking about strong-arming someone who’d welshed on a bet, or doing collections. I did those kinds of things for him all the time.

      “So, spill it,” I said. I took a sip of beer and shifted to face him.

      “All right. You know that jackass my sister’s been living with for the better half of forever?”

      Seth’s sister, Molly, was about four years older than him chronologically, and at least forty in terms of maturity. There was no mistaking the family resemblance. She had the same blue eyes and the same red hair, which she wore chin length and usually as out of control as Seth’s. She worked as a lab tech for a hospital in Tampa, and Seth often referred to her as

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