vendors were offering free samples. Mallory Square at sunset was an entrepreneur’s playground. Yet Huey sat, uninspired and totally uninvolved. Abby frowned. No wonder…
There were more ways to finish that thought than she cared to contemplate.
She tried to fill in the obvious gap in her father’s merchandising technique. When browsers approached the cart, she offered to show them individual items. She even sold one little girl a flamingo—a sale that wouldn’t have happened had Abby not placed the furry creature in the child’s hands. Meanwhile, Huey read the newspaper.
A tense moment occurred when a boy no older than four came up to the cart and tugged on Huey’s shirtsleeve. With bright, inquisitive eyes, he pointed to Huey’s white beard and asked, “Are you Santa Claus?”
Anticipating a brusque reply, Abby prepared to soothe the child’s hurt feelings. Her dad, however, merely dropped the paper to his lap, leaned forward and said, “You think every man with a beard is Santa Claus?”
The little boy smiled and said, “Yes. But why does Santa have a sore eye?”
Huey grunted. “Good question, kid. Reese, the Red-nosed Reindeer, punched me.”
The boy giggled. “I thought his name was Rudolph.”
Huey gently jabbed the boy in the center of the cartoon on his T-shirt. “Haven’t you ever heard of anyone changing his name to protect the guilty?”
“No. What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Huey grabbed a coconut head from a hook and handed it to the boy. “Here. Merry Christmas.”
His mother nudged him forward a couple of inches. “What do you say, Trevor?”
“Thanks, Santa.” Mother and son headed off toward a performer putting his trained cats through their paces.
Abby stared at Huey for several seconds before saying, “You know something, Poppy?”
He picked up the newspaper again. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me,” he warned.
She kissed his cheek. “Okay, but your soft spot is showing.”
He placed his hand where her lips had been. “Is not.”
She smiled and stuck another head on the empty hook. And then she saw a patrol car slowly pull up to the edge of the harbor. Enough sunlight was left for her to determine that Reese Burkett sat behind the wheel. And he wasn’t alone. Someone was in the passenger seat.
A shiver of anticipation, or dread, or maybe even disappointment, worked its way down her spine, and Abby stepped around the side of the cart to be out of sight. But she knew Reese had seen her. She sensed him watching Huey and her, felt his attention by an involuntary curling of her toes in her sandals.
“What are you hiding back there for?” her dad asked.
“I’m not hiding.” She pointed. “Isn’t that Reese?”
Huey turned in the chair just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Yep. Probably hassling citizens for fun. He ordinarily doesn’t work at night, and never at the sunset ritual.”
Abby feigned an interest in fuzzy stuffed dolphins and peeked at the car. “Who’s with him? It looks like someone with long blond hair.”
“You need glasses, Abigail,” Huey said. “Long blond ears is more like it.”
Abby couldn’t resist; she came around the cart for a closer look. Reese was out of the car and coming toward them. A big yellow dog on a short leash trotted obediently beside him.
The twosome stopped at the cart and Reese smiled at Abby. “I thought you might be here with Huey,” he said.
Huey made a show of rustling the newspaper. “You’re an investigative genius, Burkett,” he said. “No wonder you’re captain of this illustrious police department.”
Reese scowled down at him. “I see you’re feeling better.”
“You want me to really feel better?”
Reese seemed to think about it before saying, “Sure.”
“Tear up your copies of those worthless citations. Then I’ll know you mean it.”
When Abby nudged the back of his chair, Huey mumbled something she was glad she couldn’t hear.
Reese turned his attention to her. “How’s business?”
“Fine. Great,” she lied. “You were looking for us?”
Reese patted the animal’s head, and the dog gazed up at him with huge, adoring eyes. “Just doing rounds.”
She couldn’t help smiling. The dog was overgrown and clumsy-looking, a definite hug magnet. “Is he yours?”
“Yep.”
“What kind is he?”
“A Lab mostly. Name’s Rooster.”
“Rooster?”
“Yeah. I found him outside one of the restaurants in town. He was chasing after some of the chickens that run over the island. All that squawking and barking was upsetting the business owners.”
“That’s what I’ve always said about you,”Huey muttered.
Abby shook her head. “Seems like a nice dog.”
“He is.”
“Well, see you,” she said, with a wave of her hand. Only Reese didn’t leave.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he stated. “I’m off on weekends. Would it be okay if I stopped by your place in the morning?”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“What’s wrong with right now?”
He glanced down at Huey, who was arguing with a few customers over the price of a plastic beach ball. The pregnant woman and her two kids seemed to be winning.
“We should keep this between the two of us.”
Abby shrugged with an indifference she didn’t feel. What could Reese possibly have to say that concerned the two of them? Masking her curiosity behind a flip remark, she said, “I guess this means you’re not canceling Poppy’s fines.”
Reese smiled again, this time an indulgent pull of his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Make it early,” she said. “I’ve got errands to run.”
He tugged on the leash. “No problem. I’m an early riser.”
The yellow dog padded alongside him back to the patrol car, jumped in and
