Dusted by Holly Jacobs Page B

guard-dog duties very seriously and would protect Mr. Mello at all costs.
    “Mr. Mello, I’m Mr. Macy. I’m investigating your neighbor’s thefts. They said you have a key to the house?”
    He smiled, not in a scary, I’m-a-psychopath-and-want-to-murder-you-or-at-least-steal-your-art sort of way, but in a I’m-a-big-guy-but-I’m-very-sweet way. “Please come in. And you are?” he asked me.
    “Quincy Mac. I’m one of the owners of Mac’Cleaners, the Gifford’s cleaning service.”
    “Oh, Miriam seems to feel you stole the painting.” There was a lilt in his voice that said he found this notion amusing.
    I couldn’t decide if he felt that way because he thought we did it or that we couldn’t have done it. “I don’t think she’s blaming me specifically but rather one of my staff. And while that particular employee is not known for being overly reliable, she’s not a thief. Or burglar.”
    “And you both came to see me because I have a key and you want to know if I did it.” He laughed. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t admit it. Unless you were The Closer . Now, there’s a detective that can make people confess to just about anything.”
    “You watched that, too?” I asked. “I hated when it was canceled. I think I was their number one fan.”
    “Oh, yeah?” he challenged with a smile. “Ask me my dog’s name.”
    I had a suspicion, but I obliged. “What’s your dog’s name, Mr. Mello?”
    “Julian,” he corrected. “And this is Brenda Leigh. And for the record, I spell Leigh L-E-I-G-H, which is the correct way. Not L-E-E.”
    “You might win, Julian, but I’d be the show’s number two fan. I wish I was still acting. I’d have tried for a role on the show, even if I was just a dead body.”
    “Especially if you’d been a dead body.”
    I laughed. So did he. Then Julian said, “I didn’t steal their art and replace it with forgeries.”
    Now, this might sound as if I’m a very bad amateur detective, but I believed him and said as much. “I believe you. But maybe you heard or saw something suspicious over the last few months? The Giffords had more paintings replaced with forgeries than the other homes. I don’t think someone managed that in just one visit, which means they had to be in and out.”
    “Sorry. I bought the house because it was private. That’s nice for me but doesn’t help you. The only thing I’ve ever heard is occasionally some music if the Giffords have a gathering outside. That’s rare.”
    “Have you ever been inside their house?”
    He laughed. “I’m a football player. I don’t exactly belong in their social circle. I know that I don’t because Mrs. Gifford said those exact words to me. You are just a football player .” He had her haughty tone pegged.
    “She not impressed by maids either, if it makes you feel better.”
    “We’re kindred spirits,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to go out with me some night?”
    I was the thirty-eight year old mother of three teen boys. I’d dated sporadically over the years since my divorce but not often. And I’d never had so many men flirt with me or ask me out. I sucked in my stomach, something I’d been trying to remember to do, and I wondered if that was the reason?
    “Mr. Mello—”
    “Julian,” he corrected.
    “Julian, I’m so flattered you asked, but I’m seeing someone.”
    “Just seeing?” he asked, a gleam in his eye. “I mean you’re not engaged or married or anything?”
    I couldn’t help it, I was charmed. “No, neither of those. But despite the fact I’m flattered, very flattered, I still have to say no.”
    “Then you’re not officially off the market and I have a shot. Why don’t we meet for coffee some morning? That’s not a real date it’s just…coffee.”
    “Really, I’m flattered, but no. I’m not a dating-two-men at once sort of woman.”
    He sighed a long, deep sigh. “Well, if you dump this other guy, call me.” He reached to the table and pulled a wallet out