"Maybe he's like Arnie." My mother paused and mouthed, "Gay."

"Solomon isn't gay."

"Are you sure? Have you ever seen him with another woman? Has he ever mentioned another woman?"

"We don't talk about things like that."

My mother gave me a smug, I told you so look.

"We aren't in a hurry to get married," I added.

"Shame. What if he never asks you to marry him?"

"Maybe I'll ask him."

My mother brightened visibly. "Could you?" she asked.

"No!"

"And I thought you were a modern woman." She looked around. "Where's your father?"

"Putting his robe on. His clothes were soaked."

"Oh, I didn't notice."

"Can't think why not," I said with a shake of my head. "Shall I take you both to lunch now Arnie has gone?"

"Everything's ruined here; so that sounds great. I can tidy later. Let me tell your father he can't wear his robe."

We walked to a deli that opened before I was born; and soon became a firm favorite with many local families. We grabbed a table by the window.

"Why aren't you working?" asked my dad. "Is work slow? Do you need a loan?"

"Actually, I have a big case."

"A big one?" Mom asked as I handed her a menu. "A money case? Can you pay your bills? Do you need a loan?"

"Yes. Maybe. Yes, and no. In that order."

"Which order did I ask in?" she asked.

I scanned the menu. "I don't need a loan, but I do need some help."

"Really?" my mother asked incredulously. "For?"

"Surveillance help. Lily suggested I ask you."

"We did ace Spy 101," Mom said proudly as Dad coughed. "And your father was a detective."

"I know. I saw your certificates and I do actually know Dad. Can you help watch a house for a few hours?"

"Watch it do what?"

"Not the house, but all the people coming to and going from the house."

"Can't you ask the owners?"

"I'm trying to be discreet!"

"Don't they know you're watching them?" My mother leaned in, the menu temporarily forgotten. "Are they criminals? Is this like Breaking Bad?"

"No, well, everyone thinks one of them is a criminal, but she's my client; and I'm trying to help her."

"Are they cooking meth? Apparently, all kinds of people are doing that now."

"No! This is not Breaking Bad!"

"Do you remember Jeffrey Carlton from high school? He lived three blocks over. He's doing ten years for cooking meth."

"Dumb kid," muttered my dad.

"Jeffrey Carlton?" The name brought back memories of a loud and arrogant kid from elementary school who only became louder and more arrogant in high school. He largely left me alone, but had a huge crush on Lily. Back then, every boy did. Except Jord, which probably explained why she married him. She always liked a challenge.

"Sold meth to two police officers," Mom continued. "I saw Maureen in the supermarket and she heard it from Esther, who heard it from Jeffrey's aunt. His mother was just so upset. I thought about taking her a pie, but I wasn't sure if she had the meth munchies, and I'd just be feeding an addiction."

"Meth munchies?" I frowned. "I don't know if that exists. Plus, I don't think his mom is a tweaker."

"Maybe it's marijuana munchies?" Mom carried on. "Anyway, very sad. I'm so glad you never dated him. He's probably gay now anyway. Prison can do that to you."

"Tell us about your case," said Dad before Mom could pursue her tangent.

I mouthed my thanks to him as Mom picked up her menu, running her finger along the juices and smoothies.

"My client has a stalker who, we believe, has been inside her home. I need to watch for anyone coming or going so I can work out who has access and might be causing problems."

"You think it's someone close to her?" Dad guessed correctly.

I nodded. "It seems likely. I can't do all the surveillance. I need to interview people and chase down some leads; and I can't do that if I'm parked outside my client's house. Lily is taking a shift, and another friend will too. I thought if you weren't busy, Mom, maybe you'd like to help out? Put your spy training to use?"

How I said that with a straight face I'll never know, but I did, and my mother's expression was my reward. She looked thrilled as she grabbed my hand. "Yes, please," she whispered breathlessly as if I'd offered her an all expenses paid trip around the world. Dad coughed lightly. "Do I need to be armed?"

"No!" we both said loud enough for the next table to turn around and glare at us. "No," I said a little lighter. "No guns. All you need to do is sit in your car and watch the house."

Dad coughed again. I frowned at him.

"I can do that. I could even take photos. I have a digital camera."

"Okay," I agreed. "That could be useful."

"Will you be armed?" Mom asked.

"No."

"What if you get shot or stabbed again? I worry. Are you carrying now?"

"Carrying?" I repeated. She motioned putting her hand under her jacket, and withdrawing her fingers shaped like a pistol as I caught her gist. "Oh no. I barely use my gun unless I really need to."

"Good. I worry about you getting trigger snappy."

"Trigger happy," Dad corrected.

"There's nothing to be happy about pulling a trigger," replied Mom. "But I think better safe and shooting, than sorry and dead. A stakeout sounds nice and safe. I'm glad you asked me."

Dad coughed again. It hit me why in a rush of clarity. My dad felt left out that I hadn't asked him.

"Dad, would you be able to help with some of the surveillance too?" I asked, wondering why it never occurred to me to ask him before. He spent his entire career on the force. He would have been the perfect one to help me the most. Plus, I suspected he was a little bored in his retirement.

"Oh, I don't know," started Dad, his lips twitching at the edges as he desperately tried to mask his eagerness to jump in.

"I'd be really grateful, Dad," I cajoled, playing along.

"I'm so busy these days, but if you insist. If you really need the help, sure! I'll put in a few hours."

"Thank you."

"No problem," he said, waving away my thanks. "Happy to help."

"Graves, Graves, and Graves," said Mom. "Should I print some business cards?"

"No!" Dad and I replied in unison.

Chapter Eight

"How was your day, sweetheart?" Solomon asked. We were walking hand-in-hand out of the movie theater, the crowd around us talking excitedly about the action movie we just sat through. It was hugely fun with enormous explosions, car chases, and a hot romance; the perfect distraction to take my mind off my day.

"My mom tried to set me up with her gay plumber."

"Clearly, no flaws in her plan," said Solomon without missing a beat.

I laughed. "Guess who's hosting family dinner in a couple of days?"

"Garrett," Solomon replied, his voice full of hope.

"Nope."

"Serena."

"No. Try again."