A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(123)

As Sam spoke, her body became more and more relaxed, melding into Abby’s. A snuggle sandwich. Abby etched it in her mind, making sure to remember this moment forever.

“I want to take Pretzel for a walk today,” Ben said happily when Sam paused for air.

“I don’t think we can take Pretzel for a walk,” Abby said, caressing his hair.

“Why not? We take Sam’s stupid pet for a walk.”

“Because my pet isn’t disgusting,” Sam said.

“Mom! She said my pets are disgusting.”

“Sam, don’t say that. Ben’s pets are very nice.”

Sam snorted and then suddenly tensed. “What the . . . Ben, did you bring your spider here?”

Abby had turned to look at Ben when she felt the gentle tickle of a spidery leg. She shrieked, leaping out of the bed, the drowsiness in her body evaporating.

“What’s the matter, Mom?” Sam grinned at her. “I thought Ben’s pets are nice.”

“I didn’t bring Jeepers here,” Ben said defensively. “Sam was tickling you with her finger.”

“Oh god,” Abby groaned, trying to soothe her hammering heart. “You are a terrible daughter.”

“Did you hear how loud she shrieked?” Sam whispered, smiling at Ben.

Ben giggled. Sam tickled him. His giggling turned to laughter.

It was a perfect Saturday morning.





CHAPTER 83


“I’m joining a table for two,” Abby told the hostess. “Reserved for Jonathan Carver?”

“Absolutely, this way please,” the young hostess said, leading her into the dimly lit restaurant.

Abby took off her coat and slung it on her arm as she followed. She wore her khaki off-the-shoulder dress and her over-the-knees gray boots. Dressed to kill. Even Sam had conceded that Abby’s outfit was “not bad.” As far as Abby was concerned, that was high praise from her teenage daughter.

Carver sat in the corner of the restaurant in a private booth. The padded seat was a circular bench around the table. Abby smiled at him as she slid in to join him. Carver had called that morning and asked if she wanted to meet for dinner. She’d suggested meeting for lunch, assuming he wanted to go over the case summary. Flustered, he’d clarified that he was asking her out.

And now, there she was.

“I already ordered a bottle of red wine,” he said, gesturing at the bottle on the table.

“Is it a good wine?” Abby asked, picking up her glass.

“Absolutely. Because I told our waiter I want a good red wine bottle. That’s how I literally phrased it.”

She sipped from her glass, looking at him over the rim. She’d never seen him dressed up before. A dark sweater over a blue shirt, looking casual with a hint of fashionable taste. Was the taste his? Or did it belong to one of his numerous sisters? Or maybe an ex-girlfriend?

The waitress came over, and Carver ordered the spaghetti alle vongole. Abby asked for the butternut squash tortellini, which she’d glimpsed on a neighboring table and instantly craved. The waitress tapped on her small tablet, whisked the menus away, and left.

“How are things at home?” Carver asked. “Back to normal? I mean, with your daughter and everything.”

“If by ‘back to normal’ you mean she mostly ignores me and rolls her eyes when I talk to her, then yes, they’re back to normal. I’m getting things ready for Ben’s birthday party.”

“Oh.” Carver sipped from his own glass. “So . . . what does that mean? Making a cake and buying M&M’S?”

Abby grinned at his naivete. “Well, M&M’S can be contaminated with peanuts, so that could kill at least two of the children in attendance unless I’m ready to stab them with an EpiPen. We have a very health-conscious group of mothers in the school, so I had to give up Smarties and Skittles as refreshments even though Ben loves them, or I would be burned at the stake. I am making a chocolate cake, which got a grudging approval after I refused to make a carrot cake. And the birthday party intersects with the marriage of one of Ben’s friend’s aunts, so I had to go through a fifteen-minute conversation with the mother in which she made it clear that her son really wanted to attend, but they just can’t, and I had to explain we’d have scheduled it on a different day if we only knew. There was a last-minute cancellation by Professor Boggle—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Professor Boggle is a sort of scientist for hire for birthday parties. But he canceled because his father died. So I had to find a last-minute substitution, and it was either Dowey the Clown or Torrinimo the Magnificent Magician. I went with the magician because the clown sounded sleazy on the phone. My son hates magicians, so I needed to find a way to tailor the act to his taste. Ever try to convince a magician to pull a snake out of the hat instead of a rabbit? Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m a professional negotiator.” Abby paused to sip from her wine. “So yeah. Making a cake and buying some M&M’S.”

“Oh.” Carver mulled it over. “Would they really burn you at the stake for Smarties? That sounds harsh. Do we even have stakes?”

“Every neighborhood has stakes now. We only use them to burn mothers who failed as a parent.”

“Dads get a free pass?”