Death by Tea (6 page)

“I went on a date.” It came out at a near whisper.

“One date.” She gave me a flat look. “And?”

“Well . . .”

She took my arm again and steered me down the walk. “That settles it. We're going shopping, and then afterward we're going to have a little fun.”

6

“Bowling?” I said, staring at the building. “You can't be serious.”

Vicki grinned at me as she started for the front doors. “It'll be fun.”

I wasn't so sure about that, but I followed her in, anyway.

Vicki had driven to the bowling alley after we'd finished shopping. She'd refused to tell me where we were going, rightfully assuming I'd complain about it. I mean, bowling? Really? The last time I'd gone bowling was in high school, and that had turned into a disaster. I'd stepped on the slippery lane after tossing my ball, causing my feet to go out from under me as if I'd tried to walk across an icy lake. Vicki had been there, with a large portion of my high school class. She knew how mortified I'd been, how I'd sworn off the game since.

And yet, here we were.

I hoped the few bags of clothes I'd bought when we'd gone shopping earlier would be okay in my car. I'd left the Focus sitting outside Scream for Ice Cream, locked, sure, but with how my luck had been going lately, I wouldn't be shocked to come back to find the thing stripped down to the frame.

McNally's Alleys—another fine specimen of Pine Hills's naming—looked like any other bowling alley. There were eight lanes, three of them taken, and a small arcade off to the side, where a pair of college-aged kids stood, heads nearly touching as they giggled over a pinball machine. Ah, young love.

Vicki led the way to the counter, where a husky middle-aged woman sat. Her hair was flat and tired, as were her eyes. She looked as if she'd spent the last few years sitting in that exact same spot, watching the endless routine of balls rolling down the lane, crashing into pins that would reset after only a few seconds. When she turned her head our way, she showed no reaction.

“Just the two of us,” Vicki said, approaching the counter. She gave the woman our shoe sizes, which surprised me. I couldn't believe she remembered mine after all this time.

The woman grunted and spun to pick out a pair of blue and red shoes for Vicki and a pair of green and pink ones for me. The color combination left a lot to be desired, but at least the shoes looked somewhat new. She sprayed them each once, killing any remaining bacteria and germs, before setting them onto the counter.

“That'll be fifty even,” the woman said, sounding as bored as she looked.

“Fifty!” My eyes just about bugged out of my head. When did bowling get so expensive?

Vicki paid for both of us without complaint, and then scooped up her shoes.

“Lane three,” the woman said, gesturing toward the lane with the big number three over it. “Once the first game starts, you have an hour. It'll be ten dollars per person for each hour after.”

I picked up my shoes and followed Vicki toward the indicated lane. I could get through an hour, and would refuse to stay any longer. Fifty bucks was too much for throwing a ball at pins, and while another hour would cost only twenty dollars more, I still felt guilty that she'd paid for me when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself.

“Relax,” Vicki said as she sat to change her shoes. “We're supposed to have some fun here.”

I snorted as I pulled off my own shoes. “Fun. Kinda hard after, well . . . you know.”

Vicki shook her head. “We're not going to think about that. We'll let the police take care of their business and then we'll get back to work. Life will go on like normal. I won't stress over it.” She leveled a finger at me. “Neither will you.”

“Yeah, okay.” I found it highly unlikely I'd be able to ignore David's murder. First off, it had happened in Death by Coffee. It's kind of hard to forget something like that. Second, Buchannan thought I was involved somehow. Even if I wanted to forget about it ever happening, he'd be sure to remind me every chance he got.

Vicki finished putting on her shoes first and then wandered off to find a ball she liked. They were lined up against the far wall, presumably placed by weight if the numbers on the wall were any indication. I knew how quickly organization got ruined, so I doubted they were placed correctly. Most people didn't pay attention to where they picked something up, depositing it instead wherever was convenient when they were done. Even as I watched, Vicki went to pick up a ball that was on the lighter end and just about dropped it on her foot when it was heavier than she'd expected.

“This is going to suck,” I grumbled, getting to my feet. My shoes were a little tight, but serviceable. I guess my feet had grown more than I thought. It was either that or these shoes were sized incorrectly.
One hour
, I reminded myself. I could do an hour.

The sound of balls crashing into pins wasn't quite deafening, but it was loud. The acoustics of McNally's could have been better. Instead of dampening the sound, the walls seemed to amplify it.

Vicki found a ball just as I approached. She grinned as she hefted it and then carried it back to our lane. “I'll get our names put into the machine,” she called over her shoulder.

I eyed the bowling balls distrustfully a moment before picking up what I hoped would be one of the lightest, but with large-enough finger holes to fit me. I didn't have sausage fingers or anything, but I didn't have the super-thin appendages Vicki sported. I shoved my fingers inside, found it to be snug but not so much that they'd get stuck, and then carried the ball over to where Vicki was waiting.

“You're up,” she said, with a grand gesture toward the lane.

I approached it with a hint of trepidation. I so didn't want a repeat of my high school fall. It hadn't hurt much more than my pride, but I remembered the sound of laughter, of my butt hitting the floor, feet flying up over my head. Just thinking about it caused a blush to rise up my neck.

“I will not fall. I will not fall.” I repeated it like a mantra as I scuffed my feet across the floor. I stopped about a foot from the line and heaved the ball down the lane. It hit the floor with a thud that caused me to wince, bounced twice, drifted to the left, and then promptly went into the gutter. I kept my head down as I went to the ball return and waited. I could almost feel eyes on me from nearby lanes. At least there was a lane between us and the nearest group of people.

My second try was better. I took out three pins, and then went to sit down while Vicki took her shot. As she weighed the ball in her hand and judged her toss, I looked around at the other groups in the room.

While I'd been embarrassing myself with my first throw, one of the groups had left, leaving only two still bowling, other than Vicki and me. The couple was still in the arcade, lost in their own little world.

My eyes traveled to the group near the far wall, in lane eight. It was a group of four, two elderly men and what was presumably their wives. They had on matching bowling shirts, telling me they were more than likely in a league together. I watched a woman who looked to be ninety if she was a day snatch up her ball, stride to the line, and toss it without considering it for more than a heartbeat. The ball hit the floor and made a satisfying hum as it sped down the lane. It crashed into the pins, sending all ten of them flying as if a bomb had gone off beneath them.

I groaned and looked away. Great, I was going to get shown up by someone's grandmother. It was a good thing Paul wasn't there to see me embarrass myself.

I turned the other way, to lane one, where three guys were playing. They were my age, and all of them looked as if they could have been on the cover of
GQ
or some other high-end magazine where all the men looked yummy in suits—unbuttoned or not. Two of the men were up by the lane. One was ready to throw while his buddy teased him mercilessly. I glanced toward the other man, who was seated, and found him looking at me.

I jerked my head away to watch Vicki as she took her second shot. She only had a pair of pins remaining, one right next to the other. She lined up her shot and strode forward with confidence. Her ball didn't move quite as fast as the old woman's had, but it was right on target. Both pins went down, and she did a little hop and a skip as she spun with a clap of her hands.

“Spare!”

“Nice shot,” I said, rising. I snuck a glance back at the men. The guy wasn't watching me any longer but was instead getting his own shot ready. His dark, near-black hair was clipped short and styled. He was wearing a lightweight button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled so as not to get in the way. There wasn't a tan line or anything, but something about the way he held himself told me he normally wore a watch. Even with the lane between us, I could tell he wasn't wearing a ring.

I felt my face get hot as I turned toward my lane.
What are you thinking, Krissy,
I reprimanded myself as I approached the line. The guy was hot, but I was already sorta, not quite taken by Paul Dalton.

I snuck one more quick glance to find him finishing up his shot—a strike, of course. He turned my way and grinned as if he'd known I'd been watching, causing me to just about drop my own ball as I spun to look away.

Suddenly, I didn't want to look like a fool and mess this up. I eyed the pins at the far end of the lane as I adjusted my grip on the ball. They stood there, mocking me with their innocent appearance. The lane, I noted, sloped toward the gutters with only a thin strip of flatness in the middle. I aimed for that as I started forward, and let fly.

The ball didn't bounce this time. It hit the floor and crept slowly down the lane. About halfway down, it started drifting to the left again.

“No, no, no. Come on,” I muttered as it neared the pins. “Don't make me look like an idiot.”

The ball didn't cooperate. It nudged the far back pin, which wobbled but didn't go down.

“Almost!” Vicki called cheerfully. “You'll get it next time.”

Mortified, I trudged back to the ball return, picked up my ball, and then carried it back to the line. I knew I was still being watched, but at this point I just wanted to be done. I lined up my shot, tossed the ball toward the center, and watched as it guttered out a good foot from the pins.

Vicki, oblivious to my embarrassment, leapt up. “Isn't this fun?” she asked, going to her ball.

“Yeah,” I said, not feeling it at all. I glanced toward lane one to find the other two men there, changing their shoes. It appeared they were done and leaving.
Thank God for small favors.
At least now I could stop embarrassing myself in front of a cute guy.

“You should aim to the right.” The voice came from behind me.

I yelped and spun to find the man with dark hair standing behind my seat. He was leaning, arms straight, hands pressed against the back of my chair, as he smiled down at me.

“Excuse me?” I asked, heart hammering. Why did everyone always have to sneak up on me?

“When you throw,” he said. “You cause a natural spin on the ball that sends it to the left. If you aimed to the right of center more, you'd have a better shot at hitting the pins.”

Oh, God, kill me now.
My face felt hot as I forced a smile. “Thanks,” I said. “This is my first time in a really long time.”

He chuckled. “I can tell. But that's okay. You should see me when we go golfing. I might as well dress for fishing with as often as my ball hits the water.” He straightened and held out a hand. “Will Foster.”

“Krissy Hancock,” I said, shaking his hand. I noted he was now wearing that watch I'd assumed he had. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” His eyes flickered toward Vicki and then back to me. “If you ever want some more practice, I'd be happy to show you,” he said. “I'm not as good as Darrin and Carl over there, but I can hold my own.”

I assumed Darrin and Carl were his two buddies but didn't ask. I was too busy trying to determine if he was doing what I thought he was doing.
Could a cute guy actually be flirting with me?
It seemed ludicrous.

“I, uh . . .” My vocabulary suddenly took a break and left me sitting there like a dope, mouth opening and closing while I thought of something to say.

Will laughed and glanced toward his friends. They were busy with their own conversation, pretending not to watch what he was doing. “It's okay if you don't want to,” he said. “I know this is kind of sudden.” Was that a ring of red creeping up his neck?

Oh, my God! He
is
flirting with me!

“I don't know if I like bowling,” I said after I managed to swallow back my pounding heart. “I feel stupid every time I get up there.”

“Me too,” Will said with another laugh. His eyes were sparkling. They were a deep brown that made me think of warm, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. “But you'll get over it eventually.” He cleared his throat as his friends started our way. “But if you aren't interested . . .”

I was struck with a sudden fear that he would turn and walk away and I'd never see him again. It was stupid considering my heart belonged to Paul Dalton, but I couldn't help it. It wasn't every day a guy hit on me with Vicki in the room.

“I am!” I just about shouted it. “Well, maybe.” I looked down at my hands. Why couldn't I say what I meant? “Maybe learning wouldn't be so bad.”

“We've got to get back,” one of Will's friends said as he approached. He winked at me before patting Will on the shoulder. “You can hit on the girls later.”

Will checked his watch and frowned. “I'll be out in a minute.”

His friends, grinning, walked past him, talking and laughing. I knew, without having to hear them, that they were making fun of me.