High Noon

Carly’s glass.
    And just when Phoebe was thinking, Nice save, Mama, Essie threw a curve ball. “You ought to ask Duncan over to dinner one night soon, Phoebe.”
    “Oh…I—”
    “A nice family dinner. From what you said when you got home last night, he took you to his family. Now, you should reciprocate. Why don’t you ask him what night’s good for him?”
    “I guess I could.” Complicated, complicated. Why did it have to be complicated? Couldn’t a grown woman just have a simple affair?
    The answer, of course, was no. Not with a daughter, a mother and an honorary older sister living in the same house.
    “Finish that up now, Carly, we don’t want to be late. Oh, I meant to ask. Does anyone know if someone new’s moved into the neighborhood?”
    “Lissette and Morgan Frye’s daughter Mirri’s come for a visit—which rumor has is a euphemism for leaving her no-good husband after she found out he was learning more from his mixed doubles partner at the club than a strong backhand.” Ava topped off Phoebe’s coffee. “Oh, and Delly Porter’s hired herself a French au pair to run herd on those twins of hers. God help the mademoiselle.”
    “What’s Delly going to do?” Essie wondered. “Is she going back to work?”
    “She says having the au pair will give her children a cultural influence, and give her more time for her volunteer work. What she volunteers for, as everyone knows, is shopping five days out of six.”
    “No, I meant a man. Is there a new man in the neighborhood?”
    “Looking to juggle after all?” Ava said with a laugh.
    “I am not.” Amused, Phoebe shook her head. “I thought I saw a new face around, that’s all.” But she hadn’t really seen his face, Phoebe thought now. “A whistler—not wolf whistler, tune whistler. What is that tune? It keeps sticking in my head but I can’t quite place it.”
    As soon as she started to hum, Essie broke in. “ High Noon. You know how I love my old movies. That’s the theme from High Noon with Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. God, what a beauty she was. And him—now that was some handsome man. ‘Do not forsake me, oh, my darlin’,’” she sang in her light, pretty voice.
    “Right, right. That’s the one. Funny sort of song to whistle. Well.” With at least that mystery solved, she shelved the rest. “Carly, get a move on now.”
    The minute they were in the car, Phoebe turned to Carly. “Does it bother you that I’m going out with Duncan? With anyone, really?”
    “No. But if you’re too old for boyfriends, why are you?”
    That one bit you on the ass, didn’t it? “I just mean boyfriend’s kind of a silly term for a grown woman.” A divorced woman with a child, Phoebe thought. “Just friend’s more sensible, I guess.”
    “Celene’s mother sort of brags about her boyfriends. She used to have three, but—”
    “I’m not Celene’s mother. And I don’t know as I approve of her talking about her boyfriends so much around you.”
    “She mostly talks about them to her girlfriends, and Celene hears her. Then we talk about it.”
    “Oh.” Phoebe blew out a breath as she began to drive. “Does it upset Celene that her mother goes out like that?”
    “She likes the babysitter. Terri’s fifteen and they do makeovers and watch TV. And the boyfriends sometimes bring Celene presents, and sometimes they take her places. Like one took her to Six Flags.”
    “I can hear your thinking,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “You’re such a little mercenary.”
    It wasn’t the first time Carly had heard the word, so she grinned, too. “But if you don’t ask for a present, and don’t say would you please, please, take me to Six Flags, it’s not mercenary. Is it? I mean, Gran always says when somebody gives you something, you should thank them and make them pleased they gave it. Even if you don’t like it. That’s manners.”
    “You’re a tricky one, Carly Anne. Slippery as an eel. You make me proud.”
     
    Phoebe returned from a suicide threat that had amounted to a sad and pathetic bid for attention to find Sykes waving her away from the squad room.
    “Just a heads-up, LT. You got the rat squad in your office.”
    “IAB’s in my office?”
    “One of them. Got here about five minutes ago.”
    “Thanks.” She should have known it was coming. Had known, she corrected. But it didn’t make it any less distasteful.
    Lieutenant Blackman from IAB was a salt-and-pepper-headed fifty. He had a sloping belly, a ruddy