Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

tonight?”
    “I have to work.”
    “Tomorrow then. I’ll make something here.”
    “No. I want to take you out.”
    “I’d rather just wear jeans and put my feet up.” Why stand on ceremony with a man you’ve been dating for more than a year?
    “Okay, I’ll cook.”
    “Wow. You’re taking reconciliation to dizzying heights.”
    “I’ve been taking cooking classes.”
    “If you’d told me that, I would have called sooner.”
    “You love me for myself.”
    “That and your purple prose.”
    * * *
     
    I had a morning court appearance and didn’t get to the office ‘till nearly noon. Imagine my surprise to find my secretary knitting; knitting something white and dainty and very small. Far too small for the clammy hands of a tall chap in a schlumpy outfit. He looked like someone playing dolls with his daughter. Daughter! What was I thinking of? And yet there was a fifty-fifty chance he was going to have one. I thought I’d better take time out and get used to the idea. I said, “Don’t forget to purl.”
    “Pearl. That’s it! We’ll name her after Janis Joplin.”
    “What if it’s a boy?”
    “Jimi.”
    “Not Elvis?” I was sorry the instant I said it.
    “Elvis. Better yet.”
    He was capable of going through with it. Even if Mickey managed a halfway-Jewish-sounding name that Mom and Dad could live with—like David, say—he’d probably call the kid El and we’d all end up doing it. Depressing, but that was the least of the Schwartz family problems-to-be. I was just going into a black reverie, imagining conversations with Mom that would spook a shrink, when Alan spoke again: “Your dad’s on his way over. He wants to take you to lunch.”
    “He does? Great.”
    “I think it’s time he knew about the baby.”
    Goose bumps started forming on my extremities. “What are you getting at?”
    “How’s this? He comes in, sees me knitting, and says, ‘New hobby, Alan?’ And I say, ‘Not exactly, Mr. Schwartz. It’s just that I don’t know how Mickey and I are going to support little Pearl or Elvis on the pittance I make here, so I’m just trying to save a few precious pennies on bunting.’ Then he says…”
    “Very funny, Alan.”
    “Of course, if I were to get a raise it wouldn’t be necessary.”
    I did owe him a raise. At least, most decent employees should get a raise after a year’s faithful service. But Kruzick’s work was distinctly slipshod and he was about as faithful as a tomcat—every time he had an audition for some amateur production he left Chris and me to fend for ourselves. I said, “Pearl can starve before I’ll raise you a nickel.”
    “You’d starve your own niece?”
    Dad’s voice said, “But you don’t have a niece. New hobby, Alan?”
    “Dad! When did you come in?” I managed to speak before Kruzick could, but he gave me a now-or-never look and opened his mouth. Once again, I was too quick for him: “He’s an expectant father in a play. I was helping him rehearse.”
    Dad chuckled. “He looks exactly the part, doesn’t he? One of those neurotic ones that worry all the time. I bet he’d make Mickey pack her suitcase about the third month.”
    I held my breath. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t, Mr. Schwartz. I’m a regular cucumber. In fact, the only thing I’m really worried about is getting to the shul on time.”
    “Isn’t that an odd place to have a baby?”
    “Alan’s playing an unmarried father, Dad.” I didn’t think Kruzick was really going to do anything rash—just torment me to the limit—but I was starting to sweat. This was entirely too close to the bone.
    “A modern twist,” said Dad.
    Kruzick said, “She can’t make up her mind to marry me.”
    “I think we better eat, Dad. I’m feeling faint.”
    “You don’t look so good,” said Kruzick.
    Dad was still chuckling when we hit the pavement. “Alan sure gets into his roles, doesn’t he?”
    “Great little actor.”
    “I could really see him as a father.”
    Dad opened the door of Sam’s Grill, ushered me in, and held up two fingers to let the maître d’ know the size of our party. “I need a drink,” I said.
    “Worried about your case, Beck?”
    I nodded, pulling a serious face and making a mental note to nag Mickey into telling Mom and Dad to get the
tsuris
over with. “Dad, I need your help.”
    He gave me one of the sparkly smiles that had won the hearts of juries by the dozen. “I’ll do anything I can. I wanted to see you today to let you know