Eber's arrest made the morning news, in the paper and on the city's TV channels. Detective Sharp, aka Tom, shared the glory by saying that he'd had the able assistance of Mr Philips, a well-known antiques dealer, and a local private investigator.
"So much for getting some free advertising," I grumbled when the newscaster moved on to the next story. "Local PI my ass."
"Think positively," Ricky said while he finished tying his tie, preparatory to leaving for work. "This way you don't get all the kooks trying to hire you to find or take care of whatever."
"I guess." I grabbed the tie, tugging on it. He rolled his eyes and let me pull him to me. "Dinner tonight?"
"Better than breakfast tonight," he replied, smirking. "Here or at your place?"
"I've been thinking about that." Which I had been for it seemed like forever, but more so the last couple of days. "Our lives would be much easier if you moved in with me."
He looked at me aghast, putting one hand on my forehead. "No. No temperature. Maybe you're a pod person and the real you is…"
"I'm serious," I growled. "It's about time I stopped being so… so protective when it comes to you."
"I agree," he replied softly. "I'm a big boy now. Although"—he grinned—"not quite as big as you."
"So you're willing to?" I asked, ignoring his joking around.
"Walt, I was willing to a month after we met."
"Then that's settled. And to answer your original question, I still owe you a fancy dinner because last night doesn't count, what with Caiazzo picking up the tab. How about The Odyssey?" I had a feeling he'd go for that because it was where we went on our first date a hundred years ago. Okay, not a hundred but…damn…almost six years ago
"Perfect," he said, giving me a hug. "Six-thirty and don't forget to…"
"Make a reservation. Yeah, yeah."
He smiled, kissed me very thoroughly, then said he'd see me tonight, adding, "And this weekend we'll move my stuff to your place."
"Our place," I said in no uncertain terms.
* * * *
I was humming when I walked into the waiting area of my office suite.
Chelsea looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. "Glad the Philips case is over?"
"Yep. And with no major damage to life or limb."
She snorted. "Other than a beating and a bullet wound, but who's counting." She studied me for a moment. "Wipe that silly grin off your face and tell me what's really going on."
"Ricky's moving in with me."
"Well it's about time!" She came over and hugged me. "Still, wipe off the grin. You've got a client coming in… Okay, she's here," Chelsea said when the hallway door opened.
The woman was tall, early forties I guessed and not bad looking. She introduced herself as Coleen Engel and said, as I escorted her into my office, "I have a big problem. I hope you can help me. I need to find my son."
Part Two - coming on Tuesday.