Shelby Nichols Consulting

I should have known the dinner party was doomed when Chris said, ‘Just act normal for three hours. That’s all I’m asking.'”

Normal. Right. Because juggling a consulting business, helping a homicide detective solve murders, and working for a mob boss is totally normal. But I love my husband, and he rarely asks me for anything, so I was determined to pull this off.

The stakes were pretty simple: Chris’s colleagues at the firm had been hearing rumors about my “unusual” PI work. Some had also noticed that Chris now represents Joe E. Manetto as a client, and apparently people gossip about that sort of thing. Who knew? So Chris invited two couples from the firm over for dinner to prove that we’re completely normal, professional people living a completely normal, professional life.

I spent all day preparing. I made Chris’s favorite pot roast, cleaned the house until it sparkled, and even bought a new blouse that screamed “respectable lawyer’s wife.” I had this handled.

The guests arrived right on time: Michael and his wife Erin, plus Kristin (the newest senior partner) and her husband Tom. Everyone was polite, complimentary, perfectly pleasant. And that’s when my other superpower kicked in—the one Chris really wishes I didn’t have.

Because while Michael was saying, “Shelby, your home is lovely,” he was thinking, How does a woman like her end up working as a PI for the mob? Something’s fishy here. And Erin was wondering what I actually did for a mob boss and how much truth there was to my ‘psychic’ abilities. At the same time Kristin was analyzing whether Chris was stretching the legal limits for his ‘special’ clients, and hoped it wouldn’t get the firm in trouble.

Only Tom seemed genuine—mainly because he was mentally planning his fantasy football lineup and not paying attention to anything.

I smiled through the appetizers, served the salad, and was just starting to think I might actually pull this off when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Uncle Joey. Need you. Urgent.

I excused myself to “check on the roast” and called him from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Shelby. I’m at the club and I need you to come and find out if Branigan is cheating me.”

“Cheating?” I frantically stirred gravy with one hand while holding the phone with the other. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“It’s urgent. I’ve been losing to him all night.”

“What? Is this about–” Kristin walked in to refill her wine glass. Before I blurted ‘a poker game,’ I quickly pivoted. “Uh… sure I get it, but I’m with my family right now… can you take a break or something?”

Kristin’s thoughts hit me loud and clear, she takes calls during dinner? Chris must be mortified.

“I’ll call you back.” I knew Uncle Joey wouldn’t like that, but this dinner was important to me.

Luckily, we made it through the main course with only minor incidents—like when I kept glancing at Michael and Erin and accidentally responded to their thoughts about their dog. But being a dog-owner myself, I couldn’t help it.

“So, Shelby, how’s the PI business going?” Michael asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual murder investigations and mob consulting—” I caught myself. “I mean, the usual consultations for various clients. Very normal. Very legal.”

Chris kicked me under the table.

Then my phone buzzed again. Holding it under the table, I read: I’ve got a suspect in interrogation. Does he look familiar to you? It was from Dimples and he included a photo.

Somehow, my phone slipped out of my hand and clattered onto the floor, landing face-up right in front of Michael—with a mugshot of a very rough-looking suspect filling the screen. He picked it up and handed it to me.

“Oh! Thank you.” I grabbed it. “That’s just… my cousin. He’s, uh, having a rough time.”

Michael’s brows rose. “Oh. That’s too bad.” But he was thinking that my cousin looked like a career criminal, and wondered what kind of family I came from.

Chris’s fork paused halfway to his open mouth and his eyes bulged. I gave him a smile and a little shrug, but I couldn’t help hearing that he wondered why I had my phone at the table, and next time, he was locking it in the safe. That seemed extreme, but he might have a point.

As I was about to serve dessert—homemade apple pie that I’d actually nailed—the doorbell rang.

My pulse raced. Nobody was supposed to ring our doorbell. The kids and our dog were at their friend’s houses, and I had specifically told everyone else that tonight was off-limits. “Uh… excuse me.”

I hurried to the door to find Ramos standing there in full leather jacket and motorcycle boots glory. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Uncle Joey sent me,” he said calmly. “You blew him off.”

“I’m having a dinner party!”

“I can see that.” He glanced past me at the table full of lawyers in business casual, thinking that I’d picked a lousy night to make a good impression.

In the dining room, Chris was thinking, please don’t let that be who I think it is.

Crap. I tried to decide if it was better to shove Ramos back out the door, or risk introducing him. The choice was taken from me when Kristin poked her head around the doorway. Smiling, I led Ramos into the dining room. “Hey everyone. This is my coworker. He just needed something, and then he’ll be on his way.”

The reaction was immediate. Both Kristin and Erin were thinking, WHO is THAT? Kristin’s internal monologue went into overdrive. Erin was mentally assessing if I was having an affair, and she felt sorry for Chris. Tom suddenly started paying attention. Michael was thinking that Ramos looked like muscle for the mob.

I mentally smacked my head against the wall and tried to usher Ramos back into the hallway. Naturally, my phone rang with the Scooby-Doo ringtone. Everyone froze and stared at me. I quickly answered. “Hey, can I call you back?” Before he could answer, I disconnected and glanced at the group. “Sorry. A client.”

Then my phone started playing The Godfather, and I wanted to throw it down the hall.

“You’d better answer that,” Ramos said, his lips twisting to hold back a smile.

Everyone stared at me, and I stood there like a dummy with my mouth hanging open. That’s when I smelled smoke. “Oh no! The pie!”

I ran to the kitchen, but it was too late. Black smoke poured out of the oven. The smoke alarm started shrieking. Everyone evacuated to the yard while I frantically waved a dish towel at the detector. I made the mistake of opening the oven, only to have more smoke pour into the room.

Coughing, Ramos guided me out to the lawn. Taking a breath, I glanced at the group. Ramos was trying not to laugh, Chris looked like he wanted to disappear, and our guests looked like they’d just confirmed every rumor they’d ever heard about us.

Michael was thinking I was totally connected to organized crime. Erin was thinking that if Ramos was a coworker, no wonder I kept working for a mob boss. Kristin thought that the rumors had to be true and that Chris was mixed up in something that could be illegal, and Tom was thinking that this was the best dinner party he’d been to in years.

Michael suggested they “head out early.” As they left, Kristin thought that poor Chris certainly had his hands full with me for a wife, and she felt a little sorry for him.

As Chris ushered them out, Ramos disconnected the shrieking smoke alarm. “Next time you have a dinner party, just tell them you work for the mob. Less suspicious that way.”

Chris walked in at exactly that moment. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

Ramos and I exchanged a glance.

“Of course it’s a joke, honey,” I said.

Chris shook his head, he thought the dinner party was a disaster because now everyone believed we were in the mob. Maybe he should start practicing criminal defense?

Ramos picked up my phone from where I’d dropped it on the floor and handed it over. “I’ll tell Manetto what happened. I’m sure he’ll figure out a way for you to make it up to him.” His lips twisting, he disappeared out the door.

I gave Chris a hopeful smile. “Maybe it’s not so bad. I’m sure they liked the food. By tomorrow, they’ll think it was just a series of unfortunate events, and have a good laugh.”

Shaking his head, he gathered me in his arms, thinking that he’d learned his lesson, and he’d never do anything like that again. “Come on. Let’s clean up this mess.”

The next day at the firm, Michael told everyone the dinner party was “memorable.” Chris says that’s lawyer-speak for “bizarre but we’re too polite to say so.”

At least Kristin’s husband sent a thank-you note saying it was the most entertaining evening he’d had in years.

Based on that, maybe it wasn’t so bad? What do you think? Should I count that as a win?

Thanks for reading!!

Until next time!

XOXO,

Shelby