Blue Ink

by Tess Thompson

  “Mrs. Lanigan, steak at twelve, potatoes at three, and asparagus at nine,” Effie said. “I took the liberty of cutting the steak into small pieces.”

  “Thank you, Effie.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Lanigan.”

  “Also, Effie, I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I lost my temper and took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  “Charlotte already told me you apologized and explained about the food being too hot.”

  Busted. This was the perfect example of why people like me should never lie.

  “Did she now?” Mrs. Lanigan asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lanigan.” Effie did a little half-curtsy and exited the room.

  “Charlotte, that was quite interfering of you,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “And manipulative.”

  I darted a glance at Ardan. He was smiling as he cut his steak, obviously amused by my predicament.

  “I wanted to smooth things over between you,” I said. “It was wrong of me.”

  “You didn’t trust me to apologize on my own.” The corners of Mrs. Lanigan’s mouth twitched. She was messing with me. “I’m deeply hurt.”

  “In her defense, Mother, you haven’t exactly demonstrated your humanitarian side since Charlotte’s arrival.”

  “There’s no need to lie on my behalf,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “I’m fully capable of a mea culpa when necessary.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  “It was sweet of you to look after my best interests,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “Loyalty is a good quality in a friend. Even when we act badly.”

  A friend. Was she referring to me as a friend?

  I took a bite of the potatoes. They melted in my mouth. I groaned with pure pleasure. “God, these are good.”

  “Effie spoils us,” Ardan said.

  I had a bite of the juicy, peppery steak. “She’s a genius.”

  Mrs. Lanigan brought a piece of steak to her mouth and chewed. “It’s not the best I’ve ever had.”

  “I love it,” I said.

  “Your obvious enthusiasm about food is quite apparent,” she said.

  “I do love food,” I said. “Especially when someone else makes it. At home I usually just warm up a frozen dinner.”

  “How sad,” Mrs. Lanigan said.

  “And lonely.” I looked over at Ardan. “This is much better.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  Mrs. Lanigan cleared her throat. “Ardan, are you aware of who William Garfield was and what it means?”

  “That your father was an heir to a fortune?”

  “Yes. The Garfield fortune,” she said.

  “What I want to know,” I said, “is what happened to the money with no heirs to leave it to?”

  “He must have left it to someone or something,” Ardan said.

  “Randolph Garfield died in 1950, according to what I found with a quick search this afternoon,” I said. “There might be a newspaper article about his death and who he left the money to in archived Chicago papers.”

  “Randolph had a sister, Ivy,” I said. “Maybe she had family.”

  “We might have long lost cousins somewhere,” Ardan said. “That’s an odd thing to contemplate.”

  “There are answers in the letters themselves,” I said. “There have to be.”

  “Like who murdered Boyce,” Mrs. Lanigan said.

  “I’m dying of curiosity,” I said.

  Ardan looked over at me and smiled. “With a mystery writer on our team, I have a feeling we’ll figure it out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ardan

  * * *

  The evening after Mother joined us for dinner, I waited in the living room for Charlotte to come down for our dinner date. She was five minutes late when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. My breath caught when I saw her. That glorious head of hair was piled on top of her head with a few tendrils cascading around her face. A pair of earrings sparkled against her soft neck. Her skin glowed. She’d done something with her eye makeup that made them seem even larger. I loved the way she looked all rosy in the hot tub with no makeup and her hair sleeked back. I loved her in jeans and flat sandals. I loved her this way.

  I was a goner.

  “You’re breathtaking,” I said.

  She flushed and let out one of her throaty laughs that made the room tilt like I’d had too much to drink.

  I offered her my arm and led her out the front door where I had the sedan waiting. As I helped her into the car, I enjoyed a nice glimpse of her supple calves. Gorgeous legs, from ankle to thigh. I shut the door and hurried around to the other side feeling like a sixteen-year-old kid on a date with the prettiest princess ever born.

  I pulled out of my circular driveway to head down our dirt road. A pair of deer grazed on the wild grasses that grew alongside my fence.

  She leaned forward in her seat. “Oh, look at them. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  The deer raised their heads, then leapt into the woods. “Do you see how they run?” Her voice took on a wistful quality. “So graceful and elegant on those slender legs.” She smoothed her skirt over her thighs. “I’d gladly come back as a deer.”

  This was new information. She was insecure about her body. Okay, God, challenge accepted. It would be my job to make sure she knew I adored every inch of her luscious body. I knew just the way to do it, too. Actions would speak louder than words. I’d start by caressing her…focus now. With that kind of thinking, I might swerve off the road and never have the chance to please her with my tongue or any other body part.

  We were at the corner where the elk had stalled her journey to my house. The first time I’d laid eyes on her seemed far away now, like she’d been here for years already.

  “No elk tonight,” I said.

  She pointed to the left where the herd hovered at the far corner of the meadow. “There they are. I was mortified to have to call you.”

  “You were so pretty in the middle of all that mud.”

  “I wanted to die when you said you’d carry me.”

  “I was serious. Mother would never have forgiven me had I let you ruin those shoes.”

  She laughed as we approached town. The sun set behind us in streaks of pink.

  I passed Moonstone’s inn and parked on the street in front of the bar and grill. “Stay put. I’ll get your door.”

  I ran around to her side and offered my hand, pleased she allowed me to help her from the car. I shoved the door closed with my hip and took her other hand. “Have I earned another kiss yet?”

  She stared up at me, her brown eyes shimmering in the last light of the day. “You held my door and helped me to and from the car, so I’d say yes.”

  I tipped her chin before lowering my mouth to hers. She drew in a breath as I kissed her. With a super human effort, I managed to remain gentle, brushing my lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back, less gently.

  To the left of us, a man said: “Get a room.”

  I jerked away from Charlotte’s mouth. That voice belonged to my brother, Kevan.

  I looked over Charlotte’s head. My brother Kevan stood in front of the bar and grill, wearing cowboy boots, faded jeans, a flannel shirt, and a goofy grin. He carried a bag of groceries.

  “Kevan, what’re you doing in town?” My face burned like a kid caught stealing candy.

  “Spring break for the girls. We decided to come out with the hope that Bliss will have her baby while we’re here. Blythe’s beside herself.” He turned to Charlotte. “And who is this beautiful young lady you coerced into kissing you in the middle of the sidewalk?”

  I glanced at Charlotte. She flashed Kevan one of her brilliant smiles. “This is Charlotte Wilde,” I said. “Charlotte, this is my brother, Kevan.”

  “Charlotte, of course.” Kevan said. They shook hands.

  Kevan shot me a questioning look, his dark blue eyes shining with curiosity. He and Blythe were both privy to Moonstone’s wild prediction. I could almost hear him congrat
ulating me on wasting no time.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Charlotte said. “I love putting a face to the name.”

  “We’re all big fans of your book,” Kevan said. “How’s it going with Mother?”

  “Charlotte’s a miracle worker,” I said. “She’s tamed her from a lioness to a purring kitten.”

  “I’d say she’s doing the same for you,” Kevan said. “Except you don’t need taming.”

  Change the subject pronto. “Where are Blythe and the girls?”

  “I left them at the house, so I could get supplies,” Kevan said. “Blythe’s making dinner as soon as I get home.”

  “Well, great. Tell them hi for me. We should probably get on our way,” I said. As in, shove off.

  Kevan adjusted the grocery bags in his arms. “I’ll be sure to tell Blythe I saw you. She’ll want you to come over tomorrow to catch up.”

  Catch up. Code for grilling me for every detail.

  “Will do,” I said.

  “I’ll look forward to meeting Blythe,” Charlotte said.

  “She’ll be anxious to get to know you better.” Kevan nodded and was on his way down the street to his car.

  I took Charlotte’s hand and escorted her over to the front door of the grill. The moment we were inside, she tucked her head into my shoulder. “How embarrassing. What will he think of me?”

  “He’ll think I’m damn lucky,” I said.

  “He didn’t seem surprised. Or bothered that you were kissing the help.”

  “You’re hardly the help.”

  The waitress on duty greeted us with a weary grimace and showed us to a table by the window. Even with live music promised later, there were only two other tables occupied. The old place was looking more ragged than usual. Red and white vinyl tablecloths older than me covered the tables. Stuffing peeked out from the benches of the booth tables. Various decades of ketchup decorated the faded paint. On the other side, the bar with its ornate but weathered wood counter looked like something from a bad western movie, other than there were no ladies of the evening sitting at the counter.

  “I love this place,” Charlotte said.

  “You do?”

  “It’s perfect in every way. I mean, look at the bar. It’s the type of place you meet friends and have too many beers and dance your heart out. This is America.”

  I smiled. “If you say so. I’ve always been partial to it myself, but I wasn’t sure a city girl would see the charm.”

  “Maybe I’m a country mouse after all.” She grabbed the plastic menu and slapped it onto the tabletop in front of her. “I can’t wait to eat.” She ran her finger down the menu items. “What’s good here?”

  I walked her through the choices, such as they were. “Burgers are decent. Salads are hit or miss, depending on the time of year and how Mrs. Pocket’s garden’s performing. Stay clear of the chipped beef.”

  “No need to convince me of that.” She tugged on an earring and grimaced. “Chipped and beef should never be beside each other in a sentence or otherwise.”

  When the waitress came, Charlotte ordered a grilled chicken burger. She tapped her fingers over the side offerings. “I should get a salad, but I want fries.” She glanced at the waitress’s nametag before looking up at her. “Sally, are they worth the calories?”

  Sally shrugged. “They’re the thick wedge kind.”

  “With skins?” Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  “Some of them have skins, yes.” Sally’s gaze skirted toward the kitchen. “What’s it going to be? I’ve got orders up.”

  “Fries,” Charlotte said. “Greasy, salty fries.”

  I ordered the mushroom cheeseburger. “Do you want a beer?” I asked Charlotte.

  “Yes. More than life itself. You have an IPA?” Charlotte asked.

  Sally sighed. “Yep.”

  “Just one?”

  “I believe so,” Sally said

  “Do you have pints?” Charlotte smiled up at her. “I’d like it in a pint glass rather than a schooner.”

  “We have glasses,” Sally said.

  “Big ones?” Charlotte asked.

  “I’ll bring it out in the glass we have.”

  “Awesome. Thank you,” Charlotte said. “Is it a local beer? I love trying local beers.”

  “It’s American. Is that local enough for you?” Sally asked.

  Charlotte flushed. “Sure. That’ll be fine. I’m excited.”

  “Obviously.” Sally said raised one eyebrow as she wrote down the order on her pad. The excitement was clearly getting to Sally too.

  “Make that two,” I said.

  Sally left, muttering something under her breath.

  “I don’t think Sally likes me.” Charlotte grinned. “Next time, I’ll keep my questions to myself.”

  “That’s probably best.”

  We chatted for a few minutes about Charlotte’s favorite places to eat in Portland. Her eyes lit up whenever she talked about food, which amused me. How could I not fall for this woman?

  Sally came with our beers. They were served in mason jars. Pint mason jars. I glanced at Charlotte to see if she’d noticed. Her eyes twinkled at me as she placed a finger over her mouth.

  When Sally left, I picked up my jar. Foam ran down the sides and dampened my fingers. “To us.”

  “To our first date.”

  Our first date? Already it felt like we’d known each other a lifetime.

  Charlotte told me more about her life in Portland. Mrs. Cline, her elderly neighbor, made bean soup every Wednesday afternoon and always brought Charlotte a jar. The soup was awful, goopy, and tasting of burned cabbage.

  “Burned cabbage?” I asked. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the pan she uses.”

  Charlotte always pretended she loved the horrid soup. “She shows up every Wednesday night with the soup and her cat on a leash and these sad eyes that practically beg me to invite her in for wine and a game of cards.”

  “Every Wednesday?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t send her away. She’s lonely. All she has is that mangy cat, who was sent by Satan to torture any human he comes in contact with unless you give him a can of tuna.”

  “Let me guess? You buy tuna in bulk?”

  “What choice do I have? I don’t want that thing sneaking into my apartment and killing me in the middle of the night.” She laughed at my expression. “It’s not a joke. It’s only because of my wits that I’m here to tell the story. I figured out right away how to get Mooky to purr happily under the table. Give him tuna and don’t make eye contact. All of which is how I ended up tipsy with an apartment that reeked of canned tuna and burned cabbage and a blocked garbage disposal on yet another Wednesday night.”

  “From the soup?” I asked.

  “Exactly.” Her eyes widened. “I swear, that stuff’s like tar when it goes down. For the sixth time, I had to call the grumpy janitor, Rufus, to fix it. He showed up madder than a hornet because I’d interrupted his night watching the Seahawks playing the Rams. Shouldn’t a young lady such as myself be out at a bar doing the same? When I confessed it was Mrs. Cline’s soup that did it, he let out a series of expletives about that crazy old lady and her furball cat clogging up drains and suggested I grow a backbone and tell her I hated the stuff. Like everyone else in the building.”

  “Wait? Everyone else? Does that mean you weren’t the only recipient of soup?”

  “Oh, no. I was the only recipient because I was the only one who accepted the offer. The rest of the building simply said no thank you.”

  I was laughing so hard I didn’t notice Sally bring the food. She dropped the plates onto the table. Several fries plopped onto the table.

  “Anything else?” Sally asked.

  Charlotte picked up one of the fallen fries and licked her lips. “Do you have ketchup?” she asked Sally.

  Sally pointed the bottle on the table.

  “Sorry, didn’t notice that,” Cha
rlotte said. “These look great.”

  “If you say so,” Sally said.

  Charlotte squirted a generous amount of ketchup onto her plate. “I really shouldn’t eat these.”

  “You sound like Mother,” I said. “She would never eat fries.”

  “That’s the difference between her and me,” Charlotte said. “I eat them but regret it later.”

  “No wonder you’re so much more pleasant than Mother.”

  “You think she’s cranky because she’s hungry?” Charlotte asked. “Because I’ve long suspected that about skinny people.”

  I laughed. “Mother’s crankiness goes deeper than hunger.” I bit into my burger. Mushrooms covered with swiss cheese oozed out and onto my plate.

  “I hate mushrooms,” she said.

  I pretended to write a list on the palm of my hand. “No mushrooms or bean soup for Charlotte. Got it. What else don’t you like?”

  “Chicken livers.”

  “Does anyone like those?” I scrunched up my face in mock horror.

  “They have them in Vegas, so apparently, yes.”

  Charlotte scooped her fry into the pile of ketchup like it was a delivery mechanism for condiments rather than food. “Too slimy.” She took a bite of potato, then made an appreciative groan. Good God, this girl and her throaty noises were killing me.

  “What else makes you groan like that?”

  Her eyes flew open. The fry in her hand hovered in the air between her plate and mouth. “Ardan Lanigan!”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry. You bring it out in me.”

  “Eat your dinner. You’ll need your strength later.”

  It was my turn to stare at her. “Charlotte Wilde!”

  “Maybe we should change the subject,” she said, “Before I have to rip off a layer of clothes or risk bursting into flames.”

  “Please, don’t stay dressed on my account.”

  “What’s your opinion of Vegas?”

  “Too many people. I’m more of the monastery retreat type.”

  Her eyebrows raised in perfect symmetry. “Really?”

  “A couple years ago, I went to a retreat held at an old monastery. We were forbidden to talk.”