Charleston with a Clever Cougar: A Dance with Danger Mystery #6

by Barton, Sara M.

  “We? You mean you’re going to pretend to be a hitman?”

  “I was a medic on a special forces team, Cady. I have the chops to be a really scary guy. Besides, the local cops are all well-known, and Mimi used to be on the Board of Ed. She might reach out to her contacts and ask around. That would blow the whole deal. We don’t want to let her off the hook.”

  “True,” I agreed. “But what if she doesn’t take the bait?’

  “Oh, she’ll take the bait,” he insisted. “By the time I’m done, she’ll even ask me to whack the rest of the family.”

  “What?”

  “For another five grand, I’ll be happy to take out Carole and Dylan.”

  Chapter Ten --

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I cried.

  “Cady, for God’s sake!” Doc frowned at me. “I’m not really going to kill anyone!”

  “Oh. Right.” For a moment, I could imagine Doc actually doing the dirty deed and the thought chilled me to the bone.

  “Seriously, you have to get a grip on yourself.”

  I knew Doc was right. The strain of the last few days was catching up to me. All these emotional triggers were compromising my good judgment.

  “Why don’t you let me take you out for a pasta dinner, Cady? We’ll kick back over some chianti and talk about pleasant things. I owe you for your hospitality.”

  “What if we stayed in and had something here? I made some sauce last week. It’s in the freezer. And I have some rustic bread we could toast. There are salad fixings in the fridge....”

  “Is that your way of saying no?”

  “The weather outside is turning nasty, Doc,” I reminded him. “And it’s been a long day.”

  “And you’re not comfortable having me pick up the tab, because then the teeter totter has tipped in my favor, is that it?”

  “Well,” I smiled, “you could go to the liquor store and find us a nice wine that goes with a red sauce.”

  “You’re a funny duck, Cady. I’ve never met a woman as complicated as you.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I replied. “I’ll start the pasta if you can put the pot on the burner for me.”

  Doc filled a kettle with water and carried it over to the top of the range. I turned the burner knob, started up the vent, and pulled the container of spaghetti sauce out of the freezer. He was putting his coat and hat on when I stopped him at the door.

  “Hey, Doc, since you’re going to the liquor store, can you make another stop?”

  “Sure,” he told me, keys in hand.

  “Pick up some ice cream for dessert. I don’t know about you, but this kid needs a treat.” He threw back his head and chuckled.

  “Right. Any particular flavor?”

  “Surprise me. Anything but licorice.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Twenty minutes later, he was back with a hand-packed pint of peach ice cream and a bottle of chianti classico. I had everything ready. I used tongs to shake the water off of strands of pasta before putting it into the sauce to simmer. Doc worked around me, taking the big pot off the stove when I was done and dumping the water. As he started to wash the pot, I stopped him.

  “You have to use hot water on a hot pan or you’ll buckle the bottom and it won’t distribute the heat evenly anymore.”

  “I did not know that,” he said, turning on the hot water.

  “I ruined an expensive set of cookware learning that lesson the hard way.”

  I set the table, using cloth napkins and big pasta bowls. I put out some Parmesan cheese in a dish and then the tossed salad in smaller bowls. The buttered bread came out of the oven in its foil packet and I placed it in a wicker basket that I set upon the table. Doc and I ate in between companionable conversation, occasionally throwing out comments on everything ranging from politics to art.

  “Have you ever been to the Florence Griswold Museum over in Old Lyme? It has some great American Impressionist works in the collection. Nice spot along the river, too. In the summer, you can see the osprey nesting on the wooden platforms,” I told Doc. “Roger Tory Peterson, who wrote all those field guides to birding, lived in Old Lyme. His house was called ‘The Cedars’. We used to see him occasionally at the A&P with his wife when I was young.”

  “Where did you grow up?” Doc wanted to know.

  “I spent my early years near the sub base. Groton, Mystic, New London. Aunt Pinkie originally worked at Shoreline Savings and Loan. When that was bought up by Livingston Trust, she was offered a position as assistant bank manager. The job was down in New Haven, but the love of her life was up in Newport with his wife, so she moved to Old Saybrook. It was kind of a halfway point for her. I went to high school here. Bought my school clothes at Thurston’s every August. Walked to school, walked to the shops. It was a nice life.”

  “Pinkie never married?” Doc wanted to know.

  “Allen never quite got around to leaving the queen of plumbing fixtures.”

  “She should have flushed the rat down the toilet,” Doc scowled. “No woman should waste her time on a guy who can’t make up his mind where he should be.”

  “Oh,” I sighed sadly, “I think Allen did make up his mind. He had his cake on the side and his dinner at home. He once told me he just couldn’t survive without his wife’s fortune. He was telling the truth.”

  “Your aunt deserved better.”

  “Yes, she did. But I think she told herself she had invested so much time and energy into Allen that to quit the relationship meant she had made a bad decision that cost her too many years. It would have been proof she failed as a woman. She never could quite make that admission, to herself or anyone else.”

  “My mother was in love with a married man after my father passed away. I was fifteen when they got together. He strung her along for years, kept her from finding someone else. He rented a house for her and convinced her to quit her job. He promised to take care of her. And in the end, when he died suddenly of a heart attack, she was left out in the cold. When his widow found out about the arrangement, that all came to a end. You can’t really blame her.”

  “What did your mother do?” I wondered.

  “Fifty four years old. What could she do? She became a house mother at a fraternity. She cooked and cleaned for the college boys until she retired. Her first trip to Florida, she met a widower named Frank. He was really good to her. They spent the next six years traveling.”

  “When did she pass away?”

  “Annie? Oh, she’s still alive and kicking. Still with Frank, too. Married now. They spend half the year up in Avon, the rest of the year in Boca Raton. You’ll like them. They’re good people,” he told me. I wondered if I ever would actually meet them. It would be interesting to get to know Doc’s mother and stepfather.

  “Brothers and sisters?” I tossed the question out as I helped myself to more bread. Doc poured me some more chianti.

  “An older brother, Dennis. Chiropractor up in Hartford. Divorced. Three kids in college.”

  “Ouch. That must cost a bundle.”

  “True. But I never married. I don’t have any kids of my own. I started a trust fund for the niece and nephews when they were kids. I put in three thousand bucks each year. Dennis used to ride me for being such a stickler. Told me I should use the money to take a trip, buy a house, take a wife. For years I listened to him tell me he had college covered, that there was no reason to keep putting money into the account. And then he got divorced. Wound up living in a little one-bedroom after they sold the Farmington McMansion. That money helped pay for those kids go to school, even when their parents were duking it out over who got the big screen television and who got the ski chalet in Vermont. Uncle Doc turned out to be a good guy after all.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you two are all that close,” I commented.

  “Dennis has a different outlook on life. He’s all about making a name for himself, being a big shot. Me? I’m still the baby brother.”

  “Too bad,” I said, sipp
ing my wine. “You never wanted kids, Doc?”

  “Never got around to it. Figured I’d do that when I got out of the Army.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, I took that job with the insurance company, so maybe I’ll get around to it,” he mused, “one of these days.”

  “Forgive me for saying this, Doc, but you don’t really sound like your heart is in this insurance thing.” Those green eyes gazed over at me. “It doesn’t really sound like a job you would enjoy.”

  “Have to pay the bills, Cady. Can’t sit around hoping the perfect job will just drop into my lap.”

  “But don’t you have a passion for something? Anything?”

  “Besides coffee?” He laughed. “I spent so many years patching up broken bodies and bruised spirits, it’s really all I know, but I’ve had enough. I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to hang up my spurs and start the next chapter of my life.”

  My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. Reaching in with my good hand, I pulled it out, reading the screen.

  “Carole’s calling.” I pushed the button and put the phone up to my ear. “Hi there. What’s up?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she told me. “Mimi’s coming for a visit. She wants to take Daisy out to dinner tomorrow night.”

  I hit the speaker button and put a finger to my lips, locking eyes with Doc.

  “That sounds like short notice. Why does Mimi want to take Daisy out to dinner?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “I don’t know. It’s out of the blue, Cady. Should I be worried?”

  Doc was shaking his head, providing my cues. I went along with his direction.

  “No, Carole. I’m sure she just wants to see for herself that Daisy’s okay,” I said reassuringly.

  “But I didn’t tell Doug about the incident at the shop. Neither did Daisy. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, Cady.” As she spoke, Doc moved his chair closer to me, leaning on the back of my chair, whispering comments in my ear.

  “She has a lot of friends in the area, Carole. Maybe one of her political friends contacted her.”

  “Maybe.” Carole seemed to consider the possibility. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s nothing. It’s just that Daisy said her father wants to change the custody. I’m not sure I can afford another legal battle, Cady.”

  “Perhaps it won’t come to that,” I suggested gently. “The mediator said you needed your kids with you.”

  “I know. I thought this was all settled. Why would Doug want to change things now?”

  “What does Daisy want to do?”

  “She says she’ll go, but she’d rather not have to see Mimi.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  “Mimi won’t take no for an answer, Cady. She told me she must insist on it, because what happens to Daisy affects her life, too.” Doc’s eyebrows shot up when he heard that. I thought it was a little aggressive on the part of Doug’s wife. Even as the stepmother, she still acted like she needed to throw her weight around. This wasn’t a woman interested in building a relationship with Doug’s children. But she seemed to be up to something specific for Friday night. I was suddenly relieved that Doc was right beside me, especially since I knew what Carole did not, that Mimi was willing to murder her stepdaughter.

  “In what way is Mimi affected?” Carole pressed on. “If you ask me, Mimi’s got everything she wanted. I think they’re having money problems. Maybe Doug thinks if he has the kids with him, it will save him money, especially now that they have the triplets. But that’s just too damn bad. They have two incomes, Cady. And Doug chose to leave me. He chose to marry Mimi. They hired the surrogate to carry the triplets. It’s not like they’ve been swamped by bad luck.”

  I heard the unspoken truth hanging in the air. If anyone had had bad luck, it was Carole. She wanted desperately to be cured of her cancer. And she would have been quite content to stay married to Doug, to keep her family intact. That’s not how it worked out for her. I could understand her bitterness and disappointment. Doug had made some really bad decisions, climbing into that hole of his own accord. He squandered the decisions he made without thought for the people damaged by the result, while Carole’s choices were much more limited. Live or die. Fight or give up. Life really wasn’t fair, was it?

  “You know we’re all here for you,” I repeated into the phone, all too aware of Doc’s mouth right by my ear. “Whatever happens, you can count on us.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly. There was a long pause and I thought I heard a sniff on the other end. Or it could have been a sob.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. I’m probably worrying about nothing. You might not understand this, but my kids are everything to me, Cady. I don’t know what I would do if I lost them.”

  “I do understand the importance of family. You won’t lose them, Carole. I promise you that. Daisy wants to be with you and she’s old enough to choose that for herself.” Those were my words. Doc leaned back and nodded approvingly. “And as for Dylan, he needs to be with his mother and grandparents. If Doug hadn’t hooked up with Mimi and moved so far away, the kids could have had their dad involved in their lives. If Doug was smart, he’d move back here and be available for his kids.”

  “He changed so much since he met Mimi.” There was a wistful note in her voice that was hard to ignore. I thought about what she was saying. It was true. He really had gone from being Mr. Reliable to being a selfish jerk. It was as if Mimi brought out the worst in him. She was so determined to be a politician -- the Board of Ed was her first stepping stone. Having a husband who was an assistant superintendent of schools was a lot more impressive than having a husband who was the principal of Miller Elementary. I wondered if Mimi’s ambitions ever overwhelmed Doug. “It just makes me so sad. I never thought I would wind up like this.”

  “I know, babe.”

  “It’s just so unfair.”

  “Well, it is what it is. Maybe it’s time to build a new life for Carole, and leave Doug to wallow in the bed he made for himself. If I might just change the subject for a moment, what’s with you and Karl Schindler? He seems to have the hots for you.”

  “Nonsense. You’re just trying to make me forget about Doug.” I heard the doubt in Carole’s voice and burst out laughing.

  “Oh, my God! You didn’t notice how he looked at you?”

  “No way,” she scoffed.

  “Carole, if you don’t believe me, ask Darlene. And by the way, you need to get out and about more. Karl wasn’t the only guy checking you out at the shop.”

  “You mean that dishy Ross Gelber?”

  “Ross Gelber? No, he wasn’t one of the guys I was thinking of, but since you mention it, I think I’ve made my point. You’re selling yourself short. Men can’t find you attractive if they can’t find you.” That last sentence was Doc’s, and even as I said it, I got the point. Carole and I had a lot more in common than I realized. We both hid ourselves away to avoid letting any man break through the barriers that protected our hearts.

  “Thanks, Cady. You’re a good friend. And speaking of men, have you seen the way Doc looks at you? The man is smitten, if you ask me.” Doc leaned back in his chair as I scrambled to silence the speaker phone function, but I wasn’t in time. “You should make a play for him. He’s pretty hot.”

  “On that note,” I groaned, rolling my eyes, “I’ll say good night. Call me if you need me.”

  “Oh, I get it,” laughed Carole, “he’s there with you now, isn’t he? Daisy said he followed you home. Well, well, well!”

  “Good night, Carole.”

  “Good night, Cady. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Oh, lordy!”

  Chapter Eleven --

  Doc’s arms were crossed as he sat there, observing my discomfort. Discombobulated by his attention, I rose and got busy collecting the remains of our dinner. He didn’t say anything as I started to clear the table -- he just kept on watching my every move. I was surprised he didn’t get u
p to help me, but then I realized I was doing just fine on my own. I loaded the dishes into the sink to scrape the food down the disposal and rinse them before putting them into the five-year-old, less-than-efficient dishwasher. Finally, he made his move and his point.

  “Why is the idea of dating me such a repellent idea?” he growled from across the room.

  “I’m sorry?” I looked up at him from the kitchen sink. He got up out of his chair and took a seat at the counter opposite where I stood. Arms crossed defiantly, determined to have it out with me, he started pushing all my buttons, trying to locate one that would yield to him.

  “You were pretty quick to shoot down the idea of us dating. Why? Am I too hideous for you?” That gnome face was set into a grim scowl.

  “When did I shoot the idea down?” I asked. “And I’ll point out that you weren’t the one making the comment that we should date, Carole was.”

  “So, if I asked you out, you would go?” Why did I feel like a zookeeper who was about to get thrown in with the wild cats? Hungry wild cats. Ravenous, in fact. Wild cats in a cage, ready to tear me to pieces. I had to tread carefully.

  “Are you asking me out?”

  “Should I?” There was that snarl again.

  “We don’t know each other very well,” I countered, trying to figure out how to tame the beast that roared. Doc looked at me like I was the doe in his sights and he was getting ready to spring for the kill.

  “Is that a yes or a no?” Doc was angry. There was no escaping that reality. The longer he sat, the more steam seemed to build up in that pressure cooker mind of his.

  “You’re asking me to make a decision?” I finished loading the plates in and started on the glasses, dragging my feet as I tried to analyze the situation.

  “Which is it?” There was something in his tone that really disturbed me. I thought I heard an ultimatum. And the second I looked up at him, I recognized it in his eyes. There was no turning back.

  “Right this minute?” I turned off the faucet.

  “Yes. And stop stalling. Make a decision or I’ll make it for you.” For one millisecond, I hesitated. I tried to wrap my brain around the idea of Doc as a lover, not just a friend. Dare I risk it? What if it didn’t work out? There was definitely something about him that I found appealing. He made me feel safe when he was around, like we’d work out any problem that popped up in our way. I was getting used to having him in my life and I liked it. He challenged me in ways no one had before. I felt like I could be myself, warts and all. But at the same time, he was a difficult man. He did not suffer fools easily. He was pricklier than a porcupine. He was argumentative, even cantankerous. But in his own way, Doc was a healer; he wasn’t afraid to cauterize a wound, especially an infected one. In the short time I had been spent with him, I had confronted a very difficult past with new eyes, new insight.