Crafts, Crimes, and Country Clubs

by Stacey Alabaster

  He shook his head. "What are you really up to, George?"

  My stomach sank as another cab pulled up in front, the door opened, and Robyn stepped out. Well, it didn't just sink. It froze.

  "Shhh!" I said again, hissing this time. He was about to blow this for me. Not just the case, but more importantly, if Sally found out I wasn't really a socialite, she'd throw me out of her exclusive clique and I would never be allowed to hang out with them again.

  Hang on… Did that mean I actually enjoyed being a member of their club?

  Ryan's face changed. He unfolded his arms. "You've been investigating."

  I shook my head. "Investigating what?"

  Ryan switched from one foot to the next. "George, you know this isn't just any other case to me. You know that this is..." He stopped speaking, like he had just said too much.

  I took a step closer to him. "What do I know, Ryan? What you were going to say?"

  He looked away, a little to left, toward the ground. "That this is personal." He pulled himself together, though, and straightened his face. "He was a work colleague of mine."

  I wondered if I was going to have to do something I never thought I'd have to do.

  Was I going to have to investigate Ryan?

  7

  I thought I knew every restaurant and cafe in Pottsville, but apparently, I was mistaken. I'd assumed that Sally would be taking me to Nelson's, the restaurant Ryan had suggested, but we drove right past that and headed toward the hills to a place that Sally assured me was "ten times better than Nelson's. Only the most basic people eat there."

  Her driver pulled up outside a door that apparently had a restaurant behind it. It was sort of hidden in the mountainside, with only a small sign pointing toward it. It was called Aura, but with the black writing on the silver sign, it was hard to even make it out, especially with the glare of the sun.

  Sally thanked the driver and gave him a tip, asking to be picked up in an hour. I climbed out and marveled at the way the restaurant was hidden in plain sight. There really was a hidden side to Pottsville...and if you were one of the cool kids, or one of the chosen few, then you got access to it. You got chauffeured right up to it.

  "Don't worry, it's not going to be a like a romantic dinner for two," Sally said, leading me in. "There will be plenty of people in here on business lunches, using their expense accounts, things like that. People drive all the way here from Hayfield Mountain and then claim it all back on travel."

  I took my coat off and it was taken by a maître d' who checked it for me. I wasn't given a number, but I assumed I would get it back when we left. We were led to a table where our waiter introduced himself, pulled out our chairs for us, and produced two napkins, which he placed deftly on our laps.

  I gulped a little. Just a week earlier, I had said that I wasn't the kind of person who could eat in a place where they put the napkin on your lap for you. But maybe I was that kind of person. I just hadn't known it until now.

  Or maybe it was Christine who was that sort of person.

  "This place is lovely," I said. "You have fantastic taste, Sally. Every place you've taken me to has been more impressive than the last so far."

  I was starting to think I could get used to this sort of lifestyle. The lifestyles of Pottsville's rich and famous. And I was starting to get worried that Sally would figure out who I really was—not just because that would ruin my investigation, but also because it meant I would be kicked out of the club. And I didn't want to go back to my old life. Not after this.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked when Sally hadn't spoken for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward, exactly. It was just like there was something heavy on her mind and there was a strange vibe, like she wanted to say something but couldn't quite get her mouth to say it.

  "I still feel...funny," she said, turning the menu over again, even though I didn't think she had ever read the other side. She turned it over again and frowned. "I never know what to order in this place," she murmured quickly. "Haha. It must be because everything is so good..." She was rambling.

  "Funny about what?" I asked gently.

  Sally placed the menu down and sighed, but she didn't quite meet my eyes. "About what I said to you the other night." Our waiter appeared back at our table and Sally ordered the lamb salad. I hadn't had a chance to look at the menu, so I smiled at him and said I'd have the same, even though I wasn’t the biggest fan of lamb.

  "It's okay," I said, once it was just the two of us again. "We all say things we don't mean when we get a little tipsy."

  She stared at the tablecloth, not giving me much of a clue as to whether she had meant what she had said or not.

  "I didn't know Anthony too well, but from what I could tell, he was a good man," I said, stretching the truth a little in an effort to make Sally more comfortable.

  She nodded a little. I supposed it was the only polite thing to do, wasn't it? To agree that your recently deceased husband was a good person? But the shrug wasn't convincing. "He was. At least, he was when we first met," she said, her eyes suddenly glimmering. Was that a tear? "You know that my family never wanted me to marry him? But, I thought, what did they know? I was young and stupid and in love."

  "We've all been there."

  Sally shook her head and fiddled with the napkin in her lap. "He changed after he got promoted to detective."

  "Did he like his job?" I asked Sally once our drinks had arrived. I acted like I was just making polite and casual conversation.

  She frowned. Looked off into the distance like she was concentrating. "I think so..." she said slowly. "You mean here, in Pottsville?" After I nodded, she had to think a lot harder. She dug her fork into her salad. "I think he found it difficult here. Not that he spoke to me about it. As much as I tried to drag it out of him. But he'd always loved being a police officer. It was one of the things I found charming about him when we first met."

  "Only until he moved here, though?" I said, thinking that was a little curious.

  "It was a bit rough when he got here," she said simply, without elaborating.

  "How did he get along with his colleagues?" I asked casually as I cut into my lamb. This was what I really wanted to know, but I didn't want to sound too desperate.

  Sally laughed a little. "I don't think any of them were the biggest fans of Anthony. From the little that I saw—the occasional functions where I met the rest of the force, lunches and dinners and award ceremonies—it looked to me like he was on the outside. Not a part of the gang, you know?"

  "Maybe that was just because he was the boss?" I said with a little shrug. "People get a little funny about socializing with the boss. Especially if they are a little strict about enforcing rules."

  "I'm not sure it was just that," Sally said. "I'm sure none of them appreciated an outsider coming in and taking over. Acting like the station was his."

  I swallowed my lamb a little uneasily, before it was fully chewed, and I felt it struggle its way down my throat. I knew that Ryan certainly hadn't appreciated it. I picked up my water glass and quickly drank it to clear the lump in my throat before Sally realized that my eyes were watering.

  "What about that young one?" I asked, frowning as though I wasn't sure who I was talking about, like I had to really wrack my brain to think of the guy's name. "I think it starts with R... Rob? Ryan?"

  Sally raised her eyebrows. A smile curled on the side of her lips.

  "Oh, yes, Ryan... He is a good-looking guy, isn't he?" She leaned forward with a twinkle in her eyes then slapped the table and threw her head back and laughed again. Clearly, the topic had perked her up again. "Though, a little young for either of us of course." She paused for a second before adding a pointed, "At least, you'd think so."

  I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that. I finished my wine and tried not to look rattled. "I don't think age really has that much to do with it."

  She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, you do look good for your age, Christine. I can't deny that. Y
ou could definitely pass for mid-thirties." She squinted. "Maybe even early thirties after a few drinks."

  I laughed a little. I always tried to put the age gap between Ryan and I to the back of my mind. Age was only a number after all. But I had to think... Even if I could pass for early thirties, that still made me half a decade older than Ryan.

  At least Sally would never have to see us together. Or find out we were dating. Now, that would be really mortifying.

  "Anyway, he is a bit of a bad boy," Sally said. "And he does like the older women."

  I almost choked on my drink. "Bad boy?" I asked, blinking back tears. "He is a police officer… How much of a bad boy can he be?"

  Sally shrugged. "It was just gossip," she said. "I think Anthony only repeated it because he was just pleased to be included in the boys’ chat for once."

  "What gossip?"

  "Well. You didn't hear this from me," Sally said, leaning forward. "But apparently, he had a thing with our very own Lucy."

  I was hoping I wasn't looking too flustered, but when the waiter came over, I started coughing frantically.

  "Is everything all right, ma'am?" he asked, looking down at me with some shock and worry. I must have been beet red.

  I smiled up at him. "Yes, I think there just must have been some hot chili seasoning on the lamb."

  He stared at me blankly. "There was only mint sauce on the lamb."

  "Perhaps some accidentally drizzled onto mine."

  "I-I'll check with the chef for you, ma'am..."

  I tried to call him back. "No, there's no need to do that!"

  But he was already gone.

  I turned back to Sally and tried to compose myself. "I, uh, I had never heard about those rumors," I said as I finished off the rest of my water and wished I'd thought to ask the waiter for that instead of panicking about hot chili.

  "What's wrong, Christine?" Sally asked. "You don't… You don't seriously like the guy, do you?"

  I shook my head quickly. "Haha, no, of course not." I quickly swallowed my drink. "I barely know him. I barely even remembered his name."

  "I've got an idea," Sally said, standing up. "Why don't we all escape this town for the weekend? After the funeral, of course. Just us ladies?" She winked at me. "I'll take you to that exclusive ski getaway I was telling you about."

  Perfect. I was in.

  8

  I wasn't used to wearing black. It was funny actually—ironic?—that in spite of all the death I came across, I rarely ever attended funerals.

  I'd had to keep the dogs at arm’s length while racing out the door. My mind was racing as well. Ryan would be at the funeral, but so would all the ladies from the club. Which meant I would have to be attending as Christine, not as George. And sure, Ryan had sprung me in my disguise...but that didn't mean I wanted him blowing my cover at the funeral.

  I already knew I was going to have to remain inconspicuous at the cemetery. Keep my head down, my wig secured, and my dark sunglasses on so that no one from my other life would recognize me. And luckily, Ryan wasn't speaking to me anyway, so avoiding him would be easy enough. Or so I hoped. But what did they say about the best laid plans?

  Luckily, the cemetery was walking distance from my house. Was it lucky to have a graveyard walking distance from your house? Well, anyway, on that day, with the freezing temperatures and the ridiculously high heels I was wearing, I was grateful for the short walk.

  I spotted a figure, dressed in a black coat and huddled behind a tree. I recognized her, so I started to walk toward her to say hello.

  It was Lucy from the club, her golden blonde hair in a blow out that barely moved even in the wind. I tried not to think too much about what Sally had said. I had never even heard Ryan mention her before—surely they couldn't have had a fling.

  But what if he has an older woman fetish...and I am just the most recent one in a long line?

  Lucy was dressed in a long black dress and black gloves that reached her elbows. In our previous interactions, she had kept her distance from me, so I'd never gotten a chance to speak to her properly. But that was just her personality. Reserved. Most of the women were like that. I figured a funeral might be the right time to reach out and break the ice.

  But when I got closer to the tree, I suddenly regretted my decision, and wondered if it was too late to turn around.

  It looked as though she was sobbing, with her shoulders hunched over and her back moving up and down.

  Or maybe she is just laughing. That seems to be the way some of these women deal with grief.

  She spun around. It was too late. I had been spotted.

  "Christine..." She tried to compose herself and act like she hadn't been doing anything as she reached for a tissue that had been hidden up her sleeve.

  "I, um..." She struggled for the words to explain why she was sobbing so hard. I could tell she was embarrassed. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I had no idea why she was so emotional either and I wasn't sure what to say to her, but there was no easy escape route.

  "It's okay," I said, nodding as if it was no big deal and that I understood "We’re all upset that Detective Nicholas is gone," I said, forcing my face into a show of sympathy.

  The rest of the attendees arrived, including Sally, who gave us a wave, and I spotted the familiar sight of the back of Ryan's head as he climbed out of a police car.

  "I assumed we would be sitting together," I'd said to Ryan on the phone a few days before, but that had been before he had spotted me hiding behind a garbage can and almost had to arrest me.

  "I have to sit with the rest of the force as a show of respect," he'd said apologetically. "We are all in the front row. We all have to wear our uniforms, and we're all pallbearers."

  Even though I understood, I had been a little put out at the time. I wondered if maybe he had felt a little funny about being seen in public with me. But now I was glad that we were keeping our distance from each other. Once he'd arrived, I kept my face hidden so that he wouldn't spot me underneath my red wig and give me away to Sally and Lucy.

  "Thanks for coming today, Christine," Sally said and for a moment, the name really didn't seem to belong to me, even though I'd been getting better at answering to it.

  "Of course," I said, smiling warmly and bringing myself back to my fake persona. "I am here for you today," I said, glancing around to see where I might sit as people began to find their way toward the open grave where the casket would soon be lowered.

  "You can sit with me," Sally said, slipping an arm through mine. Somehow, I thought that sitting with the widow was only going to look more conspicuous. Plus, we were directly across from Ryan and the other police officers, so I started to get nervous. But luckily, he was on the end of the row diagonal to me. So I was as far away as I could get under the circumstances.

  "Why is Lucy sitting over on that side?" I asked Sally, nodding across to where Lucy was sitting on the other side of the casket a few seats up from Ryan, with the rest of the force.

  "She is there to give that young officer you like—Ryan—some support," Sally said, raising an eyebrow. "I told you they were close."

  "Oh."

  Sally was silent through the entire procession. She had a black veil pulled down over her face, which hid her facial features, but I glanced over at her a few times out of the corner of my eye and there wasn't very much emotion there. Across from us, Lucy had her head buried in her hands, trying to hide her sobs, but they were still squeaking out awkwardly across the casket.

  Strangely, Sally and Lucy didn't speak for the remainder of the day.

  We were milling about, with people making plans about what to do next. Some were heading back to the station for a drink. I saw Lucy give Ryan a hug and squeeze his arm, and I decided that was my cue to leave. I did not want to join them for any drinks that evening.

  "What do you know about Lucy Taylor?" I asked Ryan when we finally got a chance to speak on the phone later that night. I was the one who had swallowed my pr
ide and called him. Neither of us made any mention of the red wig/garbage can incident since it had happened, and we didn't mention it during that call either. Instead, I'd pretty much cut straight to the chase and asked about Lucy right away.

  He sounded confused. "How do you know Lucy Taylor?" he asked, throwing the interrogation right back onto me.

  Good question. "She comes into the store sometimes," I answered confidently.

  I didn't want him to think that I was still snooping or still investigating the case, so I hoped he'd just buy it.

  "She doesn't seem like the type of lady that crafts," Ryan replied, like he knew her that well.

  "Well, she does...she is a fine hand with the paper mache."

  "If you know her so well, then why are you asking me about her?" Ryan asked, which was a very good point.

  I paused. "I was just wondering if you had ever seen her with Detective Nicholas."

  I kept thinking about that hug that had lingered just a little too long between them.

  "Why would I have ever seen her with Nicholas?" Ryan asked, starting to sound annoyed. Was he sounding jealous? "I barely know the woman." Not what I had heard.

  "She just seems to have taken his death particularly hard," I said.

  "And how do you know that?" Ryan asked.

  But I couldn't answer that without giving away the fact that I had been at the funeral.

  "I saw her crying today," I finally said with a sigh. "At the funeral."

  I could hear the exasperation in his voice. "You were there today?" he asked. "And you didn't even come and say hello."

  "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure you would want to speak to me. I only stopped by briefly to pay my respects. It wasn't a big deal," I lied. "And anyway. You looked as though you had your hands full." I hung up the phone.

  My bags were all packed and I was thrilled at the prospect of getting out of Pottsville for a few days. I picked up Jasper's leash and called him to the door as we began our walk to Adam's house. Maybe by the time I returned, all this drama with Ryan would have blown over.