“That’s true,” I said.
“So this Lila chick told you all that?” Tony said.
“Yes.” Glenn crossed his legs and hugged his knee. “The more interested I was, the more she talked. Funny thing is, she thinks she’s protecting her sheriff, that he was unjustly prevented from doing his job. I don’t think she realizes he could be incriminated, as well.”
I fell back against the bench. “I was right,” I said. “I was right all along. Megan was murdered.”
“It’s looking that way,” Glenn said. “We have to keep up this investigation.”
“Glenn,” I said as I stared over at Birdie’s. “Did Lila see you run over here?”
“No. She had already gone. I was finishing my paper and munching on one of those chocolate muffins you’re selling and then I spotted you two. I folded up shop and got out of there.”
“Do you think Doris is watching us right now?” I said.
We all looked over at the dark glass, the peeling letters that spelled BIRDIE’S SHOE STORE.
“Oh,” Glenn said. “Perhaps I should have waited and told you in our private group.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
I turned Nick’s business card over in my hands and traced the raised lettering of his phone number. I had to do this. The trail was growing cold and we finally knew for certain that Megan had been murdered. I slid my finger over the screen of my iPhone, took a deep breath, and tapped out his number.
“Nicholas Angeles…”
Shoot. I was hoping for voicemail. “Uh, ahem. Hi, Nick. It’s me. Rosalie.”
Silence.
“How are you?” I said quickly.
“Busy, actually.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry to bother you. I—”
“You’re not bothering me, Rosalie. I didn’t mean that.”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to get that drink we talked about. I’ve been doing a little better, you know, since my separation, and I think it would be good for me to get out. Is the offer still open?”
Another silence. I started to speak and then …
“I have a better idea. Let’s take that sail. The weather is warming up. How does that sound?”
“A sail?” I bit my thumbnail. “I don’t know a thing about sailing. I know I asked you about your boat, but—”
“Even better.”
Better?
“Let me check my calendar and get back to you,” he said. “It would be lovely to spend time with you. Are you in?”
“Yes,” I said while my nerves bundled into a ball of terror. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Rosalie?” he said. “I’m glad you’re ready to get out and live again.”
I ended the call and stared at the phone. I would need a planning session with the What Ifs, for sure. So many things could go wrong alone on a sailboat with Nicholas Angeles. I chewed on my thumbnail again. How on earth could I pull this off? I looked out the window. The sun was higher in the sky. Daylight Savings Time was finally over and I could adjust to the rhythms of the sun again. It cast a warm glow over the river, as if the tarnished gray had been brushed with a gilt of gold. The river. Megan. Yes, Megan, I hear you. I will do this. I trembled, feeling as if someone was sharpening a knife on my spinal cord.
I needed an Annie fix. I opened my computer and clicked on the blue F icon. Annie wasn’t available for a chat, so I decided to go to her timeline to see what she’d been up to. She was taking her last midterm that afternoon and was scheduled to drive up to Chevy Chase tomorrow for spring break. After Thanksgiving, I insisted she get her car back and we secured a parking permit for the following semester.
I was surprised to see a different profile photo. This one was hard to make out. It looked like a dried-up flower—a rose maybe. I let out a small gasp as I read her post.
Annie Hart
Men are cruel selfish bastards who think with their #$^*.
I booked the first flight out to Raleigh-Durham. I would take a cab once I got there and go to my Annie. Janice agreed to stay with Tyler while I was gone. He was scheduled to start physical therapy in a few days, but until then, he needed to keep his finger motionless so the tendons had adequate time to reattach. Although he could do most things for himself, I worried about his state of mind. Tyler was a worker. He rarely stopped moving and I knew it must be hard on his psyche to be idle and unproductive for so long. An evening spent brooding alone was the last thing he needed.
She burst through the door with a magnum of wine, an extralarge pizza box, and a brown grocery bag looped over her arm. “Coming through,” she said and charged into my kitchen
I dropped my overnight bag by the door and followed her. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem.” She wedged the wine onto a narrow space on the counter. She took in my coffee maker. “You know, you would have more counter space if you had a Mr. Coffee like everyone else.”
“That, my friend, is Mr. Miele.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss. He’s the perfect man: he has no demands or expectations, he’s a wonderful listener, and he perks right up with one touch of a button.”
Janice rolled her eyes. “What time is your flight?”
“Nine.”
“How’s your girlie?”
“She’s relieved I’m coming. We’re going to drive back together tomorrow in her car.”
“Is this her first bad breakup?”
I nodded. “She’s never been in a serious relationship. She’s always done the group thing. A few proms and homecomings, but never anything like this.”
“Poor kid,” Janice said. She set the pizza and bag on the table and slipped out of her coat. “Where’s the patient?”
“In the living room. He’s not pleased I called you. He thinks he’s fine by himself.”
“We’ll have fun. Plus, it’s good to get out of the house. Trevor can do the morning rush hour with the kids tomorrow.”
“I left you a note with all of his medications and instructions. And make sure he keeps his hand elevated. He’s come this far, I would hate to see him screw it up now.” I pulled on my coat and hitched my purse on my shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”
“I saw on Facebook you’ve been reading to Tyler, so I grabbed a bunch of old books off the shelves in our living room—anything with a lot of dust. I know he likes the classics.” She lifted several books out of the bag. “I’ve got Dickens, Hemingway, Mark Twain…” She looked up. “How long is he staying here?”
“A while longer.” I peered into the bag. “Janice…” I picked up one of the books. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I told you, I just grabbed all the books that were old.” She looked down at the cover of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
“Janice!”
“Oh, crap.” She barked out a laugh. “Maybe you should skip that one.”
* * *
I found Annie curled up in a ball on the bottom bunk in her dorm room. Her roommate had already left for home. The room was dark, the blind pulled, and a stale smell had settled into the air. I hurried over and scooped her into my arms. The first sob sounded from deep within and I held tighter. She cried for most of the night.
The next morning, she tossed some clothes in a duffle, grabbed an overstuffed laundry bag, and we drove home in her car.
She slept the entire trip, exhausted from a tortured, sleepless night. Although I was tired, too, I made frequent stops for coffee and listened to talk radio. I had yet to learn the details of her breakup with Connor, but I would be patient. Annie would talk when she was ready. Although this wasn’t a divorce, I did not underestimate her pain. A hurt like that can stir up older hurts and pile into one gigantic snowball that cuts off your breathing and swirls in your gut.
She spent the first day on the sofa watching back-to-back episodes of Family Guy, although she never laughed. The next day I sat next to her and handed her a mug of green tea.
>
“I thought you were all about the coffee,” she said and accepted the mug. Her hair was back in a sloppy ponytail and the sheers were pulled across the windows. Oversize shadows haloed the objects in the room.
“Can we talk?”
She shrugged, clicked the power button, and the room fell silent.
After a few moments, she looked over at me. “So?”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“We could make a fire. Maybe watch a movie?”
“Uh, Ma, it’s like fifty degrees.” She stared back at the darkened screen. A tear escaped down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.
“It would be good to get out.”
“What the hell are we going to do? It’s like the witness protection program here.”
“Do you want me to call your dad? Maybe you could spend the end of the week in Chevy Chase.”
“Mom?” She looked over at me. “How long is this going to go on?” Her voice was uneven and I knew she was fighting back another onslaught of tears. “Don’t you see how crazy it is that you live here? You’re not even trying to get back with Daddy. This is all as much your fault as it is his.”
“Oh,” I said and looked away.
“I can’t do this anymore. I hate it more than you know.”
I dried my palms on my jeans. “I’m so sorry, Annie. I wish—”
“I want us to be a family again.” She slammed her mug down on an end table, picked up a throw pillow, and hugged it. “I want us to go home.”
I faced her again. Another tear streaked her cheek. I reached up and wiped it away. “I understand how hard this is for you. And … well … I’ll talk to your father. No, I’ll do better than that. I’ll meet with him.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ll go call him now.”
“Okay,” she said in a small voice.
I slapped my hands on my thighs and stood. I walked deliberately into the kitchen to find my phone and noticed Tyler at the kitchen table. He’d been trying to give Annie some space by lingering in the kitchen as much as possible.
“Hey,” I said.
“How’s the kid?”
“She’s brokenhearted.” I leaned against the counter. My head fell forward. “And it’s killing me.”
THIRTY-NINE
Clothes lay strewn on the floor and bed. I had no idea what to wear to my dinner with Ed. All I knew is I wanted to look good. Really good. I wanted him to regret his decision. I wanted him to want me again. And most of all, I wanted the three of us to be together. “Oof,” I said and kicked off a strappy shoe.
After a frantic half hour, I stood before the mirror. I had decided on a short black skirt, sheer black stockings, and heels. My top was simple but elegant—a white knit with three-quarter-length sleeves and a scooped neckline, tight in all the right places. My hair was fluffed and I wore a lipstick Janice had brought me from New York—glossy and light, but with a detectable hue of red. It was the look I wanted: classy with a little bit of snug and hopefully a whole lot of sexy.
I spritzed my perfume onto my wrists and rubbed them together. It was my nighttime scent—vanilla, spices, and a hint of chocolate. Ed used to nibble my ear and tease that it made him hungry. How long ago was that? Well, I thought, scents trigger memories, so let’s hope Ed still had some good ones.
Deciding there was nothing left to fluff, spray, or adjust, I grabbed onto the railing and teetered down the stairs.
Tyler and Annie were in the living room. Low streaks of light from the setting sun shone through the trees, dappling their faces.
She held his hand in hers and examined his finger. A sheet of physical therapy instructions lay unfolded in her lap. They both looked up when I cleared my throat.
“Whoa,” Annie said. “You look clutch, Mom.”
“I hope that’s good,” I said. “Don’t you think it needs something, though?”
Annie studied me. “An accessory. A scarf maybe?” She looked over at Tyler.
“Nah,” he said. “Why hide that neckline?”
My face warmed.
“Excellent point,” Annie said. “We need to accentuate the assets.” She placed Tyler’s hand on a pillow and hopped up. “Be right back,” she said and brushed past me.
“I take it you’re meeting your husband.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You look nice.”
“I’ll probably break my neck in these shoes.” I sat down across from him. “I guess I just wanted to feel taller.”
“So,” Tyler said, his eyes challenging me, “what will you say?”
“To what?”
“If he wants you back.”
“Oh.” I straightened my spine. “I guess that’s the whole point. Annie needs us to be together.”
He looked out at the river.
I followed his gaze. The small, windswept whitecaps shimmered in the evening light.
“But what do you want?” Tyler was looking over at me again.
“So much has happened. We’re a family. We have a history together.” I gripped the arms of the wing chair. “Well, you must know what I’m talking about. How long were you married?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“You need to hang out at the Curling Iron more often.”
“Oh, thanks a million.”
“To hear the gossip.” He shifted on the sofa, propped a stockinged foot on the ottoman, and leveled his eyes with mine. “My wife ran off with the UPS man before our first anniversary.”
“How? They run up the sidewalk and back so fast, I couldn’t ID one of them in a lineup.”
“Apparently this guy wasn’t in such a hurry to deliver his packages.”
I bit my lower lip and tried to keep a serious face.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “And don’t think it’s a joke I haven’t heard.”
“I’m sorry, Tyler. I don’t mean to be insensitive, it’s just … well.” My fingers fluttered over my mouth as I tried to stifle the laugh tickling me. “I’m sorry. Of course it’s not funny.”
“It’s been almost twenty years. It’s a little bit funny.”
“There’s just so much to work with. I mean, the jokes, oh, I just thought of another one.”
Tyler shook his head.
I smiled at him. “What went wrong?”
“Everything. She was from Baltimore. Her parents kept a boat at a marina just outside of town. I used to work there and we dated a few summers while she was in college and once she graduated we got married. She started a business—a flower shop—thinking she could modernize the town, wake it up a bit, bring the city to us country folk. But the thing is, when you move to Cardigan, you either have to slow down or lose your mind.”
“She didn’t adjust to the pace?”
“Her business failed in a few months. I took a hard hit financially and lost my house. It was all a big fat mess and I’m better off without her. Besides…”
I tried to suppress the smile twitching my lips. “She liked things COD?”
“You couldn’t stand it, could you? I pour my heart out and…” Tyler flashed me a rare, uninhibited smile.
“Got it,” Annie said.
I went over to her.
“Good night, Rosalie,” Tyler said.
I looked back at him. “Good night.”
Annie and I went into the foyer and she clasped my mother’s pearls around my neck. “Perfect,” she said.
“Thanks, honey.” I hugged her. “Will you and Tyler be all right?”
“Of course.” I started to leave. “Mom…”
“Yes?”
“Um … well … have a nice time.”
“I love you,” I said. “With all of my heart.”
* * *
Ed and I agreed to meet halfway. I made dinner reservations at a restaurant on Kent Islan
d—a small strip of land on my side of the Bay Bridge packed with marinas, hotels, and restaurants. I arrived first and sat at a small table by the window that looked out at the Corsica River. A full moon perched large and low in the sky, spreading a deep tangerine cone of light over the water.
I spotted him from across the room. He was still in his suit—charcoal gray with a starched blue shirt that augmented his polar blue eyes. My mouth dried. He was still the most elegant man I had ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” he said and brushed my cheek with a kiss. “The Severn River Bridge was backed up.” He sat down and scooted in his chair. “I think Annapolis would have been closer to halfway. Or don’t you cross the bridge anymore?” He smiled as he unrolled the silverware from his napkin.
“Actually, the bridge doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“Really?” Ed said, sounding skeptical. “Since when?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe since I flew over it in a helicopter.”
Ed shook his head and laughed. “Will wonders never cease.”
The waitress arrived and Ed ordered a Tanqueray martini on the rocks and a high-end chardonnay for me. A small candle flickered next to the salt and pepper shakers. A third shaker contained Old Bay Seasoning, as was the norm for restaurants on the Eastern Shore.
I tried to read his mood. I was glad he ordered drinks. At least he wasn’t in a hurry to get dinner over with.
Murder at Barclay Meadow Page 21