"Stay, and we can have dinner."
"I hate you. Why would I want to eat with you?"
This makes him laugh more.
"Besides, since when do you cook?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Carly's taught me a few dishes."
He and Carly are cooking together? I definitely need to stay. While I believe that Carly was just out with girlfriends last night, I can't help wondering if maybe Izzie is partially right, and Enzo could get hurt again. There isn't anything for me to do to stop it, but I can listen and be here for him if needed.
"Fine. What are we having for dinner? It better not involve ketchup." I toss my purse onto the counter.
He tries to hold back a chuckle, but he doesn't do a good job. He reaches into his fridge and pulls out a rotisserie chicken container from the grocery store. "How about leftovers?"
I raise a brow to his choice of cold chicken but think twice about protesting when he next pulls out macaroni and spinach salads. Separate, not combined.
"There's also a Carvel ice cream cake for dessert."
Oh, heck yeah. I'm staying. While the layers of vanilla and then chocolate ice cream are good, it's the chocolate crunchies in between that are the best.
He pops the top on the chicken. "Cold or heated?"
"If you plan on microwaving it, cold." Nuked poultry has an icky taste to me.
We each make a heaping plate and settle down in the living room, across from the TV, which Enzo finally turns on.
"Ma won't be happy you're not going to her house for dinner."
"After Sunday's cold shoulder, she'll be fine."
I hadn't thought about how that fiasco affected him. He had a smile on his face during dinner and dessert and seemed so untouched by it all. "Izzie and I saw Carly at lunch today."
"Oh yeah?" He shoved a forkful of chicken into his mouth, completely uninterested.
"Did you hear me?"
He frowned at me. "Yeah. What's wrong with you? You're sitting a foot away from me. I'm not Pop."
So I'm not the only one who's noticed Pop's audio issues. "Well, don't you want to know who she was with or where we were?"
He shrugged and scooped up some macaroni salad. "It doesn't matter."
"Why not? The two of you are cooking together. She was in your shower, and you brought her to Sunday dinner, which is the same as meeting the parents."
"You're sounding like Izzie. Carly and I are just friends. We're not getting married. Besides, you bring Julian to Sunday dinner."
I shake my fork in the air, back and forth. "Oh, no. Ma brings Julian to Sunday dinner."
We both snort because we know it's true.
"So, just friends? You sure?"
"I would know," he says.
"Izzie told me about high school. Was it as bad as she says, and why wasn't I aware of it all?"
"You were a kid. And I wasn't going to confide in my little sister. At least not back then."
Aww, that means he confides in me now. And that would be so much cuter if he was doing any confiding.
"So, confide."
He sighs and sets his fork down. "You're not going to let me eat until we paint each other's nails and talk about boys, huh?"
I grin as wide as my cheeks will allow. "Uh-huh."
"Fine. No, Carly and I are not together nor are we getting back together. I'm not interested in going down that road with her again. She's just a friend. And right now, she needs one."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"She recently broke up with the love of her life."
"Ouch, and that doesn't bother you?"
He stares off into the distance then shakes his head. "No, it doesn't. It would have if I was still eighteen, but I forgave her and moved on. You know, I have dated in the past eleven years."
I smirk. "Yes, I'm aware, but sometimes our first loves stay with us for a very long time."
"Is that the case with you?"
"My true first love died. There's nothing for me to hang onto. But no. I'm happy with Julian."
"Are you? I never know if you're back together or not. I still don't know why you broke up this last time."
Didn't we have this conversation a few days ago? Does he simply not remember, or is he pumping me for intel? I just shrug. "I'm not sure either, but he makes it hard to keep him at arm's length."
Enzo scrunches up his face. "Okay, before I learn about my sister's sexual habits or appetite, can we stop this slumber party now?"
I laugh. "Yes."
He lifts his plate and starts shoveling his food in as if he hasn't eaten in days. When he finally comes up for air, without turning his gaze from the TV, he asks, "You said you wanted to talk about the case. Do you know something more?"
I wish. "No, I was wondering if you learned anything new."
"Nothing more yet."
Darn.
* * *
When I leave Enzo's it's dark, and I'm full of ice cream. I'm so glad I'm wearing elastic-waist leggings and not something with buttons or zippers. I pull my car onto the gravel driveway that leads to the back of Mancini Deli and park.
It's dark back here. There's a streetlamp by the street, but it's dim and only lights the entrance. I've been meaning to mention it to Pop. He's all about his kids' safety, so I'm sure he'll put up a flood lamp or something equally blinding, but it will be safe. I'm thinking about my darn brother and his prank as I get out, so I totally miss the silhouette of a person until I'm too close to be at a safe distance away.
"Merda," I mumble under my breath and stop in my tracks. I'm afraid that if I turn and try to make it back to my car, the assailant will grab the back of my hair and drag me to my death. Yes, I watch way too many episodes of Criminal Minds. But isn't it better to be prepared? Plus, I've already been around one murder victim and got way too close to her killer. And I know what death feels like up close and personal.
The mass murderer makes a stifled sound, and I gasp.
Screw this. I turn and run to my car when I hear my name.
"Gianna, what are you doing?" the voice asks. It's female.
I turn and hope I'm not making a mistake. "Who are you?"
She steps out of the intense shadows until I can make out her dark ponytail, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped mouth. "Gianna, it's me, Serena."
I take a deep breath and clutch my heart. Well, more like I lay my hand on my chest. Clutching my actual heart would be a bit messy and probably fatal.
"You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?"
She steps even closer, and I realize she's sniffling, crying, and that was the sound she made. "The police came by Sparks to tell me about Thom…" Her voice trails off.
She knows. They told her he was a fake. My chest becomes heavy, and I feel for her.
"Come on. Let's go upstairs."
I lead the way and unlock the downstairs, outside door. Pop recently added the lock to it. Then we climb the long, narrow flight of stairs, and I unlock my apartment door. I fling my purse onto the floor near the breakfast bar, turning on lights as I go.
"Have a seat," I say and point to the lumpy sofa. "Do you want coffee? I also have water, orange juice, and vodka."
Not that I want her drinking and driving… "How'd you get here? Where's your car?"
"I parked on the street. I didn't know your apartment was in back until I got out and walked around. And no, I don't want anything. You know, right? About him. That's what you were saying earlier."
I sit beside her and nod. "Yeah, I heard that your fiancé wasn't the real Thomas Sterling. I'm sorry."
She sniffles again. "How is this possible?"
I wish I knew. And if Fake Thomas would show his ghostly face I could maybe find out. The coward.
"The police think I'm lying and that I know who he really was, but I don't." Her sniffles turn to full-fledged sobs. They're too heavy, too real to suspect she's faking it. It's nice to know she wasn't involved in that farce.
I get up, go into the bedroom, and
come back out with a box of tissues. I hand them to her and return to my seat. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
I'm still not sure if she's guilty or not in his death though, so maybe I shouldn't be offering, but she looks so miserable. And I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Granted, my first love died in a hit-and-run. It has to be harder when it's murder meant for her. Supposedly.
She shakes her head to my offer of help. "The police didn't have anything to hold me. Lying isn't exactly a crime, not like obstruction. But I haven't done anything wrong. They suspect I have my hand in this mess somehow though. I'm totally innocent, but what if they fabricate something? You hear about dirty cops."
I'd love to tell her that's a myth, but Detective Kevin Burton did exactly that last month with Izzie. I also don't want to needlessly worry Serena, so I say nothing and hope she won't notice.
"What do you know about Fake…about the man you were engaged to?"
She shrugs. "Just what he told me. Everything was about the real Thomas Sterling. The police told me things about Mr. Sterling, and they're identical to what my Thomas told me."
"Like what?"
"That he grew up with his parents in a big house up in Lido Beach, and that he went to Columbia University. It's as if my Thomas memorized all of Mr. Sterling's information."
I stare at her, wondering if she's really this clueless or if it's the grief talking. "He did, Serena. It's a con. He was probably pretending to be the real Thomas Sterling for some reason, and he didn't mean to fall for you. Unless you're wealthy. Are you?"
She widens her eyes. "No way. If I was, I wouldn't be back at the club working."
I hear that.
"But why lie to me?"
"I can't answer that." But if Fake Thomas was here, maybe he could. "What about his mother, Brenda? I'm assuming she passed herself off as the real Mrs. Sterling. I wonder if anyone's spoken to her." That was a silly question. Of course the police spoke with the real Mrs. Sterling. That's probably how they learned the real Thomas was alive and well in Europe.
Serena buries her face in her hands and groans. "This is just crazy."
That is not a lie.
"How did you and he meet? Where?" I ask.
"It was at a party. A quick introduction from friends. And then I ran into him again one day, and he asked me out. Just like that. We instantly fell in love."
"And what about the fake Brenda? Did you ever meet her at her mansion?" I do air quotes and softly chuckle.
Serena doesn't think it's funny though because she just continues to stare wide-eyed. "Yes. A couple of times."
My brain does a rewind to what I asked. "Wait, what? You met with her at her mansion? The one up in Lido Beach?"
"Yes, that's why this doesn't make sense."
Another nugget of truth.
I stand up. "Take me there."
* * *
I follow Serena's white Toyota through the East End and past it into Lido Beach. The Sterling mansion is huge and white and seems to shimmer in the moonlight. The drive from the street to the house is all lush, manicured shrubs. Some short boxy ones but others that are tall and shaped like cones.
I park behind Serena, who stops a few feet from the front steps. I get out and follow her up those glistening steps, wondering how anyone keeps white so clean. Ma would be impressed but the poor Sterling's staff. I hope they get paid well.
Serena uses the heavy brass knocker on the door, and glances at me. She seems to be biting the inside of her cheek. I interpret the look as nervousness. Or maybe that's just due to the swarm of butterflies in my own belly. I have high expectations we'll get some answers here, and I can't wait.
The door opens to a man in black pants and vest and a crisp white shirt. I wonder if he cleans the stairs.
"May I help you?" he asks.
"We're here to see Mrs. Sterling," Serena says.
"I'm sorry, but the lady of the house can not be disturbed." He starts to shut the door, but Serena sticks her foot in the threshold, preventing him from closing it all the way.
"Don't you remember me?" she asks.
He doesn't respond or show any sign of recognition.
"I was here last month. I was her future daughter-in-law."
"Mrs. Sterling already has a daughter-in-law."
Serena sighs. "That may be so, but I was here, and so were you. You passed the living room to the right." She points as if he needs to know which way is right.
"I was sitting in there waiting for Mrs. Sterling. You asked me if I wanted tea or coffee, and I didn't. You don't remember, or you don't want to?"
I can't help but grin widely. Part of it is because of how Serena plays hard ball. I like it. And the other reason is because this is my first time meeting an actual butler. Pop would be so impressed. Every time we played the game Clue, he always said "the butler did it," even if he knew it was Colonel Mustard in the study with a lead pipe.
"Look, we're not leaving until we speak with Mrs. Sterling, and if you don't let us in then I'll go to the press and tell them how I've been in this house, that I know how the entire living room is white, from the rug to the furniture and walls, and how the imposter knew everything about the Sterlings. Things I'm sure they don't want made public."
When Serena is done with her awesome monologue, she takes a step back, removing her foot from the doorway.
The butler says, "One moment please." He shuts the door and leaves us staring at it.
"If I ever need to win an argument, I'm calling you," I whisper.
She lets out a light giggle and smiles at me. It looks good on her.
The door reopens, and the butler waves an arm for us to enter. Part of me wants to say, "ha" as I pass, but I was raised better than that. Besides, I'm sure the butler is a very nice man. He's just doing his job.
I follow Serena into the white living room, and she wasn't kidding. Oh my God, it either costs a fortune to keep this room so brilliant, or it's hardly used.
But before we get cozy, as much as one can get cozy sitting gingerly on the edge of a cushion while hoping you don't leave behind a body imprint, the butler clears his voice. "This way, please."
I turn to see him pointing in the opposite direction. To the left. Wonder what's behind these double doors. He opens them to reveal a smaller room in various shades of blue, from the pastel walls to the navy sofa and a muted blue Tiffany lamp. I suddenly want to explore the rest of the house to find the yellow, red, and green rooms. I'm sure they exist.
A woman around Ma's age is seated on a settee. She wears a long, floral gown, which must be the rich equivalent of a housedress, with a matching scarf around her head and jeweled slippers on her feet. Is this Mrs. Sterling, or are we about to get our fortunes read?
She eyes each of us suspiciously, which, under the circumstances, I completely understand. "Thank you, Jeeves. That is all."
I choke back a laugh. No way. His name is Jeeves? Just wait until I tell Pop.
She must notice the half smile I'm desperately trying to hide because she says, "His actual name is Benjamin, but we have a running joke about the Jeeves thing around strangers."
Ha, they have a sense of humor. How cool.
"Now which of you young women is the one wanting to cause trouble for my family?"
Serena raises her hand to cheek level. "I don't want trouble. I just want to talk to you."
Mrs. Sterling points to the sofa across from her. "Well, sit down because I don't want to strain my neck, and tell me what you want to talk about."
We sit and Serena looks at me. She suddenly seems at a loss for words, so I begin. I tell the woman about the fake Thomas and how he died and how he and Serena were engaged.
"Yes, I heard about that. I am terribly sorry someone is dead, but that man was impersonating my son. I hadn't any knowledge this was even going on or that my son's home had been used for this ruse until the police spoke with me. It's all very upsetting, but surely you aren't here because you feel en
titled to something?"
Serena looks taken aback. Poor girl. Even if she is a murderer, which I kinda doubt, she's had a ton of crap fall on her lately.
I take the lead again. "We're here, Mrs. Sterling because we simply want to understand. Serena met the fake Mrs. Sterling here, in your home. In the white living room."
Mrs. Sterling frowns. "That's not possible."
"But it is," Serena says. Her voice is strained, as if she's on the verge of tears again. "The last time was just last month. It was on a Tuesday. I remember this because Thomas and I went to dinner afterwards, and I don't work Tuesday nights."
Mrs. Sterling raises her chin and stares at us down her nose. "Tuesday? What time of day was this?"
"Around three or four. Thomas and I left after we discussed wedding plans with his mother. She was not happy."
"Why is that?" Mrs. Sterling asks.
Serena shrugs. "She didn't think I was good enough for her son."
What if the fake Mrs. Sterling was trying to kill Serena and accidentally killed her own child? Then again, were the imposters even related?
"I am not home at that time of day on Tuesdays," Mrs. Sterling says. "I have a weekly luncheon with friends at the Rose Garden."
Ah-ha! Now we're getting somewhere.
"What does this fake me look like?"
"Um, brown hair down to her shoulders. She's slightly thick but not fat, just not slender. And there's a beauty mark at the corner of her left eye," Serena says.
I hadn't noticed the beauty mark.
Mrs. Sterling inhales a sharp breath. Then she picks up a small brass bell and jingles it.
Oh my gosh, I've seen it all. You'd think there'd be a more appropriate, or at least respectful, way of calling for your servant. Maybe this is part of their humor, but I get the feeling Mrs. Sterling doesn't feel like laughing.
Almost immediately, Jeeves appears in the doorway. "Yes, Ma'am?"
"Can you please ask Cynthia to come here? And don't say why."
He gives half of a bow. "Yes, Ma'am."
After he leaves, I ask, "Who's Cynthia?"
"My assistant." Mrs. Sterling now sounds curt, and her top lip is stiff, so I don't ask anything more.
Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2) Page 13