a Touch of Ice

by L. j. Charles

  “Two plates coming right up.” She set my calendar on the counter. “Looks like you have three clients tomorrow. Want me to call and cancel, or do you feel up to seeing them?”

  I flipped a slice of toast on each of our plates and handed her some warm raspberry syrup. “Thanks, but I’d better take care of it. I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”

  I sat down to eat and decided to go for the direct approach. “What was Dr. Pierce doing here last night?”

  Cowardly to put it all on Violet? Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to confess my nocturnal listening at doors, not quite yet. Besides, they were keeping secrets from me, and I was in no hurry to share everything with them. Talk about a bad attitude and a stupid way to try and solve a murder. I reached behind me for the coffee pot, topped off our mugs. Maybe some more caffeine would spark an attitude adjustment.

  Without missing a beat, Violet tucked her hair behind her ear and answered. “He stopped by to see how you’re doing. I think Adam mentioned your involvement with Mitch and about Tony’s murder. Pierce and Adam have been friends for years.”

  I took a bite of the French toast, took a minute to frame my response. “That’s weird,” I said, carefully, savoring the fresh raspberry flavor lingering against my palate. Whatever Violet said next made a difference as to how much I was going to reveal. The full confession was still on the tip of my tongue, just reluctant to come out.

  “Why’s that weird?” she asked, cutting off a bite of French toast.

  I stalled, waited for the tension around my heart to go away. “Because you were sitting here in the dark with him, and he was dressed in a sexy black outfit, similar to what we wore when we broke into Tony’s.”

  Violet got up to turn the next batch of toast, took her time answering. “Ah. The touch thing. I didn’t want to turn the lights on, take a chance of waking you. He was off work, so maybe he’d stopped at the gym. Lots of guys dress like that when they pump iron.”

  She slid a warm slice of toast onto my plate, and the cinnamon I’d put in the batter teased my senses. It distracted me, but then Violet hit me with another lie. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem that strange when he showed up at the door asking about you.”

  “Seriously? A doctor making a house call for no apparent reason?”

  She mumbled something unintelligible, and quickly sipped a mouthful of coffee.

  Not good. Too many secrets, and I needed time to sort them out. Besides, if I hung around here for any length of time, it was a sure thing I’d blurt something out I wasn’t supposed to know. We finished the meal in an odd sort of silence. Not uncomfortable, just…tangible and weighty enough that my decision was easy. “I think it would be good for me to go away for a few days. You know how I take a weekend every month for retreat? Since I can’t do much right now—” I pointed to my hip— “it’s a good time to go.”

  “Great idea.” The tension visibly drained from her body, but her eyes crinkled, the way they do when she knows something is wrong, but can’t put a name to it. “It’ll give you a chance to get away from bad guys and murder victims. How about I postpone my morning appointments and drive you to the retreat house?”

  I brushed a few strands of wet hair off my cheek, twisted them around my hand. “Not necessary. I can easily drive, and I need to be able to take care of myself, get my confidence back.”

  “Too soon. You were out of it for a while yesterday.” She wrung out the dishcloth, wiped down the table and counter. “I’d feel better going with you.”

  I reached for calm. Now was not the time to blow my plans with a frustrated comment. “The retreat house isn’t far. Besides, I need my car there in case something comes up and I have to get back for one reason or another.”

  I took the dishcloth out of her hand and flashed her a grin. “Stop worrying. I promise I’ll be more than ready to check out that barn when the police are finished with their…whatever it is they do at the scene of a shooting.”

  Violet shrugged in resignation. “Okay. Don’t forget your cell, and call me. Every day.”

  I waved her out the front door, grabbed the mail that had piled up while I was busy being shot, tossed a few things into my Bug, made a quick detour by the pharmacy drive-thru window to pick up an antibiotic, and then headed out of town.

  It was a beautiful day, so I rolled the windows down and let my still-damp hair blow in the wind. The fifteen minute drive was enough to insure I’d look positively frightening by the time I got there. It didn’t matter. No one but the squirrels, birds, and a colony of feral cats were going to greet me.

  My childhood home sits on two acres, hidden down a gravel and dirt road that winds behind a large housing development, but isn’t visible unless you know where to look. It’s my refuge, my retreat and it holds the memories of my parents. They left me a moderate amount of money, and arranged a lifetime annuity for Millie to stay on as housekeeper, and Harlan to maintain the gardens. The couple are dear to me and live in a small cottage on the property, so we often ate together when I was “at home.” We typically shared conversation and walks in the garden, but not this time. I’d called ahead to give them a few days off because another visitor would be showing up, one I didn’t want to explain.

  A delicious feeling of wellbeing settled over me as I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. Sunlight poured from a row of windows above the door, brought out the patina of the walnut floors, and caught the colors of the painting over the fireplace. I’ve always loved that painting. My mom had created the three interwoven hearts as an expression of the love in our family.

  I burst into tears. Not just a little boo-hoo kind of thing. Oh no, I went for the full-blown meltdown, then curled up in the hammock on the back porch and fell into a deep sleep.

  “Miz Ellie?” Harlan was calling to me from behind a wax myrtle.

  I startled awake and shook the sleep from my brain. The breeze rustling the Magnolia leaves curled around me, soothing, comfortable. “Coming.” I rolled from the hammock and started toward the wax myrtle. What the hell was Harlan doing here?

  “I’m gonna need to take some of the myrtle out. See here? It’ll change the look of the garden.”

  “You know, Harlan, you were supposed to take a few days off, take Millie on a wild date.”

  He grinned, tanned skin deepening into mellow laugh lines. “We don’t need to go someplace for a wild date. We do just fine right here at home, but we’ll stay out of your way. Don’t fret about that.”

  “It’s fine. I just have a few things to think through. About the wax myrtle—I think we need something completely new here, Harlan. Something different. How about bamboo or eucalyptus? I’m in a Zen kind of mood.”

  He gave me a big, toothy grin. “That’s a big change Miz Ellie.” He leaned back, rested his hands on a shovel sticking in the ground and narrowed his eyes at me. “You find a new beau?”

  I felt my cheeks warm. “Maybe I did, and maybe it’s just time to move on with my life.”

  He winked at me and went back to digging. “’Bout time,” floated back to me. I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

  I circled around the house to my car, grabbed the storyboard and packet of mail. The letter I’d written to myself was on the bottom of the stack, and when I ripped it open, an image—the regular kind, not the fingertip kind—of Mitch holding the bouquet of daisies flashed through my mind. It left a warm sensation in my belly. I liked this man. A lot. And as I read the words I’d written in the letter, it all came together. He’d said many of the things I’d written, oh, not in the same words, but it was there. Confirmation that whatever we had together was right, at least for now. I moved a baby-step closer to trusting my judgment when it came to men.

  As I leaned the storyboard against the living room wall, the picture of the woman with the belly jewel caught my attention. A definite must if Mitch planned to lavish attention on my abdomen. Tingling at the thought, I gathered up paper, pens and markers to summarize what we knew abo
ut Tony’s death. Work now, belly embellishment later.

  I kept coming back to the diamonds. There’d been no sense of jewels around Tony’s house. Maybe the barn? Soon as my hip healed, and my psyche, I’d go back and check it out. But first, a trip to Gypsy’s diner for a tuna melt. Okay. So over the years I’ve sort of let Violet believe that I’m sequestered when on retreat, but the tuna melt called to me. Besides, the odds were against me running into anyone I knew. Who would be at Gypsy’s, anyway?

  I successfully ignored the squiggly feeling between my shoulder blades that felt suspiciously like universe-speak and pulled into the parking lot—my mouth all set for the overstuffed, gooey sandwich. The lot was full. Not a parking place to be found, but no problem. My fave bookstore was just across the street and I wanted to pick up a couple of new reads before I headed back to the house. Fortunately, the bookstore had a much bigger lot with plenty of open spaces.

  Hiking back across the street was not one of my more graceful maneuvers, and since I had to hustle to avoid getting in the way of traffic, it aggravated my hip. I moved with deliberate caution as I slid into a booth toward the back of Gypsy’s. By the time I rescued some quarters from the bottom of my handbag for the jukebox, a server had taken my order and delivered a Diet Coke to the table. “Peppermint Twist” had just started playing when a car pulled into the parking slot right outside my window.

  The car door slammed with enough force to catch my attention, and I peeked through the slats in the Venetian blinds to see Detective Adam Stone heading for the front door.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  He ate at Gypsy’s?

  Damn. This was bad.

  I grabbed a ball cap out of my purse—thank God I’d thought to toss one in—wadded up my hair and stuffed it under the cap. Then I scooched down in the booth as far as I could, the too-quick movement sending a flash of pain through my hip. Not comfy. Maybe he’d sit far away, like at the other end of the diner, so I could eat my tuna melt in peace.

  But no.

  He sat in the booth right in front of mine. Fortunately, his back was to me and it was unlikely he’d turn around to check out the booth behind him. It could be worse. What if we’d ended up face-to-face? Still, I needed a plan.

  If I tried to leave, he’d spot me for sure, maybe want to talk, and then he’d report back to Violet since they’re all buddy-buddy. So not an option.

  I counted off three minutes on the wall clock, then five. Just as I began to relax, disaster strolled through the front door.

  What was Violet doing here?

  We never came here together. She’d always shrugged it off when I suggested tuna melts at Gypsy’s. Thank you, God, for a full parking lot. She would have spotted my car for sure.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  Could it get any worse?

  I held my breath and pushed as much negative thought about eating at Gypsy’s toward her as I could. Didn’t do a bit of good. Her reflection bounced off the window glare as she waltzed toward me and slipped into the booth with Adam.

  Even with the ball cap and making myself as invisible as possible, Violet could spot me from across a football field. Also, she had that super spy intuition, and was well trained in prickly neck. How the hell was I going to hide from her?

  Normal. Just act normal, El. Like they always let you out to grab a tuna melt at Gypsy’s when you’re on retreat. Damn, but the lies of omission were catching up with me.

  Violet settled into the booth without tossing a glance in my direction, so I blew out an exhalation, a quiet whisper of breath. It wasn’t safe yet. She could still check out the area, probably would. She was always hyper-alert to her surroundings. I frantically ran through possible explanations as to why I didn’t immediately announce my presence. A vow of silence? That would keep with the retreat theme of my clandestine weekends away.

  She cleared her throat, and panic zinged through me. This was it.

  At that exact moment, fate, in the form of a waitress with a platter of onion rings, stepped in to save my anonymity. She plopped the platter down on their table.

  Onion rings? She said they weren’t an item, but still, sharing onion rings?

  Never had I seen Violet eat deep-fried food.

  Not that it mattered. The timing was perfect because she was probably distracted enough by the pungent scent of the onions to spend any time checking out the booths around her, specifically the one I was hiding in.

  Adam’s voice broke into my thoughts, “Hey, Annie. You okay?”

  Annie?

  It was all I could do to keep from jumping up, and peering over the back of their booth to stare at the woman who I was positive had been Violet. I held my breath waiting to hear her say something.

  “Sure. What could be better than our favorite booth, in our favorite diner, with an order of onion rings and Diet Coke?”

  This wasn’t a moment I would ever forget. “Splish Splash” played on the juke box, I was where I absolutely was not supposed to be, and my curiosity was being satisfied on oh, so many levels. As long as I didn’t get caught, this situation was close to perfect—although the onion rings made my nose wrinkle. But I could overlook that because my question about whether the woman was really Violet had been answered when I heard her voice.

  My best friend now had three different names. Count them. Violet, A.J., and Annie. Wonder how she remembered who she was at any given time. More importantly, I was getting worried about her and hoped I’d get some answers in the next few minutes.

  “Exactly where is this retreat house Everly visits?” Adam asked.

  Where was my house? Violet had three names and he was worried about my whereabouts? Talk about needing to get a grip.

  “She’s never said and I’ve never pried.” Violet’s sigh was aggravated and raspy. A sound I’d heard many times before, and I’d bet my favorite ball cap Adam just batted her hand away from the onion ring he wanted. She gave me the very same sigh when I grabbed a prized morsel of Cashew Chicken out from under her chopsticks.

  “Of course you’ve tried to find it.”

  “Umm, I’ve compiled a list of local places that specialize in that sort of thing, spas, religious organizations, and the like.”

  “And?”

  “I‘ve never tried to trace her. She’s a good friend, Adam, more than, and that would just be wrong.”

  “So any ideas about where to start looking?”

  “She always drives, is only gone for a day or two, so it can’t be far.”

  “I’d feel better if we knew exactly where she is,” he said around a bite of onion ring. I could tell by the garbled sound.

  He must have swallowed because his next words were crystal clear. “At least until we know how the Civitelli family and Delano West are connected.”

  I heard another one of those sighs. Adam was definitely getting away with more than I ever did in the filching food department. “On the other hand,” he continued, “it’s a relief to have her tucked away someplace safe. Too bad she wouldn’t let you go with her.”

  “I have work here.” Violet’s voice sounded like cracked ice.

  “Yeah. Well, I appreciate your training. Sometimes, though, you’re just Annie, and when that bastard is around I want to protect you.”

  “When that bastard is around I am more than happy to accept any and all back-up. Protection is another thing altogether. West belongs to me. He’s been threatening my life since I killed his nephew. Since they were both on my kill roster, I did my job, but I should have stayed long enough to finish it before I retired. I couldn’t face another killing, not then. Just because I’m good doesn’t mean I have to be active.”

  Right. Kill roster. Like everyone chats about kill rosters on a date.

  Adam grunted. “Sweet Jesus, thank you for that.”

  I’m sure Violet (well, whoever she was) grinned. “I like my PI work—like having a dotted-line connection to the agency, helping when I can. West is the exception. I
have to finish this. I know his patterns better than anyone else.”

  Well, that confirmed a few of my suspicions. Violet, make that Annie, was not your average girl-next-door, and Adam was worried about her. So, were they an item or not?

  The waitress chose that moment to serve my tuna melt, and I responded to her questions with appropriate nods and shakes of my head. No way was I going to say anything. I’d be caught for sure. She gave me a the-customer-is-always-crazy eye roll, and barely hustled away in time for me to catch Adam’s response.

  “I may not be trained as a sniper, but I’m a damn good cop. Don’t underestimate me. Furthermore with Pierce here, you aren’t in this alone, it isn’t your job anymore, it’s our job now.”

  Annie-slash-Violet took a while to answer him. It seemed like forever to me because I couldn’t see what was happening, but I guessed she was eating, taking time to figure out what she wanted to say. I wondered if I dared take a bite of my sandwich. Her words were a hell of a lot more important than my dinner—at least until they left and I could eat without getting caught.

  “I know how good you are. When you were working homicide in L.A., I was so proud. You’re a brilliant tactician and a skilled marksman. I can’t think of anyone I’d want to work with more. Except maybe Pierce. We tied for first place in every training exercise we participated in, his height and weight gave him an advantage in some cases, my agility gave me an advantage in others. It’s a toss-up which of us is the best—except that West was my assignment, so I’m the one that has to figure out what his next move is. I have the edge here because I’ve had more experience with him.”

  “I don’t think so, Annie. Pierce has been following West since you became Violet. Let him do this job.”

  “Pierce and I, we haven’t talked about the details of how we’re going to work this, but it’ll definitely be a joint effort. I don’t want anyone hurt because I didn’t do what I should have done back then.”