At the appointed time, I heard the doorbell ring and headed downstairs, feeling every bit as nervous as a teenager on a first date. I am a foolish woman.
That’s when I heard them.
“Oh, he’s here. Come on in, Nick. We’ve been waiting for you.”
It was Hannah’s voice. I couldn’t believe it. What was she doing here?
“My, don’t you look swell. All dressed up,” Agnes said, loud enough for me to hear on the top step.
“Out of the way now, let the man in,” Ida ordered officiously.
Frozen midway down the staircase, eyes closed in mortification, I considered going back upstairs, maybe jumping out a window.
“What’s in the bag?” Hannah quizzed in a whisper loud enough to alert the Pomeranians several miles from here. “A present? My Henry used to bring me little gifts when he came courting.”
Courting. Oh, my God. These women. Had they no sense of the appropriate?
I heard the paper bag rustle. Was he opening the bag? Shifting it? I couldn’t tell. Would my petal pink underwear make an appearance?
“That’s right,” Agnes affirmed. “I recall your Henry once brought you a zucchini. Never saw such a big zucchini in all my days.” She paused. “I forget. Did you cook that one with cheese or did you bread it, Hannah?”
I grunted to myself. I had to stop this. I peeled my fingers from the cherry wood bannister, and continued down.
“Now don’t you folks go spoiling the surprise,” Ida cut in. “Let Nick here give our Nora her bag, and if she wants she can tell us what’s in it. We’re not nosy.”
In a pig’s eye, I almost shouted, wondering even as the words formed in my head where they had come from. Straight out of left field, that’s where. I’d never used an expression like that in my entire life. Had I heard Ida say that?
“It’s not a present,” Nick explained. “Just a bag I found out by Nora’s truck. She must have dropped it,” he lied.
I expelled a grateful breath as I hit the bottom step. When I turned the corner and saw him in the foyer, I gave him a huge smile. He smiled back over the sea of white heads. “Nora, hello.”
The aunts turned, expectant, heads swiveling from me to Nick and back again as if they were following a tennis match.
I wanted to scowl at them, but I couldn’t. I loved these ladies, Agnes with her chubby cheeks, Hannah with her purple silk scarf, Ida with her apron. I took the bag, excused myself and hurried back upstairs.
“What was a flag doing by her truck?” I heard Agnes say.
“Bag, not flag,” Hannah said.
When I returned to the parlor, Hannah was chatting with Nick about the restaurant we were going to. Ida mentioned that the last time she’d been there she’d had their special three-cheese lasagna.
“Oh, that’s wicked good food, but all that cheese will bind you up for sh-ur,” Agnes said. “Believe me, I know from personal experience. But if that’s the dish you want, why go right ahead. There’s always Metamucil.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Call me old fashioned,” Hannah said, “but I still prefer Exlax.”
“You like that chocolate flavor,” Ida pointed out. “Me, I like my prunes. They do the trick.”
Nick stood when I entered. I expected a desperate, get-me-out-of-here look, but his broad smile held despite the laxative discussion. He looked good in a light blue, button-down shirt and stone-colored slacks. This was the first time I’d seen him out of uniform since the Dumpster episode.
We all sat and chatted, a rare experience for me. No, not rare. That would imply it had happened before. It never had. My parents never chatted freely with any guy I dated. It was more along the lines of the Spanish Inquisition.
The tension ebbed as I listened to them all. The aunts wanted an update on Collins’ murder.
“We’re checking out the folks who visited the library the day Ida overheard the conversation,” he told them.
This pleased Ida. Me too, since I’d done Dumpster duty to retrieve that list.
“We have several suspects but nothing definite on any of them. Can’t tell you who they are, of course.”
Everyone nodded in understanding, including me, although I decided to pump him later.
“The shell caliber used is a common one, a 30-caliber. Collins was shot from a distance of about two hundred feet, give or take a few feet. We figure the shooter was standing by a tree, and probably steadied the rifle on a branch. We found a fiber.”
Agnes leaned forward in her chair. “Red? A hunter?”
“Not exactly.”
“Blue?” Ida asked.
“I can’t reveal that information.”
I almost said green, but I realized he didn’t want it to be common knowledge. He had favored me with the information though. I felt privileged.
“You think he saw his killer?” Hannah asked.
“We can’t know that, Ma’am.”
We all nodded, but at two hundred feet there was a good chance Al Collins had seen his killer. Someone had been nearby in the woods and that someone had shot him.
“You have any idea why he was there in the first place?” I asked.
“Probably to meet someone. He wasn’t dressed for a hike in the woods.”
A mental image of JT’s empty rifle cabinet flashed through my head again.
“Think you’ll find the man who killed him?” Ida asked. “So we can all sleep at night.”
“We’ll find the killer,” Nick assured them.
Not find him, I noticed. He’d said ‘find the killer.’ Did he suspect a woman?
I wondered if Ellie had heard from JT yet.
During a brief lull in the conversation, I mentioned that I was starving, and the aunts took the hint and agreed we should be on our way.
EIGHTEEN
When we stepped out the front door, to my credit, I didn’t sigh loud enough to be heard. Nick had come in his official sheriff’s vehicle. Great. Red bubble lights, a siren, a scanner, a two-way radio. What more could a woman want?
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked as he opened the door. “My truck is in the shop.”
“Are you going to test drive my truck?” Even that would be better than this.
“When we get back I’ll take it for a quick spin. I’m hungry now and your truck shouldn’t be driven much until you get that radiator leak fixed.”
“Right.” I slid into the front seat. “You’re not planning on running to any calls, are you?”
“No. My men can handle whatever comes up. I’m off duty.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I mumbled as he walked around and got in.
When he turned the key, the sheriff’s radio gave a blast of static that startled me. He grinned and turned it down. Not off, just down. God forbid the man should not be tethered to his job.
“You look nice, Nora.”
“Thank you. So do you.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled onto the road and I decided to relax, give up being annoyed about riding in his sheriff’s vehicle. Once I did that, an amazing thing happened. Suddenly, I was feeling very at home sitting next to him, an unusual feeling. I should analyze the phenomenon.
He pointed out his parent’s house as we drove past. All I saw was a green mailbox at the end of the driveway with faded mums spilling around it.
We drove by the lake and he pointed out where he used to swim as a kid. Then past the high school and the football field where he played on the varsity.
“Quarterback?”
“Good guess.”
He was a man who took charge. “You called the plays.”
“Umm.”
We traveled through a thickly wooded area where the trees canopied the road, darkening it, then up an incline and finally into the light where the fields were rimmed with the pinks and golds of the setting sun. Clouds, like gauze, drifted above us.
“Beautiful,” I said.
We crossed a bridge and I saw a restauran
t ahead.
“Do you know much about trees?” I asked.
“I’m from Maine.”
Ignoring the conceit, I said, “I went looking for a red pine yesterday and couldn’t find any red trees, so I went—”
He started to laugh. Looked at me, then laughed some more.
I interrupted with, “Get a grip, Renzo. It’s not that funny. I went to the library and found out they’re really green. It’s a common mistake, I’m sure.”
He had the audacity to laugh louder. “Not around here it isn’t.”
I caught myself before I smacked his arm. That would be too familiar. I had to be careful. “Now I’m not going to ask you what I wanted to ask.”
He pulled into the parking lot of the Bella Napoli Restaurant. “Even if I promise not to laugh?”
“I think I don’t like you.”
He turned off the engine and touched my arm. “I like you.”
Damn man.
“I have to find something in Ida’s woods, down by the brook. Different trees are markers on the map.”
“And if I offer to help?”
“Would you?” It came out as a whisper, although that’s not what I intended.
“Yes,” he whispered back, leaning so far toward me that I thought he was going to kiss me. I held my breath, which I realized was ridiculous, but I was on the verge of panting so what else could I do? My heart had kicked into overdrive, and my palms began to sweat. Instant sweating. How embarrassing. Then he placed his hand over my hand and pulled back, his eyes holding mine. After a few second, or was it hours, he removed his hand and turned off the engine. Without delay, I opened my door. Get me outta here.
All I could think of was that I used to be cool. I held my head up, in an attempt to recapture that cool as we went into the restaurant.
Red-checked tablecloths, candles in amber glasses, plastic grapes, vines up one side of the room and across the ceiling—not New York chic, a snobby thought that made me wish it was possible to take thoughts back.
The rich aroma of tomato sauce, garlic and onions filled the air. The place wasn’t crowded, but one group of about a dozen people, all men, one with a paper hat with the word retired printed on it, was making so much noise I could barely hear Dean Martin going on about the moon hitting his eye like a-big a-pizza pie.
“The food’s good here,” Nick assured me after we ordered wine, a merlot for him, a pinot grigio for me.
“Even my parents come here,” he said, “which is saying something for my dad who swears only my mother knows how to cook a decent beef braciole.”
“Your family’s close?”
“Yes.” He took a sip of wine. “Which is why I have my own place,” he added with a smile.
Eh, Cumpari began and the noisy table sang along. I found myself tapping my foot. If I knew the words, I might have sung with them.
Nick asked what I was looking for in the woods. I hesitated. I hadn’t even told the aunts yet.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said quickly.
I realized I wanted to share this with him. I made a quick decision that I hoped wasn’t the result of wine on an empty stomach.
“My great-grandmother buried a box for me,” I began. I told him about my father taking the family to New York, and asked if he’d ever heard anything about sexual harassment at the Auto Mart years ago.
“No. But I can check it out for you. Look up old records.”
Exactly what I needed to see. So why, all of a sudden, did a chill of dread sweep up my spine.
There was a loud crash in the vicinity of the Eh, Cumpari singers. Glass breaking. Laughter.
Nick’s gaze darted to the group, but he quickly turned his attention back to me. The noise level rose a few decibels as the refrain kicked in, for what I hoped was the last time.
Nick’s gaze shifted between them and me. I wondered whether he’d get involved. Half expected he would.
“Is that why you sat on that side of the table? So you could keep an eye on them?”
He gazed at me for several moments, silent, not feeling the need, I knew, to verbalize his answer.
“The waitress is young and keeps serving them alcohol,” he said. “Several of them should have been cut off a while back. And a few of the guys keep going outside to smoke. I caught the sweet smell when we entered.”
“I didn’t smell anything. There was a breeze. How could you smell anything but fresh air?”
“Well …”
“Never mind.” I waved my hand. “You don’t have to explain. You’re more tuned in than I am. Right? More observant?”
He nodded. “It’s what I do. I’d better be good at it.”
I turned to look. A young guy, probably the maître d’, was conferring with someone at the table. “Looks like the situation is under control.”
Nick nodded, and his focus turned back to me.
“This is a non-date, right?” I said.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Tell me about the woman who made you swear off dating.”
I expected him to hem and haw a bit, like most guys would, but he said, “She was my ex-fiancée. She moved to the big city. That would be Boston. She called from there to cancel our engagement.”
“Ouch.” I stared at him. “And I do mean that with a capital O. Some people have no class. Did you suspect anything before that happened?”
“As the local sheriff, I don’t like to answer that. Tarnish my reputation for following clues.”
“To say nothing of gut instinct?”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t mean to offend. You’ll get your chance. I hear payback is a bitch. Here goes.” I paused for effect. Sometimes I can be a drama queen. “I walked into my apartment early one afternoon, due to the fact that I was laid off from my job that very day, and I heard the shower running. What a nice surprise. My fiancé was home early. Let me go see.
“He was living in my apartment. We were saving money to get married. I paid the rent. His check, or most of it, went into his bank account, our little nest egg. We never got around to putting my name on it. I trusted him, so there was no rush and we were both so busy. Please don’t tell me I was dumb,” I said quickly. “I know that.”
“Love and trust go together. You loved him. There’s no need to explain further.”
That was the perfect thing to say. I was liking this guy more and more.
“Anyway, you can probably guess the rest.”
He nodded. “I think so.”
“Bimbo-slash-fiancé-interruptus, I think it’s called.”
I shoved down the urge to cry. I laughed lightly instead. Nick didn’t. He held my gaze.
“This was recent, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “Shortly before I came here. A few days before.”
“You never had a clue?” he asked gently.
“Not a one, says the hotshot detective from New York.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” I paused, trying to decide how much to tell him. “I jammed a chair under the bathroom door so they were both locked in, and then I tossed his clothes, his CDs, his tennis racket and his vitamins, which were all lined up in alphabetical order, out the window. It was sort of like a sidewalk sale for the folks walking by. Actually, a little crowd gathered. I even sent his Big Berthas down. He’d just bought those golf clubs. He loved them more that anything. Even me, as it turned out.”
“Good move.”
I tasted the veal Marsala. Melt-in-your-mouth wonderful.
“He was a cop,” I said when I finished chewing. “Like my Dad. But not quite like my Dad.”
Nick nodded. “So you’re cop-shy.”
“And you’re city-girl shy.”
“Nora Lassiter, we should never talk to each other again.”
“We absolutely should not, Nick Renzo.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
&nb
sp; “We should toast to that.”
We raised our glasses and toasted.
The noisy table broke up and most of them went home. Three remained. They argued with the waitress about the bill.
During dessert, a chocolate mousse that was better than anything I’d tasted in my whole life, there was a loud crash. Nick stood abruptly, jostling the table, which jostled my spoon, which sent chocolate mousse blobbing down the front of my blouse. He didn’t notice.
“Stay,” he called over his shoulder.
Stay? Is that anything like sit? Stand? Heel?
I think not, mister.
I got up and followed him, mumbling a few choice expletives about my blouse. Two of the former Eh, Cumpari singers were duking it out. Maybe someone should change the present tarantella and put Eh, Cumpari back on.
Nick was attempting to separate the brawlers. Some guy, I think he may have been the manager, came running, followed by the Pillsbury Dough Boy in one of those bouffant chef’s hats.
“Call nine-one-one.” the manager yelled to the entire room, which consisted of me, the chef, and an elderly couple who may have been hard of hearing since they didn’t seem disturbed by the racket, or perhaps were pretending it wasn’t happening. Who knew? I didn’t count the drunk with the paper hat who was now clapping his hands and rolling his shoulders in rhythm to the tarantella.
I grabbed my cell. Before I could dial, Nick and the two men fell to the floor in a big heap with Nick in the middle, kind of like a sheriff sandwich. I dropped the phone. What to do, what to do. Stay calm.
“Nick.” I yelled in my calmest voice. He turned to look at me, and a fist clipped his chin.
Okay, calm didn’t work. I needed a weapon.
I scanned the room. Knives. Not a good choice. I hate knives. Desperate, I grabbed a bowl of spaghetti with clam sauce from the old folks table. Now they were paying attention. Aiming for the guy on top, I flung the contents. Hit him square in the face. Faster than you can say linguine pescatora the guy was off the floor, sputtering, spitting, wiping. I thought he was going to kick Nick, so I sent the chocolate mousse his way, too, a sad waste, but you do what you have to do.
Mouth pressed into a straight line, chocolate fists raised, spaghetti dangling every which way, the bull charged. I grabbed a chair, and shoved it. Drunk, wobbly on his feet, he fell into it head first.
Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream Page 14