“Thanks,” she said, noting the way the candlelight played against his skin. “I married Bill right out of college. Big mistake, I guess.”
He chuckled and took a sip of wine. “Well, my crush goes way back to high school.”
“High school? We didn’t go to school together. . . .”
“No, but I saw you around, and our dads were good friends,” he said. “I remember reading an article about you in the paper when you were dancing in New York. And before that . . . well, you were always in the paper for winning awards, being homecoming queen, and I can’t remember everything else.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling her face heat up. Was she blushing? And where had she been that she’d never noticed this Eric as a boy? Well, she always did have her head in the clouds, or rather on the stage. She didn’t pay any attention at all to boys in high school. She did have a boyfriend, but nothing serious, just a boy to escort her to dances and parties.
“So, how is Lizzie?” he said, changing the subject, his dark eyebrows lifting.
“She is getting better, but she’s still not quite herself,” she said. “Easy to get down to sleep these days, and that’s not like her.”
“Active, huh?”
Vera nodded, noting the way his long fingers wrapped around his wineglass. A physician’s hands. Hands that tended to the sick and traumatized. Just like her father’s hands. She warmed.
“Where did you go to medical school?” she asked.
“University of Virginia. Where else?” he said.
“Oh my, yes. Where else?” she said. “Your daddy?”
He nodded. “I toyed with Princeton and even was accepted. But he wouldn’t hear of it.”
Vera bit into her chicken, which, next to her mother’s fried chicken, was the best she’d ever had. It was so tender that it almost melted in her mouth. The asparagus served alongside was cooked to perfection, as well.
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “You are such a beautiful woman. I just had to tell you that.”
Vera marveled at the sincerity of his remark, and the gesture seemed natural, as if they’d known each other for years.
Still, he was a man. Men were really not to be trusted.
He lifted her hand to his lips. She felt his breath with a soft kiss on her skin, and a tingle shot through her body.
Goodness. She needed to be cautious. She felt her heart stirring just a bit.
There was a little weariness behind his eyes.
“Late night?” she asked.
“Delivering babies. It’s not something I usually do,” he said. “But lately . . . well, I get house calls sometimes. And I’ve been doing some home deliveries.”
“Home deliveries?” Vera said, thinking of her own birthing experience. “What’s wrong with people?”
He just laughed.
“It seems to be in fashion with some younger women,” he said, smiling. “What can I say?”
God, he was so handsome. Vera just wanted to bite his dimpled chin, but, of course, she held back.
Soft, jazzy music began to play, and several couples danced. The next thing Vera knew, she was swept away by her date, who happened to be a good dancer. She and Bill had never gone dancing. This was new, lovely, so divine, with their bodies moving together to the music. His touch was gentle but leading and strong.
Could she?
No. Of course not. Men were jerks. Led around by their interest in sex and not caring who they hurt in the meantime. Of course, some women were like that, too.
But when Eric grinned at her like that, it was hard to remember why she shouldn’t trust him.
On the way home, she found out about his past. Divorced. No children. Just work and golf. She had always wished Bill had a hobby—other than the one that included his sleeping with young women.
When Eric pulled along the street and shut off the engine, she knew what was coming. Her heart raced. She started to sweat. He was going to kiss her. She didn’t know quite what to do with herself. Should she lean into him? Open her mouth? Keep it closed? What if she had bad breath?
The moments between him stopping the car engine and him putting his arm around her were agonizing. But soon enough his lips found hers, and with just the gleam of the moon and a fading streetlight for light, they managed to find their way.
After necking in his car in front of her house like two teenagers, they said good night and kissed one more time. No, he wasn’t Prince Charming, but this was a good start. A very good start.
After he drove off, she reached in her purse for the key and then dropped her purse on the porch. The door flew open. Beatrice stood there with her hands on her hips.
“Well?”
“Well, what, Mama?” She began scooting all the stuff into her purse.
“How did it go?”
“It was lovely,” she said, then touched some unfamiliar item. She looked at her hand, and there was a miniature gillie fashioned into a key chain. She gasped. “Where did this come from?”
“What is it?” Beatrice leaned over.
“It’s a key chain made from a tiny gillie,” Vera said, holding it up.
“Well, what’s it doing in your bag?”
“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Vera said, a jolt of fear moving through her. Or had she? No. She was certain she’d never seen such a thing.
She shoved it into her purse and looked at her mother, who was shaking her head.
“It’s not over,” Beatrice said, frowning. “I had hoped that when you moved in . . . Let me call Bryant.”
“Do we really have to? What can he tell us? Okay. Someone dropped this in my purse, but when and where? How long has it been there?”
“Didn’t he record all the items in your purse? He should be able to tell us something.” Beatrice waltzed off to call him, leaving Vera holding her purse and sitting on the front doorstep.
She breathed in the chilly night air. It was a hell of an ending to a nearly perfect evening.
Chapter 41
“Whoa,” Bryant said when he walked into kitchen and saw Vera standing at the sink in her black dress and heels. “Vera?”
When Beatrice walked in, Vera was smiling. Was she just imagining that blush on Bryant’s face?
“Well, are you going to get down to business, or are you going to stand there, ogling my daughter?” Beatrice said, pulling out a chair. “Sit down, Bryant. Can I get you something?”
“Um, er, no thanks. Can I see the object you found in your bag?” he said, sitting down and clearing his throat. “I barely recognized you in that dress. I’ve never seen you dressed up. That’s all.”
Yes, he was obviously taken aback by Vera in that black dress. Interesting. Once again, Beatrice found Bryant intriguing. She used to not like him at all. But here he was, youngish, good-looking, no wife, no relationship, that she knew of. He was certainly dazzled by a beautiful woman, so he probably wasn’t gay. She reddened at the thought, as if it were any of her business.
When the tiny gillie landed with a small thud on the table, it was as if he was snapped back into reality.
“What is that? One of those Irish dance shoes?”
“Yes,” Vera said. “I found it in my purse this evening, when I came home.”
“From where?”
“I was at Luminosity with Eric tonight.”
“Eric?”
“Dr. Green,” Beatrice interrupted.
“Did you leave your bag at all tonight?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and we did dance once. I left my bag at the table.”
“Hold on,” he said, dialing the buttons on his cell. “Can you get a guest list and a list of the employees at Luminosity tonight?” Pause. “If they give you any grief, tell them we can get a warrant.”
“What will you do with the list?” she asked.
“This is where detective work gets exciting,” he said and smiled. “We’ll go through and see if any names look familiar. If anybody had a record,
that kind of thing. If not, we’ll need to start contacting people. What about this Dr. Green?”
“But he was with me, on the dance floor,” she reminded him.
“Did he lead you onto the dance floor? Or did he come up behind you?”
She thought for a moment. “I remember the way his hand touched my back.... He must have been behind me.”
“But why would he put ghillies in her bag? That makes no sense,” Beatrice said. “It must have been a restaurant person.”
“Not necessarily,” Bryant said. “We need to check out this doctor.”
“Someone that works at that restaurant could have killed Emily,” Vera said after a minute.
“Does anybody from Cumberland Creek work there?” Beatrice said.
Vera shrugged.
“Let’s not get carried away,” Bryant said. “Your vandal or stalker might not be the same person as Emily’s killer.”
Did he just say stalker? Beatrice bristled.
The next day was a glorious spring day, exactly the kind of day that made Beatrice want to get her hands in the soil. But her yard was still too torn up from the pool construction. At least today they were working, and they thought if the weather held up, the pool might be finished in a week or two. They were confident that all the archeological finds had been found. They just weren’t sure what any of it was or what it meant. And they would have to leave the old house foundation in place until they knew what it was. But for now they could ready the other part of the pool.
“You are losing your mind over that, aren’t you?” Jon said, motioning to the pool area.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m just eager to get the pool in. And get my life back. I want to get the landscaping and gardening started.”
She spread butter over her pancakes. They were enjoying a quiet breakfast, with Vera and Elizabeth gone for the day.
“Well, let’s do something today. Visit Rose? Go to the park?”
Just then the doorbell rang.
Paige stood on Beatrice’s front porch with a beat-up manila folder.
“You found something?” Beatrice said, opening the door.
“Oh, boy, did I,” Paige said “I can’t stay long. Gotta get to the school at some point.” She glanced at her watch.
“Well, come on in.”
Paige sat at the table and spread out her papers, with Jon and Beatrice looking on.
“You’ve gotten this done quickly,” Beatrice said.
“Evidently, someone had already been researching her, and the information was there.” She placed her glasses on her face. “Now, this is very interesting.”
“Go on, please,” Jon said with impatience.
“Willa Rose McGlashen is listed in the Civil War directory as a war hero.”
“What? But—” Beatrice started.
“Yes, yes, I know. Women didn’t fight in wars. Well, that’s a bogus notion. There were several women who fought in our Civil War. Of course, they pretended to be men.”
“Is that what she did?” Beatrice said.
“No, dear. Willa Rose McGlashen was a spy of sorts.”
“A spy?”
Paige nodded. “A spy for the other side. Some might call her a traitor.”
Chapter 42
The Alicorn Agency, one of the most successful adoption agencies in Europe, announced that it has now placed all 197 displaced orphans in its domain. The agency has international offices scattered throughout the world and has an outreach team that travels to war-torn areas to help house, clothe, and feed children left homeless through the ravages of war.
Well, that’s very cool, Annie thought. Maybe Emily was interested in helping children. If so, that would be the first kind facet to her personality that Annie knew about. But then again, she often wondered how well she knew anybody. Who would have thought that Vera’s marriage would fall apart and her husband would be living with a very young law student? Who would have thought Emily McGlashen would meet her death by strangulation in her own dance studio? Who would have thought that she herself would awaken in the middle of the night because of passionate dreams about Adam Bryant?
Life was full of surprises.
Annie skipped over a few paragraphs—she could spot PR fluff from a mile away—to this.
To the allegations that the Alicorn Agency placed children with only the wealthiest families, even if it meant taking them away from their own country, a spokesperson says that there is no basis for these allegations. “We are striving to work with local officials and within all international law. The Alicorn Agency has an excellent record of finding homes for thousands of homeless children. We strive to keep them in their own countries, but sometimes international adoption is the only answer.”
Nothing about the labs. Hmmm.
Annie looked at the clock. Okay. Thirty minutes until the kids came home from soccer practice. She had plenty of time to make a connection with this reporter.
“Baltimore Herald,” the voice said on the other end of the line.
“Hi. I’d like to speak to Maya Simmeth.”
“One moment please.”
A very young-sounding voice came over the phone. “This is Maya.”
“Maya, this is Annie Chamovitz, I freelance for the Washington Herald occasionally.”
“How can I help you?” she said after a pause filled with the sound of a computer keyboard. She was Googling Annie. Now, that made her smile.
“I’m interested in the Alicorn Agency,” Annie said after clearing her throat.
Maya guffawed.
“Pardon?”
Pause.
“Well, that was so long ago. And to tell you the truth, I don’t remember much, except that something was really weird about it.”
“What was weird about it?” Annie asked.
“Well, first, the name . . .”
“The name?”
“Yes. Alicorn.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow.”
“It has a mythological meaning. It’s the horn of a unicorn.”
“Humph,” Annie said. The unicorn. A symbol of purity. Why hadn’t that come up in her search?
“Yes,” she said. “And you know they were freaks about reviewing my article before it went to press, which is why—”
“It seemed like PR,” Annie interrupted.
“Nabbed,” Maya said and chuckled. “Look, I can check into my files and get back with you. I’m on deadline and need to go.”
“Okay, yeah, sure. I’d appreciate anything you can tell me,” Annie said.
She sat back in her chair. What did any of this have to do with Emily? Anything? She grinned. She was investigating a murder, and here she was, looking up unicorns and alicorns.
She flipped through Web sites and checked her e-mail and saw an interesting ad. An Irish dance and music festival was scheduled to be the first event next weekend in the new amphitheater. It was a big deal for Cumberland Creek. The festival was being dedicated to Emily McGlashen. According to the ad, her parents would be there. So would the Reillys, who were also listed as one of the sponsors.
Chapter 43
Vera took a sip of wine, set her glass down, and finished telling the scrapbookers about her perfect date.
“So he kissed you?” DeeAnn said, then bit into a huge oatmeal cookie. “Not bad,” she said as Vera nodded.
“Boy, did he ever. We made out in the car like two teenagers,” she said, her face hot and reddening.
They laughed.
Sheila was hunched over her laptop. “I can’t even remember what that was like,” she said.
“I hear ya,” DeeAnn said. “You know, these vegan oatmeal cookies are a lot better than I thought they’d be. I’m surprised.”
Annie spoke up. “Why vegan?”
“It’s this new baker I hired. Young. Made me start thinking about this vegan stuff. They have a point. It’s probably healthier for us and the planet. But most of it has always tasted like crap,” she said. “But the vega
ns have come a long way.”
“Speaking of vegan, where is Emily’s mother?” Paige said, her voice a whisper because she had a sore throat. “I went to the apartment, and they weren’t there.”
The room grew silent.
“Nobody knows. I’ve not seen her in a few days. Maybe she went back to wherever it is that she’s from,” Sheila said. “Oh my! That looks gorgeous, DeeAnn!”
“You think?” DeeAnn held up her page of cookies. “Cookie Love.” She was working on her bakery scrapbook. She’d made a cutout cookie jar, which she’d placed on its side, with photos of her cookies coming out of it. The page was bright pink and sparkly. DeeAnn loved her pink.
“Check this out,” she said, still holding up the page. She untwisted a pink ribbon from a clasp, and a flap opened. Inside the flap was a handwritten recipe card, which was an actual card that had been placed on the page—not one specifically made for scrapbooking. “I’m really getting into these hidden elements on pages. It’s so much fun. And so easy to do. You just fold the paper or cardstock and place it on a page with the clasp and ribbon. But you don’t even have to do that.”
“Did you put the recipe card on after you placed the element?” Sheila asked.
“Not in this case, but I guess you could,” DeeAnn said. She held up her work and admired it.
“They’ve not had a funeral for Emily? A memorial service? Nothing?” Paige asked after a few moments.
Nobody answered.
Vera glanced around the table at her friends, took them in. DeeAnn and her pink. Her shop had a lot of pink in it, too. Cocoa and pink. Every time Vera saw those colors together, she thought of DeeAnn standing behind the counter, fussing over some icing or scone or something. She was a great baker, an even better businesswoman. Vera admired her sense of business and needed to get some of that herself. She’d not raised the prices for dance classes in years, so she really needed to catch up to where she should be. Now with the economy so down, her dance families—those that were left—were struggling, too.
Sheila was another good businesswoman. She opened her home to the crop every Saturday night. Of course, they ended up keeping her in business, buying all her paper, embellishments, and doodads. It used to be that Sheila’s dream was to open a scrapbooking store, but no more. Now she wanted to create her own line of scrapbooking products. That would be amazing.
Death of an Irish Diva (A Cumberland Creek Mystery) Page 15