“Yeah? How so?” Ally’s mood seemed tempered, likely by their encounter earlier that afternoon.
“Danville does offer other recreational activities besides swatting flies.”
“Congrats. You found the one other thing on your own,” Ally said as she made her way around the table.
“Looks like Sully’s Snacks and Billiards isn’t Danville’s best-kept secret after all.”
“Not to an amateur super-sleuth like yourself.”
This new side of Ally—mildly bitchy with a dash of indifference—was incredibly sexy, as were her khaki short shorts and vintage black Ramones T-shirt.
Belle had better watch herself.
“Would you recommend the buffalo wings?”
“I couldn’t call myself a true ‘Danvillin’’ if I didn’t,” Ally said, then looked directly at Belle. “You can’t either unless you take Sully’s super-spicy wing challenge.”
“That’s a pair of the weirdest sentences I’ve ever heard,” Belle said, rolling her eyes at the lame challenge. “And as much as I’d love to call myself a ‘Danvillin’’ I’m not willing to risk anaphylactic shock choking down a platter full of lava-coated chicken parts.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Ashford. I really thought you were gonna fit right in here.” Ally sat on a high stool and rested the cue between her legs. “But then you’re not planning to stick around anyway, are you?”
“I’m detecting a note of hostility, Deputy. I suppose I owe you an apology for the attitude this afternoon.” Without waiting for an invitation, Belle sat on the stool across from her.
Ally’s shoulders appeared to slacken at Belle’s olive branch. “Apology accepted. I could’ve been more patient, too. I know what the CSI effect does to people.”
“What’s the CSI effect?”
“It’s what happens to people who watch too many crime-investigation shows. They think that’s how it is in real life. Everyone sees Mariska Hargitay solve all her cases without ever being late for a dinner reservation. In reality, the case of Judy Ashford is more like it—a crime is reported, and we don’t have one shred of helpful evidence to go on.”
Belle brandished the smile of a precocious child. “Until you rummage through stacks of old, asbestos-covered files Monday.”
“Yeah, that and some divine intervention.”
Belle rested her elbows on the table. “How about some Isabelle intervention?”
“I have a feeling I’m gonna regret asking, but what’s that?”
“I think I located Judy’s old high school boyfriend.”
“You did? Where is he?”
“He owns a garage down in West Haven. While you’re plugging through the archives, I’m going to pay him a visit Monday afternoon.”
Ally gave her a skeptical glare. “You’re not gonna strut into his shop and ambush him with that journal.”
“Um, number one, I don’t strut. And number two, I can be a little more tactful than that. I’ll bring it up casually. He won’t even know what hit him.”
“How can you possibly stroll into an auto shop and bring up the owner’s dead girlfriend from fifty years ago with tact?”
“I have to get my emissions’ test done, remember?” Belle gave her a saucy wink.
Ally chuckled. “Ah, yes. I suppose I deserve some of the blame for this. But I have to admit that’s one of the best pretenses I’ve ever heard.”
“I know, right?” Belle said excitedly.
“Except I would not mention the journal to him.”
“Why not?”
“Belle, depending on what I can find out tomorrow, this may actually turn into an investigation. You can’t go around informing potential suspects about the evidence.”
“You think you may be able to open an investigation?”
“I don’t know,” Ally said as she chalked the tip of her cue stick. “I have to see what’s on record with the Wheeler family and determine if there’s anything on the Ashfords, too. But I highly recommend you don’t take those papers and definitely don’t mention anything about a possible sex assault.”
Belle sulked. “That doesn’t leave me much to talk with him about if I can’t mention what she wrote.”
“Say you’ve inherited the Ashford place and that somebody said they knew him and Judy when they were kids.”
Belle didn’t like how Ally was commandeering the recon mission with Craig she’d planned on her own.
“Better yet,” Ally said, “you can hold off on talking to Mr. Wheeler until we see what I can find out Monday. Then I can go with you when you talk with him.”
Belle narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to make a coup over my operation.”
Ally laughed. “What operation? Look, if there really is a chance of finding out who abused Judy, you won’t be doing anyone any favors by mucking it up interrogating a potential suspect. You need to leave that to the professionals.”
“What, the mucking-it-up part?”
Ally sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“That’s what I was trying to do earlier today, but the professional,” she said with air quotes, “suggested I forget about it since everyone’s dead. Well, guess what, Deputy Professional? Everyone isn’t dead.”
Ally smirked. “You’re a mountain of determination.”
“I should say so,” Belle said in a huff, smoothing out her wrinkled cocktail napkin.
“Can I buy you another beer?” Ally’s eyes dazzled her with insinuation.
Belle sucked in a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. “I can go for another.”
Ally signaled the waitress and pointed to Belle’s beer glass. “What do you say we join forces instead of being adversaries? We’ll get more accomplished that way.”
Ally was showing her subtle talent for wearing down subjects of interrogation. “What do you have in mind?”
“Before you drive all the way down to West Haven to get your emissions tested when you can get it done right here at Freddie’s, let me see what I find out Monday morning. If I come up empty, you can unleash your bad-cop wrath on Mr. Wheeler till he throws you off his property.”
“That seems fair,” Belle said and licked her lips, dry from the beer. “Okay. You got a deal.” She held out her hand, and Ally slid her warm palm into it.
“How about a decaf, skinny soy latte to solidify our accord?” Ally said.
Belle looked at her watch. “It’s nine fifteen. Isn’t it past everyone’s bedtime?”
Ally cocked an eyebrow. “Not mine. I have a latte machine at my house.”
“So that’s your M.O.” Belle bit into the orange slice at the bottom of her beer glass. “You lure innocent, unsuspecting newcomers to your love shack with the promise of home-brewed lattes.”
“Love shack?” Ally threw her hands onto her hips. “I wanted you to meet my wife.”
Belle felt her face deflate.
“Kidding,” Ally said as she counted out cash on top of the check. “It’s a latte. And I don’t have a wife, or girlfriend—not that it would matter to someone just passing through.”
Belle’s phone vibrated on the table. She grabbed it but was certain Ally caught a glimpse of “Crazy Mary” on the text bar. “A decaf latte sounds like a perfect nightcap,” she said.
***
In the small backyard of Ally’s condo, Belle stretched her legs out to the rim of the stone fire pit and stared into the flames as they snapped and hissed. Sitting under a starry sky in the country waiting for a beautiful woman to bring her a latte wasn’t part of the blueprint for her summer of restoration—not that she was complaining.
Could the universe have more in store for her than flipping an old house?
“Maybe I should’ve made these iced,” Ally said as she descended the steps. She handed Belle her latte and joined her around the fire.
“It’s fine,” Belle said. “It’s a nice night. Thank you.”
“It did cool off, didn’t it?”
Belle agreed. “I�
�m having Angelo build one of these in my yard. I’ve lived in a condo for so long, I forgot what a luxury it is to have a backyard.”
“Yeah. I’m lucky this unit has this one. Where’s your condo?”
“North Guilford. If things go according to plan, I’ll be putting it on the market soon.”
“Are you renting it out now?”
Belle paused a moment, considering how much she should reveal. “Uh, no. I’m currently waiting for the other, uh, occupant to move her stuff out.”
“And by other occupant, do you mean your ex?”
Belle clenched her teeth in dread of Ally’s reaction.
“That wouldn’t happen to be Crazy Mary, would it?” Ally asked.
“It would, in fact.” Belle glanced at her and thought she noticed an eye roll in the glow from the fire.
“Fascinating,” Ally said casually. “So when you say crazy, are you using it in the colloquial sense?”
Belle giggled. “She’s harmless, albeit annoying. But she was the wake-up call I needed.”
Ally grimaced. “You were a relationship Rip Van Winkle?”
“A what?”
“You know, asleep for twenty years before realizing anything was wrong.”
“You might say that. But I saw forty looming well before it arrived, like ten years before. Most of my friends were marrying and starting families by then, so I got paranoid thinking I’d be alone for the rest of my life if I didn’t stop screwing around.”
“That’s so early two-thousand,” Ally said. “I have a couple of friends who didn’t meet their life partners until their forties. Some things don’t fit into a timetable.”
“What can I say? I was the kid who hated to be left out of anything. And when Connecticut passed civil unions, I was getting invited to ceremonies as often as birthday parties. The pressure resulted in a lot of hasty decision-making—culminating with Mary.”
“The classic U-Haul lesbian. I’ve known one or two in my time. So what brought you out of the dark?”
“I think realizing how much energy I’d wasted dreading turning forty as this phantasmagoric plunge into the abyss. Then I woke up one day three months ago on my fortieth birthday, and the sun was shining, and I went to work, got my car washed, and then went out with Mary for a birthday dinner.
“As I watched her hobble over to the bar in wedge heels fluffing up her over-processed hair, it dawned on me that I was living with a woman I probably wouldn’t want to engage with at the DMV, let alone build a life with.”
Ally was silent for a moment, looking slightly aghast. “Did you at least stay for the free birthday cake?”
“Naturally. There was no reason to make the cake suffer.”
Ally laughed. “So, now she won’t leave?”
“I’d told her I’d give her a month to find her own place, but that turned to two, then three. Finally, the deed transfer came through for my aunt’s house, and I said I’m going to stay up here, and that every last trace of her better be out of there by the end of June.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“I’m having my attorney file an eviction notice this week.”
“No good deed, huh?”
“Exactly,” Belle said.
“So does this mean you’ve sworn off relationships as part of your recovery?”
“And completed my transformation into a walking cliché? No. But I realized I need to take some time to focus on me, my goals, and what I’d like out of the back half of my life.”
“That’s very sensible,” Ally said. “I arrived at a similar conclusion myself a while ago. It’s part of what brought me here.”
“How’d it work out?”
“Rather well. Highly recommend it.”
“Awesome,” Belle said. “Then it’s fate that we became friends. You can be my mentor of sensible life choices.”
Ally smiled. “I’m glad we’ve become friends, too, but I don’t know if I’m up to the task of being your guardian of good choices. Seems like a full-time job.”
“Cute.” Belle returned her gaze to the fire with a frown. Did Ally really have to agree so readily to the idea of being just friends?
“I’m gonna grab some waters,” Ally said, rising from her chair. “I also have Pellegrino if you’d prefer. Or wine. I have a selection inside that I usually drink by myself.”
“I don’t think I should start on wine. You might end up with an uninvited overnight guest.”
“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Ally said and headed inside to the kitchen.
That returned the smile to Belle’s face. It placed other parts of her on notice as well. If she was sincere about making better life choices, now was the right time to start. It would be so easy to pin Ally against the wall, plant a wet one on her, and blame it on the wine.
She followed Ally inside. “How about a rain check? Maybe we can visit that nearby winery, so I can start my own collection.”
“We have two within a relatively close proximity,” Ally said. “We can make an afternoon of it and hit them both if you’d like.”
“That’s a fantastic idea.” Belle sucked at the last drop of foam in her cup.
“Can you sneak off for an afternoon some weekend?”
As she was about to answer, Belle placed her cup in the sink at the same time as Ally. They bumped shoulders and faced each other, Ally’s glistening lips almost daring her to act.
What was one kiss between friends?
Belle stared at them, momentarily paralyzed with indecision. Kissing her was absolutely out of the question. No way. A move she’d regret seconds after doing it. But those lips—so soft, so luscious, so…
“Would you prefer during the week instead?” Ally asked.
“Huh? Uh, no, a weekend is perfect. Whatever suits your work schedule.” Belle extricated herself from the dicey situation by heading to the front door. “I’m sure I’ll need an afternoon away from that house soon,” she said over her shoulder. “Thanks for the latte.”
“Any time.”
Belle stood in the open doorway staring at Ally’s mouth.
“Either kiss me good night or shake my hand,” Ally said in a drawl. “You’re letting moths in standing there like you’re trying to introduce me to Jesus.”
“I know what I want to do, and I know what I should do. Unfortunately, they aren’t the same thing.”
“In that case, let’s split the difference.” Ally wrapped Belle in a light hug. “Thanks for a nice night. I’ll call you Monday if I come up with anything.”
“Don’t forget.” Belle smiled to diffuse the awkwardness. “I have to get my expired emissions done before I get pulled over again.”
“You got it,” Ally said with a salute.
The short walk down Ally’s driveway felt like a road to nowhere. When she shut her car door, she drew in a deep breath before starting the engine.
So how was a platonic friendship with someone you’re physically attracted to supposed to work anyway? She’d never pulled it off when she was in college. But then she wasn’t a college girl anymore. She was forty—the age when a woman finally had the strength to conquer her urges and use logic and reason regarding matters of the heart.
Or not.
Chapter Five
Belle spent most of Monday morning chewing her way through the backyard weed farm with her father’s lawn mower until it finally ran out of gas. By the time she’d finished clearing out the overgrown grass, rocks, and sticks nearest the house, she would undoubtedly owe him a new mower.
She checked the time on her phone—11:35 a.m. and still no word from Ally. She’d kicked around the idea of shooting her a friendly “how’s it going” text as a gentle reminder that she was dying from curiosity but decided to give her till high noon. As soon as she shoved her phone back into her pocket, it vibrated.
“Hey,” Ally said, all business. “A computer check came up empty, and I couldn’t find any reports of sexual assaults on minors in the paper
files from 1960 to 1964.”
“Damn,” Belle said, disappointed. For some reason she was under the impression that, after a few keystrokes, Ally would be able to solve the entire case. Maybe she was right about the CSI effect after all.
“I hear ya, but I’m not surprised. In those days, it was an even easier crime to get away with.”
“So it’s possible the pedophile that did this hasn’t or never will be caught.”
“As much as I hate to say it, yes. It’s very possible.”
Belle moaned in frustration as she paced the yard. “How about the Wheeler family? Did you get a chance to check into that?”
“Yes, and it was interesting,” Ally said. “I found a bunch of charges for old man Wheeler—public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, several domestics involving the wife and son, Craig—but no sex assault or misconduct with minors.”
Belle lost her train of thought for a moment as she listened to Ally sounding like a professional investigator. She wished she had asked her to stop by the station to explain all that in person. She must’ve looked so intense and sexy.
“Uh, forgive my lack of enthusiasm,” Belle said, “but what’s so interesting about that? It’s exactly what I would’ve expected from an angry alcoholic.”
“It is? The other day you were ready to castrate old man Wheeler without even giving him his day in court. Now he’s off your list of suspects?”
Belle giggled flirtatiously. “Well, I’ve had a seasoned sheriff’s deputy educating me about persons of interest and motive and all that.”
“I’m glad you’ve been paying attention,” Ally said, returning the flirtation. “The interesting part wasn’t what I found on Mr. Wheeler. It’s what I found on Craig. The kid was a menace.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was constantly in trouble and definitely in the running for most inept petty criminal in history. I’m surprised he made it out of his teens alive.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You name it—criminal mischief, assault, breaking and entering, and several possession charges. He was a walking, one-man crime spree.”
“Well, look at his father. With that upbringing he wasn’t gonna be in line for the National Honor Society.”
The Ashford Place Page 5