“I’m so sorry.” Running into Matt was always awkward, although Dylan and I had used him as our mechanic for years. My purse had slipped from my shoulder, and I knelt down to retrieve it from the floor. “I should have been more careful. Thanks for your help.”
“Anything for a pretty lady,” Matt said, smiling down at me. I straightened up and stepped outside onto the sidewalk while Matt held the door open for me. To my surprise, he followed. I always wanted to believe that Matt had changed for the better since our breakup, but I still felt a bit uncomfortable around him at times and tried to avoid him when possible. But this was my opportunity to ask a few questions about Dylan’s last day, and I wasn’t about to pass it up.
“Thanks. How are you?” The last time I’d seen him was at Dylan’s service, and his wife, Lila, had been with him. She was a delicate-looking blond who had moved here from the South a few years back, but I didn’t know her well.
“Seems like I should be asking you that instead.” He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, pushing the bangs out of his eyes. Even at thirty, he still had the same pronounced baby-like features I remembered from high school, complete with a rounded chin and cheeks, wide-set hazel eyes, and a dimple on the right side of his mouth. “I was wondering how you were holding up.”
“Weren’t you going inside?” I motioned toward the door.
He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and straightened up to his full, lanky six-foot height. “It can wait. I’d rather hear how you’re doing first.”
I withdrew one hand from the tray and wiggled it back and forth. “Coping, thanks. One day at a time. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Are you now?” He gave me a slight, almost teasing smile that reminded me of better days, when we’d been good friends before getting involved with one another. Matt and I had known each other since elementary school. Late in our junior year, he’d asked me out and we’d dated for a few months. He’d professed over and over to love me, and although I’d been fond of him, I had never felt the same way. When he started to become too possessive, I’d broken things off, and Matt hadn’t taken it well.
I clutched the cardboard tray tightly. “Yes. I was wondering if you had talked to Dylan the day he brought his car in. You know, the day before he…his accident.”
Matt’s two-bay garage repair shop was about ten minutes away from my home. It had been convenient for Dylan on his way to work, plus Matt was an excellent mechanic, the best one around for miles.
The smile on Matt’s face disappeared, and something dark stirred in his intense hazel eyes, bringing back other memories for me—more painful ones this time. After our breakup, Matt had taken to following me around constantly—at school, at work, and to my house—with stalker-like tendencies that had frightened me. Finally, my father had threatened Matt with a restraining order if he didn’t leave me alone. Matt had then apologized and didn’t come near me again.
Then came the rumors that he’d started using drugs after high school. I’d fervently hoped they weren’t true but couldn’t be positive. I’d been away at college, then culinary school, and hadn’t seen him again until after Dylan and I had become engaged, and by then it seemed that Matt had turned a corner. We’d both moved on with our lives—me with Dylan and him with Lila—and whenever I saw him around town with his kids, he’d struck me as an attentive and devoted father. Still, there was always a small flicker of possession in his eyes whenever he looked my way that warned me to keep my distance.
“I wasn’t at the shop that day,” he said. “Earl worked on his car. I already told your cousin that.”
“Oh. Of course.” What else could I say without tipping him off to the fact that Dylan’s accident had in fact not been an accident? Or did he already know this, thanks to Gino’s coworker with the set of loose lips?
I didn’t want to sound accusatory with my questions since Dylan and Matt hadn’t exactly liked each other. Dylan respected him as a mechanic, and they made small talk whenever he went into the shop, but an argument between them weeks before our wedding had assured they’d never be good friends. One night at a local bar, Matt had come on to me after I told him Dylan and I were engaged. While I had tried to brush off his advances, Dylan had been furious, and a shouting match had escalated from there. Matt had been drunk at the time, and Dylan wasn’t exactly sober either, but it was a text from Matt the evening before my wedding the next month that had bothered me the most. He’d said I’d be sorry if I ever married Dylan.
Today, six years later, his former threat was back to haunt me. I’d hidden the text from Dylan at the time, not wanting to restart the feud, but I always wondered if it had been the right thing to do.
As I thought back on Matt’s warning, his amber-colored eyes surveyed me intently, as if he could guess what I was thinking. He folded his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me what you really want to know, Tess?”
His voice carried an edge that made me back up against the side of the building. “What are you talking about?”
He put a hand up against the brick facade of the building, inches from my shoulder. “Gino thinks that Dylan’s death wasn’t an accident.”
“Did he tell you that?”
Matt shook his head. “He didn’t have to. Another cop came into the shop last week and talked to Earl. He said Dylan’s death was, quote, suspicious.”
Cripes. I hoped that this guy got reprimanded or something by the police department. I hesitated, not knowing what else to say. “It’s…possible. Could I talk to Earl? I was wondering if he might remember how Dylan was dressed that day.”
Matt looked at me strangely. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Is there a chance you could ask Earl and let me know what he says?”
“Sure.” He stood motionless, staring down at me, but the suspicion had seeped out of his face. “If you need anything…anything at all, call me. Day or night.” He glanced around, but we were alone on the street. I almost expected to see Gabby’s shop door open and her to appear with a pair of binoculars or maybe even a baseball bat. Like Gino, she hated Matt.
For some reason, his offer of help unnerved me. Although Matt hadn’t done anything wrong, I was getting strange vibes, and it reminded of all the reasons why I’d left him back in high school. I swallowed a knot of fear in my throat, smiled, and forced out a hoarse, “Thanks.”
Matt reached forward and put a hand on my shoulder while I stiffened slightly. “Remember, Tess. I’m never far away.”
Four
“He is such a weirdo,” Gabby declared as she sat cross-legged on the floor of her shop, arranging books on a bottom shelf. “Why you ever went out with that guy is beyond me. Hand me that James Patterson novel, will you?”
Gabby’s bookstore was warm and inviting, like its owner. There were plenty of shelves for readers to browse, and she’d set up old-fashioned armchairs upholstered in red velvet throughout the store for those ready to crack open a spine. Near the back were several padded chairs and an oval, dark-wood table that Gabby used for her weekly book club meetings. About forty people belonged to the club, but not all the same members came every week. They would discuss a certain book for an hour, while Gabby provided coffee and homemade cookies—the latter usually from me. The only requirement for membership was that they buy the book from Gabby’s store.
I handed the book to my cousin and watched as she tried to decide where to place it on the shelf as she mumbled under her breath. I’d already filled Gabby in on Gino’s visit, and as expected, she was furious that he’d kept the truth from me about Dylan’s accident. Her annoyance had been further fueled when I told her about my run-in with Matt.
“Like I said, that guy is bad news,” she said. “But I think it’s great you’re going back to work. If there’s something shady going on at Slice, you’ll definitely figure
it out.”
I closed my eyes for a minute and let myself drink in the delightful scent of Gabby’s store. It smelled of crisp, new books mixed with the lingering scent of fresh apple cider, which Gabby put out for her customers every morning during the fall season. It was a gorgeous 1920s building with a high ceiling, a rustic, Mediterranean-style hardwood floor, and bookshelves made of knotty pine. Gabby had stumbled upon the property at the perfect time. The former owners had run a candy store out of it for several years and were well into their seventies when they’d decided to retire and sell the building to her at a very reasonable price. My cousin had taken out a small business loan, installed new shelves, and stocked the store with everything from Agatha Christie to Dr. Seuss.
A silver-framed picture of Gabby and Stephen King adorned the wall behind the front counter. Gabby had met him at a signing last year and had been bold enough to put her arm around him in the photo. From the look on his face, it didn’t appear that he’d minded. No one was immune to Gabby’s charm.
Even though Gabby had been in business for less than a year, she’d already done an outstanding job with the place, despite everyone’s warnings that the store didn’t have a chance of making it in our small town. Some weeks were better than others; however, Gabby was planning more events in addition to her regularly scheduled author signings to increase foot traffic, and weekly speakers and kid’s activities were already becoming a big draw. She loved to read, and I admired her for following her passion, something I once did before the accident derailed my restaurant dream.
My thoughts returned to Matt. “Maybe it wasn’t the best decision I ever made to date him,” I admitted, “but that was a long time ago. He has a wife and three kids now. You should see Matt’s face when he talks about his boys.” Every time I saw him, he proudly pulled out their latest photos. It was always a safe topic for us to talk about. “People can change, Gabs,” I said with forced conviction.
Gabby quirked her eyebrow, registering the false note, and rose to her feet. “Yeah, he has three kids, but the rumor mill says that he and his wife aren’t so happy anymore. And I’ve seen the way he still looks at you. When he came to Dylan’s wake, he couldn’t take his eyes—” Gabby’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Oh, Tess. I’m sorry. That sounded really crass.”
“It’s all right.” I swallowed another mouthful of the dark roast, savoring the taste as it rolled over my tongue. How I had missed Archie’s coffee. Time to change the subject. “Did your book club enjoy the cookies last night?”
She beamed. “Every one of them vanished before we were done. Seriously, you should open your own bakery, girl.”
“It’s always fun to make them.” Gabby had been thrilled when I’d come in with my jelly cookies, which consisted of buttery shortbread with raspberry preserves in the center, and my double chocolate chips that were so soft and chewy, they practically melted in your mouth. The baking had put me in a better frame of mind, and even though she’d offered to come and get them, I’d decided it was time for me to venture out of the house. Gabby had encouraged me to stay for the meeting, but I’d refused. This was a work in progress for me. Baby steps, one at a time.
Gabby reached for her cup and stood next to me at the front counter, her dark, exotic eyes looking slightly upward as they rested on my face. “Matt always has that smug look on his face. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”
I watched my cousin as she sipped her coffee. Gabby was a true beauty, inside and out, with her curvy figure and short, ebony hair styled in a blunt cut. Even though we’d grown up in different households, we were as close as sisters and had always been each other’s main confidante. Gabby had never made any bones about not liking Matt, and the feeling had been mutual.
“He’s the best mechanic around—maybe in the entire state. You still can’t let that incident in sixth grade go, huh?” I teased, remembering the time she’d given him a fat lip when he’d put gum in her hair.
“It’s more than that and you know it,” she huffed. “There’s something about that guy that has always rubbed me the wrong way. He’s the proverbial thorn in my rosebush, so to speak. And he’s apparently never gotten over you.”
“What are you really trying to say? That you think Matt killed Dylan? What would have been his motive?”
Gabby looked at me like I had two heads. “Well, if he and his wife are getting divorced, and you suddenly became available, there’s your motive.”
I finished my coffee and threw the cup in the trash. “Matt’s not a killer.”
She studied me carefully. “If you’re serious about finding out who did this to Dylan, then you have to look at everyone as a potential suspect. No one is exempt.” She grabbed the empty cardboard box off the floor and flattened it between her two graceful hands. “Plus, you’ll need an assistant, so I’m applying for the job.”
I barked out a laugh. “An assistant?”
“Sure. All the great detectives in books have assistants. Sherlock had Watson, while Nancy Drew had her two best friends, Bess and George.”
“Gino will be furious if you get involved.”
Gabby waved a hand in the air, as if swatting at a fly. “Ah, don’t worry. I can handle him.”
Well, this was a new one. Gabby acted as if a confrontation with Gino was a mere walk in Harvest Park. The truth was, Gino had always been super protective of his little sister—and me as well. It didn’t bother me as much since I had no siblings of my own to deal with, but he’d always driven Gabby nuts. At least he still didn’t follow her and her boyfriends around on dates like he’d done in high school. I hoped not, anyway.
She must have noticed the look of skepticism I wore because she merely shrugged. “Never mind my brother. So what’s your game plan?”
I blew out a breath. “Maybe the best thing would be to trace all of Dylan’s movements during his last couple of days. You know, find out where he went, who he saw. I figured I should start with his office at We Care.”
Her eyes widened. “That makes sense, I guess. He spent the most time there.”
“Correct. They’re closed on the weekend, so I’ll check them out on Monday morning.”
“You can’t go in there asking questions,” Gabby said. “Why not wait until you’ve worked at Slice for a few days?”
“Give me a little credit, would you?” I asked. “Dylan’s personal effects are still at his office so I’ll call his receptionist and let her know I’m picking them up. Who knows? I might find something useful.”
Gabby nodded. “But what about the family dinner tomorrow night? Are you going to tell anyone else about this?”
I shook my head. “Of course, if I find out anything significant, I’ll share it with Gino. But this is my husband we’re talking about. I’m not about to sit around and wait for the police to find this person. No offense to Gino, but they’re doing a lousy job so far.”
She reached out to squeeze my hand. “I don’t blame you. And I think your getting back to cooking full time will help to put everything into perspective. Whatever happens, you know that I’ve got your back.”
“I’ve never doubted it for a second.”
Five
“So.” Mom began to set the table. “When do you start your job as head chef at Anthony’s? Oh, and don’t forget about the biscotti and genetti for the Altar Rosary Society next Saturday night. Will you still have time to make them?”
The smell of my Bolognese sauce beckoned me, and I dipped the wooden spoon in for a taste. Ah, yes. The meat and onions blended perfectly with the herbs. A little extra pinch of oregano and it would be perfect. Some fresh, chopped parsley would make a nice garnish as well. I stirred a smaller pot on the stove with pastina for Gino’s twin boys, who were fussy about what they ate. They preferred the tiny pieces of pasta with egg, butter, and cheese mixed in. It had been a favorite of mine as a child and still served as a gr
eat comfort food on a cold winter’s night.
It was almost six o’clock on Sunday evening, and I was hosting dinner for my family. This was a practice I enjoyed doing weekly, but it was the first time since Dylan’s death that I’d felt up to the task. Gino, his family, and Gabby would be joining us any minute.
I washed the spoon off under the faucet before submerging it in the sauce again. “I’m not head chef, Mom. They don’t even have such a thing. I’ll be working in the kitchen, making pizzas and some dinners. That’s all.”
Mom came into the kitchen with a glass of red wine in her hand. She offered it to me, and I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why would you even take such a position?” she asked. “He can’t be paying much.”
I wanted to tell my mother about Dylan’s not-so-accidental death, but it was not a good time, and the fewer people who knew, the better. My mother loved gossip but not when it concerned her family. Chances were that she might not believe me anyway, but I didn’t want to take the risk. In some ways, she still treated me like I was five years old, not thirty. She missed my father terribly, and I think she’d secretly hoped I’d move back in with her after Dylan’s death.
“Do you know much about Anthony or his family?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. Harvest Park had a fair share of Italian families, mine and the Mancusis being among them, but then again, so did several Upstate New York towns. Dylan’s mother had actually been born in Sweden, and he’d inherited his classic blond hair and blue eyes from her, but his father, like mine, had been 100 percent Sicilian.
I’d only met my in-laws twice—at our wedding and his funeral. They lived in Florida, and Dylan didn’t have much contact with them during our marriage. He had confided to me once that he’d never measured up to their expectations. They’d wanted him to become a doctor, not an accountant, and were furious when he quit medical school after one semester. Their relationship had never been the same after that. His parents had been broken up over his death, and it saddened me that they’d never been able to repair their relationship.
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