I did indeed. I felt myself stiffening, trying to keep my reaction off my face.
"Well, she and her husband own this. I thought it sounded like a romantic place to bring my wife for dinner, so here we are."
Ah. Greg had said the magic word. So Super Woman had a husband. That was the best news I could have heard all day.
"And it's absolutely lovely," I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Thanks for thinking of me."
"Of course," he said, one eyebrow lifted. "Who else would I be thinking about?"
You have no idea, I thought. My own crazy mind had taken me down that path and hadn't liked it one bit.
"Speaking of thinking about someone," I began, rearranging the silverware on the linen table covering. "I've been trying to think of who might have the motive for killing Viv and Vic."
I hadn't seen the server who'd materialized behind me, nor did I see her expression when she'd overheard my last statement. I did hear her intake of breath, however, and turned to catch the tell-end of a horrified expression on her face.
"Thank you for joining us on The Dancing Pony," she began, her voice slightly unsteady. Clearing her throat, she started again. "Tonight's specials are here"—she handed each of us a slim, handwritten list of entrees—"and these are the wines we suggest to go with them." She nodded toward the tented wine list that stood in the middle of the table.
Greg nodded, looking over at me. "Caro, would you like to start with a glass of wine?"
I shook my head. "No, iced tea will be fine with me, thank you. No lemon, please," I added with a smile at the server.
She nodded, writing it on a small notepad. "And for you, sir?"
"I'll have a glass of iced water, with Caro's lemon that she didn't want, and a glass of Pinot Grigio."
"Very good. And do you want that now or with your dinner?"
"With my dinner is fine, thanks." Greg gave the server, whose name tag told me she was called Ailin, one of his blue-eyed smiles. She blushed slightly and scurried away, shoving the notebook in one pocket.
"And what was that for, pray tell?" I didn't have to explain. My hubby and I stay on the same wavelength most of the time.
"You didn't see her face when you mentioned those murders, Caro." He leaned closer and murmured, "And my spidey senses are tingling right now. She reacted to what you were saying, and I think she knows something. I don't want to completely frighten her off."
I snorted. "And you can tell all this simply by an expression on her face?" I know I sounded skeptical, but I wasn't used to him muscling in on my sleuthing territory without invitation. "Maybe you should be the one writing the mystery books, Sherlock."
"I'm available for consultation any time your heart desires," he replied, a teasing smile on his face.
I had to smile in return. Maybe I could use another set of eyes and ears to this case. Correction: I absolutely needed help with this. Merry and I hadn't moved very fast or far and I was getting antsy. And call it a premonition or just plain ol' gut feeling, but I could have sworn that Ailin looked familiar. I tucked that thought to the back of my mind and continued to peruse the menu.
I ordered the blackened Chilean sea bass with mango chutney and rice pilaf, while Greg had a beautifully grilled filet mignon and loaded baked potato. With another nervous check to see that we had everything we needed, Ailin hurried away to serve the other guests in her area.
"Want to order dessert and coffee?" I looked over my shoulder at the retreating Ailin. There'd been something in her face that I thought I'd recognized, and I wanted another good look at her.
"Sure," Greg agreed. "And what's going on in that mind of yours?"
I leaned in closer, whispering. "I think I've recognized her. I want another look."
Greg, being the law-minded person he is underneath all that charm, just looked at me. "Caro, we've never seen this girl before in our lives that I'm aware of. Be careful what you say, all right?"
"Of course, Greg. What do you take me for, anyway? Besides, I've been married to a lawyer long enough to understand some things." I glanced back around and then hissed quickly, "Here she comes. Get her attention, please."
Greg lifted one arm, and Ailin came over, an uncertain smile on her face.
"Yes, sir?" She looked from him to me and back as if we'd just been about to ask her to do something untoward. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Yes. My wife and I would love some coffee and dessert. Do you have any suggestions?"
Ailin's eyes brightened. "Oh, definitely. I just love the Sex in a Pan." She reddened a bit, adding, "I hate that name, I have to admit, but the dessert is fabulous. And there's enough for two."
I had to stifle a laugh as she reddened even further. The dessert, however, was certainly wonderful. I waved my fork at Greg, giving him my best salacious wink.
"I don't know, hubby. I might have to have a repeat performance of earlier in order to make a comparison. What do you think?"
Let's just say that the look on Ailin's face this time was too much. Greg and I both had to laugh out loud. My reaction was partially one of relief, however: I wasn't crazy after all. I'd seen a carbon copy of that face in the bookstore: Zayne Tillmon, Lisa Caldwell's assistant. I could hardly wait to share this with Greg.
"Very clever of you to notice the resemblance between Ailin and Lisa's personal assistant," Greg said later as we strolled along the canal after an incredibly satisfying end to our dinner. "Although I thought she was going to cry when you mentioned it."
"It certainly wasn't the attitude." I slipped my hand into the crook of Greg's arm, leaning in closer and inhaling the aroma of his cologne. "Zayne Tillmon has it to spare. Maybe he got his sister's share."
Greg nodded. "It's not unheard of, you know. Research has proven that there is always a dominant sibling."
"Makes me glad I never had any," I said. "How about you?"
Both of us were only children. Without offspring of our own, we would, in effect, be the end of our particular branches in the Layton and Browning family trees.
We walked on in silence for a while, enjoying the crisp evening air and the calls of birds settling in for the night. New York was an exceptionally lovely place, in my opinion, and I was glad that we'd settled there after a short and disastrous stint in Canada.
"Do you think she'll talk to me?" I asked suddenly, pulling on Greg's arm and forcing him to stop walking.
"I think it quite depends on what the topic will be, Caro. Sex in a Pan, no. Her brother, perhaps." He quirked one eyebrow. "Is that where this is going?"
I nodded. "There's still something, I don't know, something I want to ask about him and just can't quite get my mind around. Maybe I'll think of it later."
"She did have quite the reaction to your earlier comment," Greg agreed. "There's something there, all right." He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "And now, Mrs. Browning, I'd love to keep walking. I feel as though I gained a pound or two."
I wanted to elbow him in his toned side. I felt as though I'd gained five.
* * *
I bounded out of bed the next morning, uplifted by both my news from last night and the bright sunshine outside my window. Maybe my crazy dream from the other night and my mood yesterday had simply been an early onset case of SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'd never really paid much attention to the possibility before, having spent the better part of my life in what felt like a perpetual gloom.
I gave a little skip as I went toward my kitchen, nearly tripping over Trixie and causing her to turn a sour look my way. Act your age, she seemed to say, and I laughed at my own fancies. I really was feeling brilliant this morning.
I filled the water reservoir on the Keurig and chose a Jamaican Blue coffee pod from my revolving rack. Nothing like pure energy in a mug to set the tone, I thought, glancing out the window as if I expected Merry to be standing there.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. She was.
"And a good morning to you, too," I said as I opened the door to
a rather dour-faced Merry. She waved a one-fingered greeting in my direction and all but stomped down the hallway, heading straight for the table.
"All right, what gives?" I shoved my untasted mug of coffee across to her and went over to make another for myself.
"Lisa Caldwell, that's what." Merry paused in midrant and took a sip of the coffee. "This is really good, Caro. You might just have converted me from green tea to coffee."
"It's Jamaican Blue, and what about Lisa?" I slipped into the chair across from her. "Has she called you already this morning?"
"No, worse than that." Merry took another sip, sighed, and set the mug down. "She's had me served."
"She's had you what?"
"Served, Caro," she said impatiently. "You know, when someone goes to a lawyer—"
"I know what being served means, Merry," I said, my own tone a trifle edgy. "I'm married to a lawyer, in case you've forgotten."
"Apparently, the diva of writing didn't care for the way I tossed her books out of my store." Merry shook her head, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I guess I'll have to go through all the legal rigamarole just to point out that I run a private business and can choose whose books I'll sell and whose I won't."
We sat in silence for a few minutes, each wrapped in our own thoughts and inhaling the restorative scent of coffee. Finally I stirred, reaching across the table to my best friend.
"Look, Merry, I can give Greg a call. He'll know what to do."
"You know I'd never take advantage of you guys, right?" Merry's eyes were suddenly bright, a telltale sign of unshed tears. "Not knowingly, at least."
I smiled at her words, and she gave a shaky laugh.
"I know, you goose. That's what friends are for, remember?" I stood up abruptly. "Look, I'm going to text him right now in case he's in the middle of a lecture. He'll get back to me as soon as he can." I suited my action to my words and was soon back in the kitchen, my cell phone in hand. "Now I've got some interesting news for you."
I proceeded to tell her all about our night out, from the canal boat itself to the reaction of the server when I'd mentioned something about the murders.
"There was something in her face that I recognized, and I don't just mean disgust at the topic of conversation. Turns out she's the sister of none other than Zayne Tillmon."
Merry gaped at me, mouth and eyes open wide. "Seriously? His sister? Dear Lord—is she anything like him? I can't imagine there being two of them."
"No, I didn't detect that at all. In fact, she seemed to be on the timid end of the spectrum." I swirled the dregs of my coffee around in the mug and then waved it in Merry's direction. "I'm having another. You?"
She shook her head. "No, thanks, Caro. One mug of coffee is enough right now." She looked up at me, a droll grin on her face. "Any more and I might want to hunt down Lisa Caldwell and give her a left hook of my own."
I laughed. "And I'd be right there to record it and back you up," I teased. "Maybe we could post it on YouTube and turn into one of those social media millionaires."
"Wouldn't that be a hoot?"
My cell phone began to shimmy across the table in time to "Hakuna Matata." I snatched it up, glancing at the screen.
"It's Greg. Here, you talk to him," I said, thrusting the phone at her.
I put my mug underneath the Keurig's spout and began to brew another mug of coffee. This time I chose Pumpkin Spice. It was getting to be that time of the year, after all, when everything else would be the exact same flavor and scent. You had to appreciate a great marketing strategy.
I sat back down, sipping from my mug and staring unseeing out the window as Merry and Greg talked. I knew that, no matter the issue, if it was in the legal arena, Greg could fix it.
"So, that's that," Merry said as she disconnected the call and handed the cell phone to me. "He'll draft a response today after he sees the summons and get it sent off first thing in the morning." She smiled at me, her old sunny self again. "Thanks, Caro."
I laughed, holding up one hand. "I didn't do anything, Merry. Greg's the lawyer in the family."
"I didn't mean it like that, silly. I meant thanks for suggesting it."
"Of course," I said warmly, and I lifted my mug to her in a mock toast. "Here's to friends who have each other's backs."
"Absolutely." She lifted her own mug, now empty. "And now on to murder." We exchanged wry smiles at the conversational segue. It wasn't that we had an especially macabre sense of humor: far from it. It was more a reaction to the seriousness of the situation.
Only in a mystery writer's kitchen, I thought. Aloud I said, "I think we ought to revisit Ailin Tillmon, Merry. Fancy lunch on a canal boat?"
"You're on." She stood up and rinsed her mug out in the sink, turning it upside down to drain. "Do you want me to drive?"
"No," I said firmly. "I'll do it, thank you very much."
She poked out her tongue, but her eyes were smiling. "I'll see you about eleven, then?"
I nodded. "Eleven it is. Oh, and Merry," I said with a mischievous grin, "Get ready for Sex in a Pan."
The expression her face was beyond priceless. I was still laughing when I closed the door behind her.
* * *
"I've lived here for two years, and I had no idea this was even here." Merry was looking at the passenger's window with great interest, watching the Erie Canal as we drove along the road that ran that ran parallel to it. "It's like something out of the history books, Caro."
I smiled. "No surprise, especially since it's been in use for nearly two hundred years as a way to distribute local products." I checked my side mirror and changed lanes, heading for the exit. "It opened in 1825, running from Buffalo on Lake Erie down to Albany."
Merry turned to look at me, one eyebrow lifted in amazement. "Well, aren't you just the walking, talking textbook."
"Call it research, Merry," I said with a smug smile. "And since I'm still researching, I can write this lunch off on my taxes. So feel free to get dessert," I couldn't resist adding. "My treat."
"Whatever." Merry sounded annoyed. "There's no way I'm going to ask for 'Sex in a Pan', Caro."
I could hear the quotation marks in her voice, and I laughed. "Sorry, Merry," I said. "I don't mean to tease you."
"It's all right. You know what I always say, don't you?"
Together we chorused, "Don't get revenge, get even."
"I hope the server is here," I commented as we walked from the parking area to the canal boat's gangway. "I didn't think about calling to see if she was working today."
"Well, I don't think that would have been a good plan, Caro." Merry walked beside me as we made our way to the canal boat's entry. "If she knows something and doesn't want to share it, she might not have been available anyway."
I nodded thoughtfully. "True." It wouldn't have been the first time a possible witness had vanished. I motioned for her to walk in ahead of me. "We'll at least get a good lunch out of this."
The ambience was as charming as I'd remembered it to be. I enjoyed watching Merry exclaim over the décor, the menu, and the view of the canal outside the long, low windows. I ordered an iced tea to start while she chose freshly squeezed lemonade garnished with sliced strawberries.
"How did you find out about this place?" she asked, taking a sip from her drink. "Wow, this is really good. I'd never have thought about putting strawberries in my lemonade."
I took a long drink of my tea, debating on how much to confess. "It belongs to a new member of Greg's cycling group," I finally said. "Apparently she's really fit. Greg said most of them had a hard time keeping up with her."
"Seriously," Merry said, eyebrows lifted. "A woman who can outride that husband of yours? This I'd need to see."
I shrugged. "That's what he said. To tell you the truth, I don't know what bothered me more: the fact that he called her a phenomenal rider or that he had a good view of her Lycra-covered tush." I wrinkled my nose and added, "And you know what riding kit does for a fit body, ri
ght? It absolutely accentuates every toned muscle, every firm curve…"
I broke off as a server appeared at our table, ready to take our orders. Judging by her grin, she'd heard every word. I blushed.
"So your husband is part of that group, is he?" She thrust out one square hand, and I looked up at her tanned face. "I'm Gabbie. And you are?"
"She's Caro Layton-Browning," Merry chimed in when I continued staring up at Gabbie. "Her husband is Greg Browning. And yes, he rides."
I took a moment to look this woman over from head to toe. Her shoulders were as square as her hands. In fact, she seemed to be all straight lines, none of those curves I'd imagined. And best of all, she was at least twenty years older than me. I gave her one of my most brilliant smiles and took her outstretched hand.
"I'm Caro, as she said." I turned to look at Merry, whose expression was so guileless I knew she'd already figured out the way my thoughts had been going. "Actually, I had dinner here last night with Greg. It was all delicious."
"I like to hear that," Gabbie replied, her eyes flicking back between me and Merry. "What'll it be today?"
"Actually, before we order," began Merry, and she gave me a slight nod.
"We had a wonderful server last night, an Ailin." I smiled at Gabbie, willing my expression to remain neutral. It would never do to sound too eager, of that I was certain. "Is she here today, by any chance?"
Gabbie pursed her lips, tapping her pencil against the pad. "No, she's not. And that's not like her, to be honest. She should have been at work today."
"Did she call out?" I asked before I could stop myself. I felt Merry kick me under the table. I ignored her.
Gabbie shook her head. "No, and that's unusual as well. She's one of the best, most reliable servers we've ever hired."
My pulse gave a little jump. Greg's spidey senses had been in full working order, it seemed. And now mine were going off as well. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath and spoke.
"Gabbie, I can't tell you how I know this, but I think Ailin might be in trouble."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 13
