"Thank you, Gabbie." I looked over at Greg. "Should we go ahead and order something to drink?"
After our drinks had been delivered—iced tea all around—we made casual conversation, commenting on the décor and the impact of the Erie Canal on the local economy.
"Even today some manufacturers depend on it to transport goods," said Merry. "Candy was just telling me the other day that most of their ingredients are still sent by boat or barge from other states."
"That's amazing in this age of quick deliveries," I said as I scanned the menu. "We expect to get everything faster than the day before. I think I'm going to have the soup of the day and a salad, Merry."
"I was looking at that as well," she said, a slight pucker between her eyebrows. "I wonder if the chicken tortilla soup is spicy."
I looked around the small dining area, trying to spot a server I could motion over. "Oh, there's Ailin," I exclaimed, and I lifted one hand in a wave. She caught my eye and nodded, holding up one finger before disappearing into the kitchen.
"I might try the filet mignon." Greg was still perusing the list of entrees, running one finger down the list. "That will bring a cosmic balance to the rabbit food that you two are planning on eating."
Merry chuckled. "It's only because I intend to get some of that sexy dessert afterward."
I laughed. "You might want to get some to go, Merry. Just in case you-know-who drops by later."
She wrinkled her nose at me. "As if I can't provide my own…"
I held up both hands as if to ward off her words. "And that's enough. I haven't even had dinner yet."
"What?" Merry's eyes were round with innocence. "I was just going to say that I can provide my own dessert."
"Oh, take some of ours." The three of us turned to see a grinning Ailin standing there, notepad in hand and ready to take our orders. "My aunt said you wanted to talk to me later, Mrs. Browning."
I nodded. "If you have a few minutes. I just have a question or two."
"Caro," said my dear spouse in a warning tone. "We're out for dinner, not investigating."
"Investigating? Is this for one of your books?" Ailin appeared impressed, and I found myself preening a bit. After all, I'd been involved in other cases before, not to mention all the research that I'd done for my Harried Hairdresser series.
"We're looking into the two murders," I said without thinking. That earned me a kick in the ankle from my husband and warning poke in the side from Merry. Ailin, however, didn't seem to notice.
"Zayne is always telling me about how his boss, that Lisa Caldwell, likes looking up all kinds of things about death, like different ways to bump folks off." She shook her head, a grin on her face. "I can only imagine what her search engine results look like, you know?"
"I can only imagine," I agreed somewhat dryly.
We finally gave our orders and had our tea glasses refilled. Ailin's curiosity had raised only the smallest of red flags for me. Her life, I conjectured, must feel small next to her brother's. He had the big city to amuse him, even if he didn't like his employer, while his sister's life was bounded by The Dancing Pony and a few college courses.
"That was really good." Merry wiped her lips with a paper napkin, nodding at her now-empty bowl of chicken tortilla soup. "And hardly spicy at all. I can generally tolerate spicy foods, especially when it comes to my mama's southern cooking, but sometimes my stomach can't handle other stuff."
I nodded. I'd ordered the same thing, and I'd found the soup to be quite flavorful. "Maybe Gabbie would share this recipe with us."
"Maybe," said Merry doubtfully. "What I'd like shared with me is what Ailin knows about her aunt and the killings."
"Merry," I hissed. "Don't be so obvious, all right? Ailin already knows I want to talk to her. If she knows anything, I'll find out."
To my left, my husband carefully laid down his salad fork and fastidiously wiped his fingers. "Might I inquire just how you two made that connection?"
Merry and I exchanged guilty looks. I hadn't told him what we'd concluded, that we'd already solved the two murders. Coming here tonight was simply to tie up the few loose ends, and I needed Ailin's information for that.
I leaned toward Greg and began, quickly and quietly, to share what we knew—or what we thought we knew—about Gabbie and her role in smuggling designer handbags. To his credit, Greg's face remained impassive and he didn't interrupt. The more I talked, though, the crazier the entire thing sounded in my own ears.
"Of course," I admitted with a shrug, "this only made sense after we spent some time with Devin Cotton and her sisters. Once I eliminated Sarah, Lisa, and Lisa's partner Sam as suspects, the only logical one was Gabbie." I leaned over and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. "And if you hadn't pointed out that article about the problem with counterfeit purses, I would still think that illegal drugs were at the root of it all."
I wish I could adequately describe the expression on my husband's face. I can only say that, as used to my flights of fancy and incessant plotting, I believe that I finally stumped him. I looked from him to Merry and back and finally threw up my hands.
"Greg, it's very simple: She appeared on the scene just as the two murders happened, and she managed to get you to agree to bring me here to her restaurant."
"I'm not following your reasoning, Caro, if I can even call it that." Greg was leaning back in chair, arms folded across his chest and both eyebrows raised as high as they could go. "Why would—how could she—where did you…"
I watched, open-mouthed, as my incredibly articulate husband found himself at a loss for words. I noticed a few other diners beginning to glance in our direction now, so I hastily shut my mouth and plastered a smile on my face.
"Well, my dear, this has been a very nice evening. Wouldn't you agree, Merry?" I kept up the idiotic smile as I spoke, feeling my lips beginning to stick to my teeth as I did.
"Caro," she said, leaning forward and holding the back of one hand against my forehead, "are you all right? Do you have a fever?"
I shook my head, dislodging her hand and trying to restore my lips to their original position. "Not at all. It's just that—"
I didn't get a chance to finish my thought. Ailin, bearing a tray with the remainder of our dinner, headed over to our table with a solemn expression on her face. Without missing a beat, she leaned in next to my ear and whispered, "Meet me on the pier thirty minutes after we close."
I nodded automatically, my mind already a whirl of anticipation. The game, as they say, was afoot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"I told her that I'd come alone." I sat in the front seat of Merry's Mini Cooper. My arms crossed in front of myself and my chin jutting out in a rather stubborn attitude.
"Really? I didn't see you say anything, Caro." Merry was sitting in the driver's seat, her own posture mirroring my own. "Unless you've developed ESP in the last hour or so, I'd have to say she doesn't know that."
"I intimated it, then." I was not about to give in. I wanted to speak with Ailin on my own, for whatever reason I had for feeling that way. "And I won't be gone long, Merry. Greg, you're all right with this, aren't you?"
My husband, who had been observing the ongoing conversation, his head on a swivel as he looked from one of us to the other, simply shrugged. "Caro, would it really matter what I said at this stage in the game?"
"Of course it would," I said, twisting around to look in my husband's eyes. "Your opinion means the world to me, Greg. You know that."
"Mmm."
His response inspired one of my own: I rolled my eyes and turned back around.
"Fine. I know when I'm beaten, you two. Let's go home." I glanced at my cell phone. If I was going to meet up with Ailin Tillmon, I'd need to be back here in less than two hours.
"Are you sure?" Merry's eyebrows lifted, her right hand hovering over the keys in the ignition.
"Absolutely." I gave her my brightest smile. "I'm ready to call it a night."
Behind me I heard,
rather than saw, Greg shaking his head. How well he knows me, I thought with an inward smile. He'd be waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop, to coin a phrase. My challenge would be to drop that shoe as quietly, as stealthily, as possible.
* * *
Whether by sheer dumb luck or an innate craftiness, I managed to slip out of the house and into my sedan, keys gripped tightly in my fist so that they would not jingle a warning to either my husband or my pet. Judging by the snoring that was drifting from my bedroom, though, it had not been a necessary subterfuge.
Merry, on the other hand, was an entirely different kettle of fish. I kept my car lights off until I was well down the block. All it would take was the briefest glimpse of my headlights and she would be out the door and following me back to The Dancing Pony.
Seneca Meadows is a lovely town by any standards. It has a small town's close-knit community and is close enough to New York City to have access to the latest in fashion and entertainment. Counterfeit Coach, Michael Kors, and Gucci handbags: we could have done without that part of big-city influence, however. As I drove through the night, I wondered how many women had already purchased a purse, thinking they were getting a genuine designer item.
I hoped Ailin would still be there. I'd done my best to send her a telepathic message—as if I actually believed in that—and let her know that I would be later than the time she had given me. I was counting on the inventory count that she was involved with to keep her on board The Dancing Pony.
Although, as I turned down the road that led to the canal boat restaurant, I wondered if it was a true inventory count that she was doing. Perhaps Gabbie kept the fake handbags in the hold and not items to run her business. Ailin might have been coerced into being a part of this illicit activity simply to keep her paycheck.
With that in mind, I pressed the accelerator down a bit harder. I might be about to truly crack the case that Detective Leonides was involved with and save a young girl from being involved in criminal activity. I grinned as I imagined him plying me with thanks, giving me credit for a job well done. I'd certainly make sure that someone was there to capture the moment on camera.
The breeze coming off the Erie Canal was stiffer than it had been earlier in the evening, underpinned with a cooler feel that hinted at the winter to come. I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders and hurried from the car to the gangway. Hopefully she'd be watching for me and have the door opened quickly. It was just a bit too chilly for my taste out here near the water.
I made my way up the angled gangway to the restaurant's entrance. I could see a bit of light seeping out from under the door and gave it a tentative push. To my surprise, it slowly swung open.
Stepping inside, I took a quick look around the dining area. This was positioned in the main area of the canal boat with the kitchen located toward the aft. The hold, the place where Ailin had been earlier, must have been located in the forward of the canal boat.
"Hello? Ailin?" I called out, looking over my shoulder as I did in case she was aft. "It's Caro Browning here."
I heard a noise from behind me and turned quickly around, nearly upending myself as I did. Gabbie stood in the hallway leading to the back of the restaurant, a surprised expression on her face and both hands full of paperwork.
"Caro? Can I help you? Did you forget something?"
I thought quickly, trying to come up with a viable excuse for being back on board The Dancing Pony.
"Actually, Gabbie, I was hoping that your niece would still be here." I gave her a half smile and a shrug "She wanted to speak with me, and I told her that I might be able to swing back this way after you'd closed."
"Really." It wasn't a question but a statement. I felt a shiver making its slow way down my back.
"Apparently she's a fan of the mystery genre and wanted to run an idea for a book past me." I smiled at Gabbie. "You know how it is. Sometimes a fan just feels as though they need a one-on-one conversation."
"I suppose." She remained standing there in the middle of the dining area, her expression neutral. I wasn't making headway with this woman and I knew it. Maybe the best thing to do would be to turn around and leave.
"Hey, Aunt Gabbie."
We both turned around to see Ailin Tillmon standing at the top of stairs that I assumed led down to the hold.
"Ailin. I thought that you'd already left." Behind me, Gabbie shifted from one foot to the other, her unease apparent from across the room.
"I just finished with the inventory."
Was it my imagination or had Ailin emphasized that last word?
"Perfect timing, then, Ailin." Gabbie motioned in my direction. "Mrs. Browning—"
"Caro," I interrupted with a smile.
"—Caro says that you asked her to meet her here after we closed."
It was a statement, not a question. I looked from one woman to the other, trying to read the dynamics and figure out what I should do. The silence stretched out a few more moments than was comfortable, and then Ailin finally spoke.
"If you don't mind, Aunt Gabbie." She glanced at me briefly. "I mean, we can go somewhere else and talk."
Gabbie glanced down at her wrist, checking the time on the sports watch that I'd noticed earlier. "Okay, I suppose you can stay here. Ailin, you make sure everything is locked up before you leave, all right? And don't leave any lights on in the dining area, please. Your uncle spits nails when he thinks we're wasting electricity."
"Actually, it's all right." Ailin flashed a smile at me. "I'm sorry that you came all the way back here, Mrs. Browning. Would it be okay if I just emailed you or something?"
I stared at her, trying to read between the lines. Was she sending me a message, or had I really driven out here needlessly? I decided to play along.
"Email is fine with me, Ailin. In fact, if you just go to my website—" here I rattled off the address as she typed it into her smartphone "—I'll get your message there."
"Sounds good." She slipped her phone back into her pocket. "And I'm super sorry for making you drive back here, I really am."
"As you should be, young lady." Gabbie shook her head at her niece and turned to face me. "Why don't you take some of our dessert home with you, Caro? I'm sure your husband would appreciate it, and it's the least I can do."
"He'd love it, Gabbie. Thanks."
I sat down in a chair to wait for the proffered goodies. Ailin began to follow her aunt, then hesitated.
"Would you mind waiting for me, Mrs. Browning? We could talk as we walk to the parking lot, if that's all right."
I nodded. "Sure. I'll be right here."
"Great. I'll be right back. I just need to grab my coat from the locker."
Now that I was sitting in one spot, tiredness was beginning to creep up on me. I wanted to be home in my bed, covers pulled up to my neck, sound asleep. I must have closed my eyes and drifted off because suddenly Gabbie was back, giving my shoulder a gentle shake.
"Caro? Are you okay to drive?"
I looked up at her and forced a smile on my face. "Absolutely, Gabbie. I've had a busy day, including a run to the city."
"I hear ya. Driving can really wear a body out." She glanced back toward the kitchen. "I told Ailin to hurry. I want to get home and get some rest before I have to start this rat race all over again tomorrow."
"I'll wait for her," I offered. "That way she won't have to walk to her car by herself."
"Sure you don't mind?" Gabbie asked, her eyebrows lifted. "I'd really appreciate it. I'm beat, to tell you the truth."
"You go on home," I urged. "And thanks again for the…" I peeked in the box that she'd handed me. "Oh, your double-frosted brownies—Greg will love these."
"I kinda figured he had a sweet tooth." She reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. I was suddenly wide awake: on her arm was a Coach handbag. Before I'd had time to give it a good look, though, she was gone, waving as she went.
"Mrs. Browning? Are you still here?"
I turned to see A
ilin standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her cell phone held up to one ear.
"I told your aunt that I'd walk out with you," I said with a smile. "And maybe you can spare a few minutes to talk as well."
"Sure, no prob." She smiled at me and then spoke into her phone. "Listen. I'll be a little later than usual, okay? I just need to take care of something real quick." I watched as she listened for a moment. "All right. I said I would, Zayne." Another pause. "Yes. Okay. I said I'd be there shortly." Without another word, she disconnected the call and slipped the phone back in her pocket.
"Brother problems?" I smiled up at her, motioning her to sit down by me.
She rolled her eyes, slipping into a chair. "You can't imagine."
"You're right," I said. "I'm an only child."
"Lucky." She grinned at me, pointing at the box on the table. "Aunt Gabbie got you all fixed up, I see."
"She really didn't need to do it, but I'm not going to complain. So," I said, looking directly at her, "what can you tell me about counterfeit handbags?"
Ailin grew still, her eyes fixed on mine. "What about them?"
I leaned toward her and placed my hand on her arm. "Ailin, I know that your aunt is involved somehow. If you know anything, anything at all, you need to tell me."
She dropped her eyes to my hand. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I pulled it away and sat back in my chair. If she was going to talk, she needed to feel comfortable with me.
"Why do you think my aunt has anything to do with that?" She'd crossed her arms in front of her chest, her eyes narrowed. "And where did you hear about this anyway?"
I shrugged. I didn't want to give too much information away in case I'd misread the situation.
She stared at me for a few seconds, then abruptly stood to her feet. "Follow me, okay?" She started walking toward the stairs that I assumed led to the hold. "I've got something to show you."
I nodded and followed her, my heart beginning to pound. Maybe I hadn't been wrong after all.
Ailin snapped on the light switch that was just outside the entrance to the staircase and looked over her shoulder. "Watch your step, Mrs. Browning. It's a little steep."
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 17
