Mom shook her head. “I wish I could help you out, but I’m having Mikey Dawson over to help me build a little barn for the alpacas. He’s in school, so this is the only day he could help.”
“Sure. No problem,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
Mom gave me a long look. “How about this, though—what if I invited the van Dusen family over for a meal after church tomorrow? I know you’ll have to head back soon, and that wouldn’t seem too out of the ordinary for me to have them over to visit with us.”
“Would you, Mom? That’d be great. I’ll cook and everything.”
Mom smiled. “You won’t get any argument from me, since I have to be outside today. You might need to run into town and get some ingredients, though, since my cupboards are nearly bare.” She munched on a bite, then asked, “Why don’t you invite Jonas for Sunday dinner, too?”
What a great idea. It’d give me a little more time to talk with one of my favorite people. “You’re quite resourceful, Mom. I’ll ask him.”
Mom beamed at me.
After lunch, I took stock of our supplies and made a list of things I’d need for the Sunday meal, which would feature a large beef roast from the freezer. After setting the roast out to thaw, I grabbed several of Mom’s reusable shopping bags and took Bluebell into the small grocery store in town.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Tori’s pea-green car. At least I knew she was still alive after her rather harried one-on-one with Peter Bear.
I rounded the corner at the bakery and noted that Tori had showered and gotten dressed in proper clothes for this shopping expedition. She was placing pastries in a box as I stepped over toward her.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “You seemed kind of upset earlier.”
She wasn’t hostile, like she’d been at Peter’s house. In fact, she seemed almost cheery. “I’m fine now. I just had something I needed to talk to Peter about.”
“I’m so sorry about Rosalee,” I said. Realizing Peter might not have told Tori that Rosalee had been killed with Ativan, I tried to stay vague. “It’s just unthinkable.”
Tori’s smile disappeared and she closed the lid on the pastry box—but not before I saw that she’d only chosen two pastries. I glanced into the shopping basket on her arm. It held two bottles of sparkling water and two fancy pieces of stuffed salmon.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Rosalee was a good friend,” she added.
But it rang false. I wondered if Rosalee was just another woman who’d gotten in Tori’s way. Given the looks of her shopping basket, Tori was planning a nice meal with a special someone—and I had the feeling it was Peter Bear.
* * * *
Back home, I prepped the Sunday meal as much as I could, then I tried to skim-read the end of The Haunting of Hill House. It was every bit as bleak and hopeless as I’d imagined it would be, but I supposed the point of a book club was to expose readers to things they might not normally pick up. This book definitely fell into that category for me. I found myself wondering what Jonas thought of it.
Jonas arrived at seven twenty. He’d used some kind of faintly spicy cologne or aftershave that compelled me to sit as close to him as his truck seats would allow. I fought off the overwhelming urge to touch his strong forearm that sprawled on the armrest.
“I dropped by the pigeon coop this afternoon,” Jonas said, oblivious to the correct “loft” terminology. “The birds looked fantastic. Mom would be so pleased.” He kept his eyes on the road. “But Belinda, I know this was the last day you planned to be here.” He slid a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a check, which he handed to me. “Here’s your payment—I think that covers it, but let me know if it doesn’t.”
I took the check without glancing at the amount. “Thank you, but I’ll be around a little more—at least until tomorrow,” I said. “Mom’s having a meal for the van Dusens and she wondered if you could come.”
He seemed to perk up. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Okay, just swing by any time after church.” Jonas went to the same church as my parents.
He pulled to a stop on Main Street and walked around to open the door for me. We hadn’t had time to discuss the book, but I’d soon find out what he thought. Jonas seemed to enjoy participating in the book club discussions.
The eclectic group gave me a hearty welcome, even Delia Jensen, one of Jonas’s old classmates. I suspected Delia harbored a major crush on Jonas, but she’d always been more than friendly to me, so I gave her the same courtesy. Besides, I’d noticed that Jonas’s gaze always seemed to drift over to me, even with Delia in the room. It was a very satisfying feeling.
Delia kicked off the group discussion. She spoke about how emancipated Theodora was and how she preferred her character over Eleanor’s. Others started to delve into underlying meanings of the strange phenomena that occurred in the house. I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for Jonas to pipe up.
When he finally did speak, everyone fell silent. “I guess Dr. Montague should bear a lot of the responsibility, bringing everyone to this weird house just to conduct his own experiments,” he said.
And that was that. I had to smile. Jonas was the kind of man who believed everyone was responsible for his own actions, yet he also had a heart of compassion for the little guy.
I beamed at him, thankful for his insight and grateful he’d grown up to be the man he was.
I felt someone staring at me, so I turned to see Delia’s dark eyes assessing my face. In a moment that could make or break my attitude toward her, she inclined her head Jonas’s way and gave me a slow nod.
Her intentions were clear—she was acknowledging my too-obvious feelings and encouraging me to pursue Jonas.
As I sat there watching Jonas, his poplin shirt sleeves rolled up, his weather-roughened hands resting on his jeans, I found it hard to believe that any other man existed. I found it hard to care that any other man existed. Who needed another man when Jonas existed?
Was this what love looked like?
* * * *
Gripping my half-drunk gingerbread latte, I climbed into Jonas’s warm truck. He had thoughtfully ducked out a bit early to run the heat, so I wouldn’t be too chilled on the way home.
A thousand words swirled through my mind, but they wouldn’t settle into any rational order. They were like homing pigeons, fluttering high above me.
“That was a good book club,” I said. “Not my fave book, but that’s the way it goes, I guess.”
“Not mine either,” he said.
Heat poured out of the open vent, and I angled it away from my too-toasty face.
“So, were you planning to leave tomorrow?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of helping my friend Chloe with some news stories,” I said.
“Not anything to do with Rosalee Meier’s death, I guess?” He glanced at me, and I could tell by his dead-serious look that he hoped I wasn’t involved in that story.
I couldn’t lie to him. “We’re just checking into some things.”
His voice deepened. “You’re extremely good at checking into things, but just be sure you’re not placing yourself in harm’s way. I’ve heard Rosalee didn’t just drown.”
Why did the town even bother with a newspaper, when word hit the street so much faster? Chloe hadn’t even written the article stating Rosalee’s cause of death yet. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
“My hired man does a little groundskeeping for the Meier family.”
As usual, everyone was well-connected in Larches Corner. “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I do plan to go back to Greenwich soon.”
Jonas didn’t even hint that he wished I’d stay longer. The man was such a close-lipped riddle. Did he have any feelings for me, outside mere neighborly friendship?
* * * *
Dad was sti
ll up when I got home, so I got Ross Franklin’s cell number from him and gave the bar owner a call. He must be working tonight, because Bon Jovi music was blasting in the background.
The man was gruff but friendly, and he confirmed what I’d heard. “That Jackson kid came in all by his lonesome,” he said. “Had a proper I.D. and all that, but he seemed a little tipsy already. I didn’t give him much before I told him he oughtta head home. He wouldn’t tell me if he drove here or what. I told him I could call a cab, but he didn’t answer and just walked out.”
“How did he seem? Angry, sad, or what?”
“When they’re drunk, sometimes angry and sad look like the same thing.”
“Did he say anything strange? Did anyone talk to him?”
He coughed. “He didn’t say much to me, and the only other person who talked to him was one of my old-timer customers—he’s here nearly every night. He’s already told the cops they only talked about the weather.”
“So Jackson headed out to his car when you said he should probably leave?”
There was a pause. “That’s the strange thing. The cops told me the boy’s car was parked out front, within walking distance. But he must’ve gone out and walked the opposite way, winding up in the alley. Even if he was out of it, you’d think he would’ve headed toward the well-lit street instead of the dark alley, y’know?”
You sure would. Did someone meet Jackson and walk him into the alley? Were they working with another person who’d hit him with the car?
I needed more details from Chloe as to what the police had found in the alley, but I wasn’t sure they’d given her any.
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Franklin,” I said.
Another eighties hit screeched in the background. “Tell your dad my cat’s having kittens soon,” the man said. “I’ll bring ’em in for their shots when they’re ready.”
I tried to match the totally incongruous picture of a rough, large bartender tenderly loading up tiny kittens in a carrier for their shots, but it was difficult. Yet from all my dad said, Ross Franklin was a kind man—a man who’d tried to make sure young Jackson Hait didn’t do something stupid.
“Will do,” I said.
15
Sunday morning church seemed to drag on, in large part because my parents’ new pastor was single and might have been making eyes at me from the pulpit. I left early and bolted for home in Bluebell, so I wouldn’t have to go through the process of shaking the overly-enthusiastic pastor’s hand. Besides, I needed to make sure my mom’s fickle oven timer was working—otherwise, we wouldn’t have a main course.
The house smelled delicious when I walked in, so I breathed a sigh of relief. Checking on the pot roast, I was pleased to see that it was fully cooked and tender. I dashed up to my room and changed into jeans, then came back down to get to work.
I puttered around the kitchen, getting the potatoes and other last-minute things ready. Mom had already set the table.
As I worked, I thought about the van Dusens. It would be good to see Ella again…I could ask her if things were going any better at school (which I sadly doubted). I hoped she was planning to follow up on my suggestion that she stop by Dad’s clinic tomorrow. Helen would notice Ella’s sullen attitude and would likely try to pull her out of it with equal doses of chores and praise.
I’d never met Mr. van Dusen, but I’d covertly studied him during church. The tall, blond-bearded man looked like an older version of his son. He hadn’t put his arm around Tracy or his children during the service. Whereas Tracy seemed like a tightly-wound ball of emotional energy, he seemed completely drained of it.
And Adrian hadn’t even been at church, so I wondered if he’d show up for our meal today. I hoped so, because I planned to pull out some of my just-released video games, priming the pump to ask him some questions.
Mom and Dad pulled up, and Jonas came over soon after. I tried to keep my mind focused on meal prep, but when Jonas came up behind me to cut the roast, it took all my self-control not to back right into his arms.
Why did he short-circuit my senses like this? I hardly recognized myself anymore. I needed to talk with Katrina and sort my feelings out.
I didn’t have much time to revel in his proximity, though. The van Dusens arrived and introductions were made. Just as I suspected, Hendrik van Dusen was quiet—taciturn would be the right word, I thought. In the meantime, Tracy chattered on about her pumpkin patch and the new hairstylist in town.
Adrian, who had indeed come along for the meal, plopped onto the couch with a blank look in his eyes. Ella trailed me around the kitchen. When I asked about school, it was clear nothing had changed. Hoping to perk her up, I raced upstairs and hunted down one of my old yearbooks. It didn’t take long to find my eighth grade picture—braces and all.
Ella got a good laugh out of how I looked when I was thirteen. Jonas peeked over my shoulder and gave a chuckle. “I was several grades ahead of Belinda in high school,” he said. “But I do remember how cute she was, even at thirteen—and yes, even with those braces, Belinda. Of course, you weren’t beautiful, like you are now at…what, twenty-seven?”
Ella looked from Jonas to me, wide-eyed, to see how I would respond.
Jonas had just paid me a huge compliment—two, actually. He knew exactly how old I was and he considered me beautiful.
“Thanks,” I said, every bit as awkward as the thirteen-year-old version of myself.
I glanced at Mom, who was setting the final dish on the table. “Time to eat!” I said, hoping to cover my embarrassment.
The meal seemed to go well, until Dad brought up Rosalee Meier’s death. He said he’d seen in the newspaper today that police were now considering her drowning a homicide.
Tracy van Dusen nearly choked on her tea, so she obviously hadn’t heard the news yet. Hendrik didn’t seem overly upset, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
Ella remained silent, but Adrian piped right up. “She should’ve known something bad would happen when she stole Claire’s boyfriend,” he said.
Tracy tried to shush her son, but to no avail.
More animated than he’d been thus far, Adrian seemed to warm to his topic. “In fact, Rosalee might’ve stolen Peter Bear before my sister died.”
Ella bopped Adrian with her elbow and he fell silent.
“I’m sorry,” Tracy said, looking genuinely mortified. “Adrian,” she hissed, “We did not come here to talk about Claire.”
Mom jumped in and tried to change the topic. “We finished building the alpaca shelter,” she announced.
Before anyone could respond, the doorbell rang. The van Dusens politely returned to their meals, but Jonas was giving me a curious look, as if wondering if I’d set up this little get-together on purpose. Which I actually had.
Dad slid his chair out, exiting the dining room to see who was there. After briefly chatting with someone, Dad walked back in with the last person I’d ever expected to see in Larches Corner.
Stone Carrington the fifth.
* * * *
I glanced at Jonas, whose expression hadn’t changed. Knowing I needed to introduce Stone, I walked over to greet him. He was grinning like a goofball, and he pulled an enormous bouquet of pink roses from behind his back. The wide blooms had opened and smelled amazing.
“Thanks so much,” I said, a little more breathlessly than I’d wanted to. “Well, this is quite a surprise! Everyone, this is Stone Carrington the fifth. He lives next to me in Greenwich.”
Mom gave Stone a gracious smile. “Won’t you sit down and join us for lunch, Stone?”
Stone shook his head. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meal. I just wanted to pay a visit to Belinda and see the area where she’s from.”
“Thanks,” I said, not wanting to meet Jonas’s eyes again. “Let’s go out where we can talk a little.” I led Stone toward the front door, then out onto
the porch.
Stone was still beaming. “So, I surprised you?”
“You certainly did.” I realized I still had my arms wrapped around the enormous bouquet. “These are gorgeous,” I said, unable to resist burying my nose in the cluster of pink petals.
“I’m glad you like them. I just had the urge to drive into the countryside today, and I knew you’d said you were from a rural area. I got your parents’ address from the house secretary and here I am,” he said. He gestured to the driveway, and I caught sight of his yellow Lamborghini that had been neatly parked behind the van Dusens’ car. “I’d hoped to check out your town, but if you’re too busy to show me around, I’ll just head on back.”
And make the three-hour trip, so soon after arriving?
“Of course I’ll go with you,” I said. I certainly couldn’t just ship the poor man back to Greenwich when he’d driven this far just to hang out with me. “Wait a second—I need to put these in water,” I said.
I headed into the kitchen and managed to find a vase big enough to support the luscious blooms. Then I worked up my courage and returned to the dining room, where conversation seemed to be flowing well. “I’ll probably show Stone around Larches Corner,” I announced. “I’m sorry I have to leave early, but it was so nice getting to talk a little more.”
Dad nodded, and Mom said, “Have a fun time, hon.”
The van Dusens offered brief goodbyes. I hoped I’d find another time to talk to Adrian, especially regarding the cryptic way he’d hinted that Peter and Rosalee were an item, even when Claire was alive.
Jonas glanced up at me, his blue gaze inscrutable. He had a small smile in place. Was it a pained smile, or just a half-hearted one? Or did he care at all?
“Bye,” I said finally, and turned to walk away.
Jonas’s quiet words followed me out. “Goodbye, Belinda.”
16
Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather Page 11
