“Good morning,” I said. “Have a nice snooze?”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”
“We know, my dear,” Aunt Harriet said.
“And I was thinking,” he said louder, “that this cottage would make the perfect setting for your thirtieth birthday party.”
“Birthday party?” I echoed. “I wasn’t planning any such thing.”
“Of course you weren’t. Only egotists throw themselves a party.”
“My birthday’s next month. I really don’t have the time to arrange a party.”
Aunt Harriet waved away my objection. “Carrie, dear, you won’t have to do a thing. Your uncle and I will bring in the food and drink. Your job is to invite whomever you’d like and decorate the place to your heart’s content.”
“I don’t have that many people to invite.”
“Of course you do!” she insisted. “Your friends from the library will come. And Jared, of course. And that Avery boy.”
If he’s around.
“It would be nice to invite your cousins,” Aunt Harriet said.
“Not all of them!” I said.
“I had Randy and Julia in mind.”
“And their children,” I added.
Aunt Harriet looked at me sideways. “Certainly, if you like.”
I found myself warming to the idea of a party. Aunt Harriet asked for a pen and paper to jot down ideas. I worked on my guest list.
“Why don’t we make it a joint birthday-housewarming party?” I suggested. “I’ll create an electronic invitation.”
“Excellent idea!” Aunt Harriet said.
I made a mental note to design an e-invitation the next day. “Do you have Julia and Randy’s e-mail address?” I asked.
Uncle Bosco reached into his pocket for his smartphone. “Here it is.” He rattled off the address, and I copied it down.
When it was time for them to leave, I hugged them fiercely. I didn’t bother to brush away the tears that filled my eyes. “You’re both so good to me. No one’s ever been this good to me.”
“That’s ’cause we love you, honeybun.” Uncle Bosco’s voice was hoarse with emotion.
“You’re the daughter we never had,” Aunt Harriet said.
“Now, remember to lock up after us,” Uncle Bosco said as I helped him into his jacket.
“Bosco, she’s not a child. She knows what to do.”
I smiled as they climbed into their car. How lucky I was to have returned to Clover Ridge and to them.
I was loading the dishwasher when Jared called.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five. Uncle George wants to have an early dinner before driving home.”
I told him about my aunt and uncle’s visit and our plans for my thirtieth birthday party.
“A party! What a great idea. Leave the decorations to me.”
We chatted a bit and said good night. I cleared the coffee and dessert dishes from the kitchen table and then wandered into every room. This is mine! This is mine! I’d never had an entire house to myself. I ended up in the bathroom, where I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and then got into a nightgown and into bed.
I was reading and feeling drowsy when the housephone on the nightstand rang. Startled, I lifted the receiver.
“Hello, Dylan here. I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“No, it’s fine.” Better than fine.
“Sounds like you’re half-asleep.”
“Kind of. It was a hectic day.”
“Sorry I couldn’t get away to call sooner. Do you have everything you need? Remember to call Jack Norris if you need anything. My housekeeper, Mrs. C, comes on Tuesdays. Leave her a note if you have something that requires special attention. Like a few blouses that might need ironing.”
Ironing? “Mrs. C cleans the cottage every week?”
“She’ll change the bedding and towels and do a load or two of wash, if you like. Please pick up my mail Tuesday evening and send it to me on Wednesday.” He gave me an address and had me read it back to him.
I heard voices in the background.
“I have to go, Carrie. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Dylan.”
I was smiling as I turned out the lamp. I’d just lived the most perfect day of my life.
Chapter Twenty
Where am I? I looked around, my heart thudding like a drum, until I realized the darkened room was my bedroom, and I was comfortably ensconced in a well-padded bed under a soft comforter. I stretched my limbs, enjoying the smell of freshly laundered linens. It was a bit past six AM, when I usually turned over and went back to sleep. Instead, I went to the window and pulled open the curtains and blinds to let in the early morning sunlight. My eyes caught sight of the river flowing gently by. I went to the bathroom and then changed into a warm-up suit and sneakers and raced out of the house as if a mad dog were pursuing me.
I jogged along the river for half an hour and then, suddenly famished, turned and retraced my steps. An old tan SUV was parked beside my car. I opened the front door slowly. “Hello. Who’s there?”
A wizened elf of a man with leathery skin who could have been anywhere from sixty-five to eighty emerged from the guest bathroom.
“Jack Norris here. Sorry if I frightened you. Dylan asked me to look in on you first thing, see if you need anything. I knocked, but when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d best come in and make sure everything’s workin’. Turns out, the toilet in the guest bathroom keeps runnin’. I’ll see to it soon as I’m able.”
Various responses, from “Seven in the morning isn’t the time to come by” to “If no one answers, come back later,” came to mind. Instead, I put out my hand.
“I’m Carrie Singleton. Nice to meet you, Jack.”
He had a strong grip.
“Bosco’s niece.” He made it sound like an accusation.
“That’s right.”
He jerked his head toward my bathroom. “I tightened the faucet in the sink. Anything else need fixin’?”
“I haven’t used the washing machine, dryer, or dishwasher.”
“They’re all new. Should be okay, but let me know if there’s a problem.”
“Will do.”
He scratched his head as he appeared to think this over. “In that case, I’m off. I’ll be back to fix the toilet.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
I shot him a smile and was surprised when he gave me one in return.
It transformed his face. “Welcome, Miss Carrie. I think you’ll like livin’ in the cottage.”
I made myself a breakfast of coffee and a toasted croissant, then sat down at my laptop to create the party invitation. An hour later, I was pleased with my result: a picture of a lime-green house with colorful balloons and stars around it. I wrote, “Housewarming/Birthday Party, Saturday, December 11, from five to nine,” and the location. I typed in the e-mail addresses and sent the invitations on their way.
The day passed quickly. At four fifteen, I showered and dressed for dinner in my new gray pants, a burgundy-colored turtleneck, and my treasured boots. Jared came for me at five.
“Where are we eating tonight?”
“Due Amici, an Italian restaurant not far from here. Uncle George likes to eat there whenever he’s in the area. And since he’s paying . . . Actually, the food’s quite good.”
“Great. I love Italian food.”
“I think everyone does.”
Jared helped me on with my jacket, and we walked out to his car.
He wasn’t kidding about the restaurant being nearby. We hadn’t driven more than ten minutes when he turned into a driveway beside a well-lit building the size of a small house. Butterflies flitted around in my stomach as we approached the side entrance. I hardly knew these people. Ken was nice, and I imagined George was too. But Ryan was a hothead, and I had no idea what his girlfriend was like.
I reminded myself that tonight’s dinner was the perfect opportunity to find out more about Laura.
“Hey, look who’s here!” Ken stood and patted Jared on the shoulder. He greeted me with a hug and a kiss, which immediately put me at ease.
“You remember Carrie, don’t you, George? She was our hostess at the library the night poor Al Buckley met his end.”
George took my hand in both of his. “Of course I do.”
“Nice to see you again,” I said.
“Have a seat,” Ken said.
I sat next to him while Jared and his uncle traded insults the way men fond of one another often did. Eventually, Jared sat beside me.
“Would you like some red wine,” George asked, “or would you prefer something else?”
“Red’s fine with me,” I said.
“Me too,” Jared said.
Ken poured wine into our empty glasses, and the four of us clinked and sipped. The wine had a nice, rich flavor.
“Where’s Ryan?” Jared asked.
“They’ll be here eventually,” his uncle answered. “He called to say he was delayed, then he had to pick up Gillian on the far side of town.”
“And we’re supposed to wait?” Jared asked.
I stared, taken aback by the bitterness in his voice.
Jared patted my hand. “Sorry, Carrie, but my brother does this all the time.”
“So he does,” George agreed mildly. “Which is why I told him to get here when he could but that we’d be ordering at five thirty, because I have a long ride ahead of me.”
“That must have pissed him off,” Jared said.
“Of course it did. Ryan said he might as well not come, but I told him I hoped to see him. He promised to be here as close to six as he could make it.”
I was glad Ryan would be late. I remembered his hostile manner toward Al that night. Now I knew it was because Al had previously caught him doing all kinds of vandalism and worse. From what I’d just heard, Ryan was his own worst enemy. The less time I had to spend in his company, the better.
The four of us sipped our wine and chatted about a variety of subjects. George asked me how I liked living in Clover Ridge. I told him I loved working at the library and that I’d just moved into a new rental.
“It’s a cottage on the Avery property,” Jared added.
“Good for you!” Ken winked at me. He already knew I was renting the cottage, since he had a copy of the lease in his office. I was pleased he didn’t mention that Dylan was his client and glad I’d sent him an invitation to my party.
George whistled. “That’s some gorgeous piece of property. Right on the river, isn’t it?”
Ken laughed. “I bet you’d love to buy it and build condos along the shore.”
George frowned as he nodded in agreement. “Wouldn’t I ever? But I’d never have the cash to do any such thing.”
Our waitress approached the table, said her name was Michele, and asked if we were ready to order.
“I’m afraid not.” George glanced at the pile of menus we hadn’t bothered to open. “Though we might start with a large antipasto, if everyone’s agreed.”
We all nodded, and Ken distributed the menus. Michele recited the evening’s specials and said she’d be back in a few minutes with our salad and to take the rest of our order.
Jared and I decided to share an order of eggplant rollatini and seafood marinara. Ken poured more wine.
“Looks like we need another bottle,” George said, gesturing to our waitress.
Michele opened a second bottle and poured. We talked about various subjects as we ate and drank. George and Ken were excellent conversationalists, relating one humorous anecdote after the other. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, and all traces of my shyness dissolved.
Michele was just setting down our main courses when a male voice said, “I see you’re having a wonderful time without us.”
We all turned to see Ryan, who wore an aggrieved expression. For some reason, I felt as if I’d been caught doing something illicit.
“We were beginning to wonder if you were really coming,” Jared said.
“Your brotherly concern is touching.” Ryan pulled his pretty companion closer. “Everyone, this is Gillian.”
Her lips tightened at his rough handling and then formed a smile. “Hello. Nice to meet you all. Sorry we’re late.”
“Gillian, this is my uncle George; his college roommate, Ken Talbot; my brother, Jared; and his friend . . .”
“Carrie Singleton,” I said.
“Right.” Ryan led Gillian around the table so she was sitting next to Jared. He took the seat between Gillian and his uncle.
Silence fell. Michele appeared and asked the newcomers what they’d like to eat. Ryan ordered for both of them.
“Would you like some salad?” I offered.
“We can manage, thanks.” Ryan reached for the bowl and spooned salad onto their plates. He glared at the bread basket. “You didn’t leave very much bread for us.”
“Ask for more. You can have as much as you like,” George said. “Wine?”
“I’ll have a real drink.” Ryan raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
I gasped, horrified, but no one else seemed to notice.
“I’ll have some wine, please,” Gillian said.
Michele returned and took Ryan’s order of a double scotch, and George asked for more bread.
When his drink arrived, Ryan gulped it down. It seemed to steady him. He smiled at his uncle. “For as long as I can remember, you’ve always loved this place.”
“Why not? Their food is consistently good.”
“Which is quite a surprise, given its history.” Ryan turned to me. “Carrie, do you know what Due Amici means?”
“Two friends.”
“Good girl.” Ryan smiled. He was very handsome when he smiled.
I smiled back and then caught sight of Gillian’s frown.
“Two friends, Silvio and Tonio, opened this restaurant in the forties. Isn’t that right, Uncle George?”
“It is.”
“By the eighties, their sons, Rudy and Tony, were running the place—almost as well as their fathers. Rudy took care of the business end, while Tony and his son, Alessandro, did the buying and cooking. Rudy had a heart attack, which was when his daughter, Mia, took over the DeVito half of the business.”
“I don’t think we have to—” Ken began when Ryan interrupted him.
“I think we do. I think Carrie and Gillian need to know the history of Due Amici to get full enjoyment of their dinner.”
This story didn’t have a happy ending, I was sure of it. I felt a sense of foreboding, but I was curious and more than a little excited. “Then what happened?”
“Mia was beautiful and full of life. She had a lot of new ideas for the restaurant. Different tablecloths. A singer on Thursday nights. Tony wasn’t happy about the changes, but Alessandro was inspired. He started offering new dishes for the first time in years. Mia became the hostess, and business picked up.
“Tony and Alessandro had a falling out. Alessandro said he’d open his own restaurant. Tony was furious—at his son for leaving and at Mia for interfering. Rudy tried to reason with his friend, but Tony was devastated to think his life’s work was being tossed aside all because of a young girl.
“Mia decided she had to try to explain things to Tony. That one had to move forward with the times. That she and Alessandro were in love and planning to marry. But she never got that far. Tony was so incensed by what he considered to be her meddling, he reached for the knife on the cutting board and stabbed her in the heart.”
I gasped. “How tragic.”
“So sad,” Gillian murmured.
“Poor Rudy died of a heart attack, and Tony’s in prison for the rest of his life.”
“Does Alessandro own Due Amici now?”
“He sold the place to a cousin and moved t
o California.”
I didn’t have much appetite after hearing that story and asked to have my meal wrapped to take home. The others conversed quietly as they ate. George asked Ryan about his job. Ryan shrugged and said it was okay. His tone made me wonder if he even still had a job.
We ordered several desserts for the table, and my appetite returned. I ate half a cannoli, a slice of Italian cheesecake, and a serving of tiramisu with my cappuccino.
Jared hadn’t said much since his first comment to Ryan, and I couldn’t blame him. Ryan was one nasty dude, desperately in need of a course in anger management. He fed Gillian a forkful of cake. She seemed to be enjoying herself, though I’d gotten the definite impression she’d been furious with him when they first arrived. Sure, Ryan was good-looking, but looks wore thin when the guy came with a chip on his shoulder. And Ryan was weighed down with cement blocks on both shoulders.
He caught me staring at him and winked. Flustered, I turned away.
“Tell me, Carrie, how is your investigation going?” he asked.
“What investigation?” For a moment, I didn’t know what he was referring to.
His grin grew wider. “Come on. You can tell me. After all, it’s my mother’s death you’re looking into. You and my baby brother.”
“That’s enough, Ryan.” Jared’s face had turned a mottled red.
I wasn’t sure if he was angry, embarrassed, or both. “We haven’t learned anything recently,” I admitted, “but I’d think you’d want her murderer brought to justice.”
“Justice, ha! A fat lot of good that will do us.”
“Who do you think killed her, Ryan?” Jared said.
“Now that we know she had someone on the side, I bet my money on him.”
I scowled at Jared, furious he’d shared this information with Ryan. I quickly realized I had no right to be angry. Ryan was his brother and entitled to know of any new developments we uncovered.
“I think it’s time to change topics,” George said. “This kind of conversation isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“She was pretty friendly with Lou Devon,” Ryan said, ignoring his uncle.
“Our next-door neighbor? Come on, Ryan. He’s a geek and has that stupid laugh.”
Ryan shrugged. “He was over all the time.”
Death Overdue Page 16
