by Renee George
Ari stopped mid-sip and looked at us. “You guys are being extra.”
“Extra cool?” Gilly asked.
“Extra beautiful?” I added helpfully.
Gilly kept it going. “Extra smart.”
“Extra charming.”
“Extra talented.”
“Extra special.”
“Extra—”
“Okaaay,” Ari said, holding up her hands. “You guys are extra crazy and extra certifiable.”
“Is that any way to talk to your favorite aunt?” I asked her.
Ari rolled her eyes as she left the room.
I glanced at Gilly. “That girl isn’t telling me anything tonight. She is in a mood.”
“Welcome to my life.” She put her hands on her hips. “So you’ll pick me up around seven? Traffic is going to be a pain in the ass.”
Speaking of pains in the ass. “I hope Gio stays in the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind getting through the evening without seeing his dumb face.”
“His dumb, handsome face,” Gilly amended.
“His ugly insides make him ugly on the outside,” I said.
“Tell that to Ted Bundy.” She smiled as she put her hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about me, Nora. I’m not stupid enough to give Gio another chance. I’m done with letting men like him and Lloyd walk all over me. But I do want to talk to him about Ari. I feel like something happened in Vegas, and Gio knows what it is.”
“You think a man who hasn’t paid attention to his daughter for ten years is going to have miraculously noticed an actual problem?”
“I’m desperate, Nora.”
“Yeah, I hear you.” I shook my head. “Momma bear in action.”
Gilly sighed wistfully. “I do miss his food.”
“But that’s all.”
She held up her hands. “That’s definitely all.”
I raised my brows at her.
“Honest,” she said. “I wouldn’t touch Giovanni with a ten-foot noodle.”
“Don’t you mean a ten-inch noodle dick?”
She giggled. “More like six inches, if I’m being honest.”
“Ew, gross, Mom,” Ari said as she walked back into the kitchen.
I chuckled. “Yeah, Mom.”
Ari flashed me a grin.
I winked at her. “I got you.” I used our moment of solidarity to ask, “So, how was Vegas?”
“Bright,” she replied. “And hot.”
“Sounds scintillating,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Soooo scintillating.”
Gilly made herself busy over by the sink, pretending to ignore Ari and me.
“Did you see any shows?” I asked. Gilly had told me that Ari had texted her about going to see Cirque Du Soleil, and it felt like a safe topic of conversation.
“A few,” she shrugged. “It wasn’t my thing.”
Wow, I’d seen a Cirque show, and it was flippin’ awesome. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry you didn’t have a better time. Did you and Marco do anything fun?”
“I guess.” She sat down next to me and took a drink of her mom’s tea. “The wax museum was chill, and Dad took us to see the fountain from Ocean’s Eleven one night.”
“Nice,” I said. “Did you take any pictures?”
“Some.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and woke up the screen. “Here’s Marco posing with the wax figure of Drake.”
I grabbed my reading glasses from my purse and put them on. Marco was holding a pose with his arms out and hands curled in. His smile was relaxed and genuine. I loved seeing him letting go. Marco was fantastic, but like Ari, sometimes he was wound a little too tightly.
Gilly had meandered over, slowly, as though Ari might run away if startled. She craned her neck to get a peek at the pics. I reached out and nudged Ari’s phone in her mom’s direction.
“That’s that singer, right?” Gilly asked.
I had no idea. “Is he?”
Gilly put her reading glasses on and peered closer. “I can’t believe that’s a wax figure. It looks so realistic.”
“Duh. That’s the point, Mom.” She chuckled and it made me smile. “Here’s one of Marco kissing Nicki Minaj.”
Gilly’s eyes widened. “Is she on her hands and knees?”
“You don’t even want to see the photos I deleted.” Ari moved on to the next photo of herself posed in a way that made her look like she was holding up Miley Cyrus on a wrecking ball. In the background, Marco looked like he was chatting up a non-wax girl.
“I bet. Personally, I’m glad we didn’t have camera phones when we were your age,” I said to Ari.
“Amen, sister.” Gilly held her hand up and I high-fived her. “I don’t need any of my past misdeeds showing up like bad pennies.”
“What does that even mean?” Ari asked.
“Google it,” Gilly said.
“In other words, you don’t know,” Ari jabbed with a smile to take off the sting. She was already using the browser on her phone to search the phrase’s origin. “People used to counterfeit pennies. What’s the point in that? It’s a penny.”
“They used to be worth more,” I said.
Ari faked wide-eyed shock. “When you were young? Back in the eighteen-eighties?”
I narrowed my gaze on the teen. “Ari, you’re my favorite goddaughter. I’d hate to have to throat punch you.”
She laughed hard at that. Ari’s joy put a smile on Gilly’s face that made the ouch from the ageist joke totally worth it.
Ari closed the browser and reopened the pictures. She swiped past the wax Miley picture to one of her and Marco posing with Giovanni in front of the MGM Grand sign. She flipped her phone over and set it on the counter facedown.
“That’s all the good ones,” she said.
“Thank you for showing us the pictures. They were cool.”
She frowned. “Yeah, cool.”
“Are you okay?”
She stared at her phone and nodded.
“What’s going on, Ari?”
The girl stood up and shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Nothing.”
Gilly put her elbows on the counter. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“Mom, there’s nothing to tell. Gawd. Stop hovering.”
I held out my arms for a hug. “Don’t be mean,” I chided gently. “Come.”
Ari walked into me and put her face against my shoulder. “I really am okay, Aunt Nora,” she mumbled.
I wrapped my arms around her. “I really am glad.” I inhaled her scent, a combination of wintergreen, from the gum she liked so much, and strawberry from her hair gel.
“Help me set up the camera,” a guy says, his voice soft and youthful.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” a girl asks. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do this face-to-face?” I recognize Ari’s voice, hair, and clothing, even though it’s not what she’s wearing right now, as she stands in front of a mirror in a bedroom predominantly blue.
“No,” he says. “I’ve tried. I almost told them last night over chicken casserole, but I chickened out.” He chuckles. “Get it? Chicken casserole, chickened out.”
I see him now. His face is a blur like most faces in these strange visions. His short hair is shaved on the sides with a crop of curls up top. Similar to Ari’s in cut without the fifties flip style. He’s smoking something at a small open window.
Unusually loud footsteps. “Your mom,” Ari says.
The young man puts out what looks to be a joint with his fingertips and waves his hands out the window. “Quick. Throw me some gum.”
Ari pulls an unopened packet of wintergreen chewing gum from her pockets.
As the memory ended, I sniffed again. I didn’t smell pot or cigarette smoke, and in the vision, she’d been wearing different clothing.
Ari raised her eyes suspiciously. “Don’t be weird, Aunt Nora.”
“Being weird is part of my charm,” I told her. “Hey, do you have any gum?”
She frowned
at me but took out an open packet of wintergreen gum with only two sticks left. “I always have gum.” She handed me one.
“Thanks.” I smiled. “You know we’re here for you, right?”
“I know.” Ari shrugged. “Can I go now?”
“Yep.”
When Ari got to the kitchen archway, she turned to her mom. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
Gilly grimaced. “I’m going out to dinner with Nora.”
“Where? Maybe you can pick something up for me.”
If my best friend’s body language could be described as a sound, it would have been an anguished groan. “Players.”
“Mom. No. Ew. Please don’t tell me you are actually falling for Dad’s bullshit?”
“Ari! Language.”
“Is called for,” she said. I didn’t disagree.
“I’m not going there to see your dad. Trust me, it’s the last thing I want,” Gilly said reassuringly.
Ari didn’t look convinced. “Why did he have to come back here? Gah!” And with that, she stormed out of the room.
“So, do you want some lasagna?” Gilly called after her.
A distant upstairs door slam served as the answer.
“I think that’s a yes,” I said. I was relieved that Ari didn’t want her mom back with her dad. “At least you don’t have to worry about your kids trying to parent trap you.”
“Ha ha,” she said. “You’re not funny.”
“A little bit,” I said. “On that note, I’m going to go home and get ready for dinner.”
She waved her hand in front of her nose as though smelling something stank. “I’ve been meaning talk to you…”
“Har har.” I tucked my glasses away, gathered my purse, and gave her a playful elbow. “Now who’s the comedian?”
Chapter 9
Even though Ari’s memory had felt recent, I debated in my mind whether it was fair to invade the teenager’s privacy. The camera thing had been unsettling, but it sounded like the boy was recording a confession, not anything that involved Ari, and while I’d seen him smoking pot, Ari had been on the other side of the room. Besides, kids sometimes experimented with pot. After all, Gilly and I had both done some recreational toking in the eighties. Still, the biggest problem was that I just didn’t have enough information about the situation. The tone of the memory hadn’t felt sinister. It had been more, I don’t know, anxious.
Ari hadn’t confided in me. Still, I felt the need to address the pot-smoking, camera-wielding elephant in the room. Fiona’s death and history with drugs was making me imagine the worst, and I needed to know, for Ari and Gilly’s sake. After dinner, I’d have a talk with the girl. Ari was aware of my gift, even if she’d never seen it in action, so she would just have to forgive me for invading her brain.
Portman’s on the Lake Resort was located on five hundred scenic acres on Garden Cove Lake. The main hotel had twelve floors, with over two-thousand rooms, two floors for conventions, an extensive boat dock with marina, day spa, boutique and gift shops, four pools, and two bistros and a coffee shop. Players, the pride and joy of Portman’s, was located on the first floor, not far from the lobby entrance.
The huge parking lot was packed, so I opted for valet parking. It was easier than trying to find a spot in this zoo of a weekend.
When we got inside to the restaurant, Twyla led us across the dining room to our table.
“This isn’t so bad,” Gilly said.
A large man’s butt brushed the back of my chair as he made a brief apology and scooted past me toward the men’s room.
I nodded. “At least it’s nowhere near the kitchen, so we have less of a chance of accidentally running into Gio. Besides, we didn’t come for the ambiance.”
The restaurant was packed with patrons. Not an empty seat in the house, even the bar seating was full. The Italian music pumping through speakers could barely be heard over the rumble of conversations.
“This restaurant is hopping.” I glanced around. I’d only eaten at Players once before, and I’d thought the food was okay but pricey. I saw a few locals, including Big Don and his wife, Claire. Big Don was, as his name suggested, big. He was six feet five inches tall, and before settling down in Garden Cove well before my time, he’d played college ball at a big school. Claire had been a local celebrity and beauty queen. She was now in her seventies, but thanks to good genes and probably a good plastic surgeon, she was still stunning. She had chocolate-brown hair, glossy with shine and highlights that brightened her face. Her eyelashes were thick and long, most likely false, but who cared, they made her eyes pop. My mother used to say that Claire never met a stranger. I didn’t know her or Big Don well, but they’d came to both my parents’ funerals, and I had a lot of respect for them.
Across from Big Don sat a man I recognized from the night before. The guy the pharmacist, Burt Adler, had briefly met with outside of Sully’s. Tonight, he wore a suit and tie, his curls slicked back. The woman next to him had dyed-blonde hair, a little overprocessed and styled in waves. She smiled at Claire, her lips noticeably thick and misshapen with filler, as they chatted.
“Who’s that with Big Don and his wife?” I asked Gilly.
She shook her head. “You really don’t pay attention to what goes on in town, do you?”
Gilly wasn’t wrong. I’d lived in the city long enough that I wasn’t interested in people who didn’t impact my life. Other than the occasional wave, my neighbors and I never even stopped to introduce ourselves. “Just tell me who it is.”
“Jameson Campbell. The woman is his wife, Lucy. They moved into town about eighteen years ago and bought Garden Cove Lake Condos.”
“Those are the condominiums out on forty-four near Sully’s Surf and Turf, right?”
“Yes.”
“I saw that Campbell guy last night in the parking lot at Sully’s. He was talking to the pharmacist.”
“Were they fighting or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” I shrugged. “They spoke for a minute or two before Adler left. But I got a strange vibe from them, is all.”
“Like a smell-o-vibe?”
“No. Just a regular ol’ skin-crawling sensation.”
“Huh. Well, maybe they’re just friends.”
“Burt Adler is also friends with Phil, remember?”
“Trying not to. Man, I’m starving.” Gilly put on her glasses. She blinked then gave me a holy crap look. “It looks like the prices match the demand here,” she said as she studied the one-page menu. “Cripes, you’d think the cheese was laced with gold.”
“Dinner’s on me,” I told her.
“Was it ever a question?” She blew me a kiss. “So, how are you planning to handle this psychic investigation of yours?”
“There are so many people here.” The scent of marinara, garlic, cheeses, and yeasty breads permeated the room. “And so many smells. I have no idea what I should do.”
“Reese is right. You helped clear my name, and you helped my neighbor solve the case of his missing daughter. I hate to say it, but you’re a natural.”
“I was operating on pure desperation and perspiration. I would have turned over every rock in this town to clear your name.”
“Awww.” Her lower lip jutted as she touched her chest with her fingers. “I would do the same for you.”
I grinned at her. “Good to know.”
“Let’s make a game plan.”
“Okay, Coach. Do you need a whistle and a playbook?”
She gave me a flat stare. “Can you be serious?”
“I am being serious. Give me some ideas where I should start.”
A petite, twenty-something waitress with pin-straight blonde hair approached our table. “Hello. I’m Clara, your server.” She had a bright, wide smile and pleasant eyes. “We’re upgrading your table. Would you follow me?”
“We’re okay sitting here,” I said as another butt scooted past my chair. I looked around the room full of diners. “Besides, we don’t
want to wait for a better table to order.”
“No waiting,” Clara said. She crossed her heart. “Promise.”
Gilly and I reluctantly followed our happy-go-lucky server. When she took us to a swinging door that said employees only, several alarm bells sounded in my head.
She offered a reassuring, “It’s just this way,” and ushered Gilly and me on through to the kitchen.
A sound of dismay escaped Gilly when we saw Gio, wearing a black chef’s jacket and matching hat, standing next to a table three feet or so from all the cooking action.
“It’s our chef’s table,” Clara said, delighted.
“I can see that,” I said.
“Chef Rossi would like you to be his guests for dinner tonight.”
Gio rushed around the table to Gilly’s side and pulled a chair out for her as one of his cooks—a burly young man in a white chef’s jacket with black trim, and the name Chad embroidered above a right breast pocket—offered me the same courtesy.
“Thanks,” I said, my focus on Gilly and Gio, and Gilly’s response to Gio’s gallantry. To my relief, my BFF looked as astonished and annoyed as I felt.
“I saw that Nora had a reservation, so I’d hoped you were her plus one,” he said to Gilly. “I’m so pleased you’ve come.”
“I’m not here for you,” she said.
I gave her a mental fist bump.
Gio smiled. “Clara is going to take good care of you both.”
“It’s up to you, Gilly. I’m happy enough to go back out to our reserved table.”
“We can stay. Unless you like having butts and groins brushing your back all night.”
Being so close to the bathrooms had been unfortunate, but I know Twyla did her best. It’s a wonder there were any tables available at all. “Okay. We’ll stay.”
Clara set menus in front of us then cleared her throat. “Our new chef, Giovanni Rossi, a James Beard nominee and Michelin Rising Star award winner, has invited you to experience a culinary journey of Italy as he takes you from,” she glanced at Gio nervously then continued, “our selection of antipasto and insalate to our piato principale or our featured bisteca.” Her pronunciation of each Italian word was stiff but precise. She’d obviously been practicing.
