A Frying Shame

by Linda Reilly

  That much was definitely true. Noah had earned online master’s degrees in two languages and now worked as a translator for an international law firm based in London. The Internet had opened up a brave and fascinating new world for Noah.

  Talia reached over and squeezed her friend’s arm. “That’s all really good news, Rach. I’m so happy to hear it.” She retracted her hand. “Has . . . Derek said anything about the murder? He’s been pretty quiet throughout the investigation.”

  “Outwardly, yes, but believe me when I say he’s working twenty-four-seven behind the scenes. He’s developed an excellent working relationship with Sergeant O’Donnell. In fact, O’Donnell’s trying to get him to leave the force and transfer to the state police.”

  “Really?” Talia said. “Is Derek considering it?”

  “He’s seriously thinking about it,” Rachel said, with a trace of a cryptic smile. She bent slightly and kissed Bo’s head. “Now, back to Ryan. First of all, he adores you. There’s not a doubt in my mind about that.”

  “Then why—”

  Rachel held up her hand. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have problems. His brilliant father is suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s and has to live in assisted care. His indifferent mother carries on with her life as if she’s a free agent, without a thought for anyone else. I mean, how many times have you even met her?”

  Talia winced. “Twice. Once when she had to attend her elderly aunt’s funeral. The other time, Ryan brought her to Fry Me. She picked at her meal as if I’d sprinkled it with rat poison and tore most of the crispy coating off the fish. I guess she only eats fish that’s been poached or baked. Poor Ryan. I could tell he was really embarrassed.”

  “Face it, Tal. She’s a snob,” Rachel declared. “That’s never going to change. But it doesn’t have to affect your relationship with Ryan.”

  Talia rose and stuck their dishes in the sink. “I guess you’re right. I know I’ll hear from him eventually.”

  She wasn’t fully convinced that something wasn’t amiss between them, but she resigned herself to waiting it out.

  After Rachel left, Talia curled up on the sofa with Bo. She’d opened the sole window in the bungalow’s cozy living room, and now a cool evening breeze wafted in. She knew she should make it an early night, but too many thoughts were tumbling around in her brain. Something Harry said was nagging at her. It crouched at the back of her mind, hidden from view. If only it would spring forward so she could grasp on to it. She felt sure it might be important, but she couldn’t remember why.

  19

  Talia awakened to the sound of rain hammering the roof. Normally that would make her want to curl up and snag a few more minutes of sleep, but today she didn’t have that luxury.

  She yawned and Bo did the same, releasing a whiff of cat breath in her ear. The little calico then cleaned her whiskers, no doubt in preparation for a hearty breakfast. In spite of her damp mood, Talia giggled. She pulled the cat onto her chest and stroked her furry head. “I guess what they say is true, Bo. There really is no rest for the weary.”

  They both got up. After feeding Bo, Talia showered and scrubbed her hair. A dreary day like this one made it the perfect time to wear denim capris and her red polka-dot tee. Ryan had bought the tee for her on a whim, knowing she loved polka dots. He’d seen it in the window of a consignment shop in Lee and had ducked inside to buy it as a surprise. First he’d checked it over to be sure it was in pristine condition. When he got home, he rolled it carefully into a sheet of pink tissue and tied each end with polka-dotted ribbon. Talia loved that he took such care with the wrapping. She also loved that he hadn’t bought it new. It was so like him to choose the perfect gift from a nontraditional store.

  Talia swallowed. Just thinking about Ryan made her heart pound faster. Would he text her this morning, or call? Or would she have to wait until he returned to Massachusetts to find out why he hadn’t kept in touch?

  Today was Thursday, which meant bank day. Most customers paid with credit cards these days, but there were still plenty of folks who preferred paying with cash. The cash receipts from the past three days had to be deposited. Wrensdale Co-Op—one of the few local banks that hadn’t been gobbled up by one of the banking conglomerates—opened at eight on Thursdays. She’d first have to stop in at Fry Me and remove the cash box from the safe that was tucked away in the walk-in storage closet. Her dad thought it was a crazy place to store the safe, but Bea and Howie had always done it that way. And since they’d never had any problem, Talia had continued the tradition.

  Still, it had occurred to her on more than one occasion that if someone—a thief—took the trouble to trail her movements, they might take note of her normal Thursday ritual. Was she setting herself up for a robbery? Or was she being paranoid because she’d been inadvertently involved in three murders since her return last year to Wrensdale?

  It was something to think about. For today, she just wanted to deposit the cash and head back to the eatery to get started on food prep for the day.

  After gulping down a quick breakfast of Cheerios and juice, she kissed Bo good-bye and headed out to her car. The sky had actually cleared a bit, or tried to. From the morning weather report, Talia knew the reprieve was only temporary. A large chunk of the clouds was still gray and foreboding. A windswept thunderstorm was predicted for later in the morning. She was glad she’d have the luxury of staying inside.

  Talia typically chose the bank’s drive-through window, but today she noticed a line of about seven cars waiting for the sole teller in attendance at the window. The teller, Gaylene, was a chatty sort who took her time with every customer. While Talia liked the woman, she didn’t have the patience today to wait for Gaylene to get to her. She started to circle around to the bank’s parking lot at the rear when she spied an SUV pulling out of a prime parking space almost directly in front of the Popover Palace. The Palace, a fairly new eatery with kitschy decor, was across the street from the bank. Talia had heard marvelous things about their bacon-and-egg-filled breakfast popovers but so far hadn’t had the chance to sample one.

  Without hesitation, she zipped her little Fiat into the slot vacated by the SUV. Smiling at having scored a premier parking spot, she hoisted her purse onto her shoulder and hopped out of her car. She started toward the crosswalk, but as she passed the Popover Palace, she couldn’t resist a peek inside the large front window. Tables were lined up along one wall, while vintage wooden booths lined the other. Along the rear wall was a counter lined with old-fashioned vinyl-covered stools. Nearly all the tables were filled, she noticed. The Palace was doing a great job attracting breakfast customers.

  A familiar face suddenly filled her vision. Seated at one of the wooden booths was none other than Wesley Thurman.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  She couldn’t see the face of the man he was dining with, but she recognized the hair—Dylan McPhee.

  What was Dylan doing here at this time of the morning? Shouldn’t he be slinging hash browns and eggs at the diner? Or was he acting as an industrial spy, checking out the Palace’s breakfast selections so he could copy them for his own repertoire?

  Talia instantly chided herself for being uncharitable. Whatever else Dylan was, she couldn’t fault his cooking skills. Except . . . well, what if Dylan was a murderer? What if he’d killed Norma in a fit of rage over the minuscule blemish on his precious Merkur?

  She peered in a trifle closer. This time she saw Wesley throw his head back and laugh. The two of them seemed to be having a grand old time. For some reason, it made her stomach churn.

  Concerned that someone might be watching her—in particular, one Patti Prescott—she turned away and glanced across the street, toward the bank. She shot a look at her watch, hoping it might appear she was waiting for someone who was meeting her for breakfast.

  After thirty or so seconds, she couldn’t resist turning her gaze back inside the restaurant. Wesley and Dylan were still there, their empty dishes and cups now pu
shed aside. She saw Wesley lean toward Dylan, as if he were speaking in a low tone. Wesley pulled a white envelope from his shirt pocket, set it on the table, and slid it over to Dylan.

  Talia gulped. She wanted so badly to whip out her cell and capture it all on video. It was too risky, though. Standing there like that on a public sidewalk, she was sure to get caught in the act.

  Still spying through the window, she saw Dylan take the envelope, open it slightly, and peer inside. If only Talia could see his face, she’d be able to judge his reaction. If only she could see what was in the envelope!

  No such luck.

  In the next instant, Dylan reached into the pocket of his own shirt. Very slowly, he extracted a slip of paper. From her viewpoint it looked weathered and worn, but maybe she was only imagining that. He handed it to Wesley, who perused it briefly and then stuck it in his shirt pocket.

  Some sort of exchange had taken place—that much was certain. Had the two known each other before Dylan entered the contest? They seemed a bit too chummy for Talia’s liking.

  His expression suddenly sober, Wesley held out his hand for Dylan to shake. He seemed to be thanking Dylan for something, or maybe that was just her imagination running wild.

  Without warning, Dylan turned so that he was halfway facing the front window. He did not look pleased. If anything, he looked sad and regretful. He said something to Wesley, who only nodded in response.

  Oh Lord, she thought, her knees suddenly quaking. Was it possible? Had the two of them been in on the murder? Had Dylan killed Norma for money, at Wesley’s behest? It would have been a double whammy. Dylan got revenge on Norma for sullying his precious car and at the same time got paid for eliminating Wesley’s sworn enemy.

  Wesley had money; that much was certain. He was a wealthy entrepreneur, with fingers in a lot of successful pies. And Dylan needed money desperately to help his strapped-for-cash mother.

  Suddenly Dylan rose, as if preparing to leave. Wesley handed him a business card, and another short exchange took place. Before Talia had a chance to react, Dylan was sliding out of the booth and striding out the front door of the Palace. She turned her face away quickly, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. If he noticed she’d been standing there, he’d probably report her to the police. Even worse—if he was Norma’s killer, he might decide he had to silence her. Permanently.

  Dylan headed off on foot, away from the direction of the diner. Why wasn’t he going to work? Was it his day off?

  When Talia dared to turn around again, she saw an aging car—a Saturn—pull up and double-park about thirty feet away. Dylan hurried toward the car and then jumped in on the passenger side. The car pulled away, into the slow-moving traffic. She couldn’t see the driver’s face, but something told her it was a woman.

  Stranger and stranger, she thought. The whole thing was odd.

  No, more than odd. It was downright suspicious.

  A nutty thought occurred to her. Mercury and Saturn were both planets . . . and they were both cars. It was meaningless, she knew, and yet the silly realization wouldn’t stop revolving around in her head.

  Shaking it off, she turned toward the Palace again and peeked through the front window.

  Wesley Thurman was gone.

  • • •

  Inside the bank, Talia was standing in line, her thoughts reeling, when the familiar chirp of her cell phone interrupted her musings. She saw instantly that it was a text from Ryan.

  Heart in her throat, she stared at the words. Lots to tell you, Tal. Have a minute to talk? I’ll call.

  No pink hearts this time. No Hey, Sunshine! or Good morning, Sweetie!

  Her hand shaking, Talia texted the words Call me in ten, then slipped the phone back in her purse. She made the deposit on autopilot, barely noticing the teller’s cheery smile and kindly demeanor. When she finished, she thanked the teller distractedly and hurried out to her car to wait for the call.

  Something was wrong; she just knew it.

  Two minutes later, her cell rang.

  “Talia?” Ryan sounded distraught.

  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes, Ryan, it’s me. Is something wrong?”

  He seemed to take a moment to collect himself. “It’s my mom,” he said.

  “Oh my God, is she hurt? Did she have an accident?” Talia blurted the words before she had time to filter them.

  “She’s fine,” Ryan said, his tone flat. “She’s filed for a divorce from Dad. My lawyer called me late Tuesday night and gave me the bad news.”

  Talia allowed herself to breathe. “He called you, not your dad?”

  “I’m Dad’s guardian, remember? Any legal notices would have to come to me directly.”

  Closing her eyes, Talia pressed back a tear. Arthur was going to be crushed by the news. He adored his wife, in spite of her long absences. He kept a photo of her in a silver frame on top of his bureau. She was a member of academia, and as a visiting professor, she traveled constantly. When Arthur was lucid, he understood that and respected it. Other times, not so much. Some days, he asked for his wife repeatedly, confused about why they weren’t still living together. Ryan took the emotional brunt of his dad’s bewilderment. He loved his mom, but Talia knew he was finding it harder and harder to defend her. What saddened Talia most was that the woman rarely visited Arthur. She treated him like a baseball player whose number had been retired. Out of sight and rarely in her mind.

  “Ryan, are you okay?” Talia rasped.

  “Now that I’ve had time to process it, I’m better.” He blew out a sigh. “The thing that set me off, though, was that Mom called my dad at the assisted-living place to tell him. She actually called and told him she was filing for a divorce! She said they were living two separate lives now, and it didn’t make sense for them to be hobbled, as she called it, by a marriage license.”

  How awful. How insensitive!

  “Did Arthur tell you that?”

  “Yes, in those exact words. I have no reason to doubt that he heard her correctly.”

  Talia shook her head. This was terrible news. No wonder Ryan hadn’t called her, or even texted. Sheila Collins, apparently, had forgotten the “for better or for worse” part of her marriage vows. If Arthur had been abusive or unkind to her, Talia would have understood it, even applauded her divorcing him. But this . . . this was terrible. Arthur was so sweet, so adoring. Thank heaven he had Ryan.

  “I wanted to tell you sooner, honey,” Ryan said. “But I was having trouble pulling myself together. I was like a zombie at the meeting with our new client yesterday. It was excruciatingly long, and I couldn’t concentrate.”

  Talia felt hot tears slide down her cheeks. “Oh, Ryan, I am so sorry. Would it help if I went up to the Pines to see Arthur? Should I mention it to Mom? Being the assistant director, I think she’d want to be kept informed.”

  “I hear you, Tal. But I’ll be back late tomorrow, so let’s wait and talk to her together, okay? So far only my dad knows. He seems to be taking it well, but I’m not sure that will last. He told me not to tell anyone until I got back from Dallas. Why, I’m not sure. His old circle of friends has pretty much drifted away. But I couldn’t not tell you—it was so unfair. Besides, I know Dad wouldn’t mind. He already thinks of you as a daughter.”

  Talia choked over the smile she felt crossing her lips. “And I think of him like a second dad.”

  After a few moments of silence, Ryan said, “I’ve been periodically checking the news. I read that the police already nabbed that woman’s killer. What a relief. I’m glad they caught up with her so quickly. I’ll tell you, though, I wouldn’t have pegged her for it. She seemed like such a sweet lady.”

  “Oh, Ryan,” Talia said tearfully. “She didn’t do it. Crystal isn’t the killer. I just spoke to her yesterday—”

  Ryan groaned. “Oh no, not again. Why don’t you think she’s the killer?”

  “Because I know her, and the evidence against her is so flimsy you wouldn’t belie
ve it! Besides, I’ve . . . stumbled onto a few situations that are quite suspect. More than one person had a motive, Ryan. I can’t let Crystal take the blame for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  “Honey, please, please promise me you won’t put yourself in danger. Remember last time? And the time before?”

  Of course she remembered. How could she forget two confrontations with two separate killers? The horror of those encounters was still singed in her brain. Talia pulled in a calming breath. “Ryan,” she said quietly, “would you want to sit in prison for life for a murder you didn’t commit?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t, but that’s for the police to sort out. I’m surprised Detective Prescott isn’t all over you for trying to investigate.”

  Talia chuckled. “She is, and it’s been tricky letting her think I’m minding my own business.”

  “I’m flying home tomorrow, Tal. Please don’t do anything risky, okay? I’ll help with anything you need, but you’ve got to stay safe.” Before she could respond, he said in a softer voice, “How’s Lucas doing? Any news on his condition?”

  “Nothing so far today,” she said. That much was true, but she hated deceiving Ryan. After the killer was caught, she intended to tell him everything.

  “I have a breakfast meeting in fifteen, honey. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

  She smiled and felt her lip tremble. “Okay.”

  After a slight hesitation he said, “Talia?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  She started to respond in kind, but Ryan had already disconnected. She pressed the phone to end the call, but a few seconds later heard the familiar blurrp that announced a new text. She slid her finger over it to read the message. But there was no message.

  Just a long row of pink hearts that seemed to stretch into infinity.