"Well, if all the windows look this bad, it'll be a complete replace."
"This place has dozens of windows. That isn't going to be cheap," Luke said sympathetically.
"Nope. And I can't just throw in some typical vinyl replacement windows. I need to have them custom made to look like the old windows, but to have all the modern upgrades like double-pane glass and an insulated frame." Even though I had hoped to find some windows in decent shape, I had budgeted for full window replacement. I wasn't sure my budget was big enough to cover the intricacies involved in custom making some of these windows though.
"So next on the list is to see how many different window types we have, take measurements of each type, and get over to the manufacturer for a quote." I sighed. Just judging from this room, I'd lay dollars to doughnuts that the house had fifty windows.
I turned to see Luke staring at the fireplace. "It's a beauty, isn't it? I love the Delft tile work." I walked toward him as I spoke.
"It seems so familiar to me." He turned to me. "I think I've been in this room before."
"It doesn't mean you had anything to do with the tourist's death," I said with more conviction than I felt. "Have you thought anymore about going to the police?"
He nodded. "I'm pretty sure I'll be arrested if I tell them what I know. I feel like if I just give it a little more time, I might remember everything. I don't think sitting in jail and being interrogated by the cops is going to help my memory. But I don't want to get you or your grandmother in trouble."
So he was asking my permission. I give the word, and he'll turn himself into the police. I wondered if it was a bluff.
The current plan was no police until we uncovered more details, but I didn't want to end up as an accessory to a crime.
"You aren't a bad guy, are you?" I asked and then clapped a hand over my mouth. It had just slipped out.
Luke stared at me intently for a few seconds and then back at the fireplace. "I don't know what I am, Alex."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My phone buzzed with a text just as we finished measuring the last first-floor window. Luke and I had been strictly business since our conversation in the library. But something seemed to have shifted in him. Like he was a different person now.
It was Gram asking if I'd like to meet them at the Lobster Pot, a delicious seafood restaurant out on the pier. It was only a five-minute drive, or I could walk a couple of blocks and take the trolley.
Luke folded up the ladder and turned to me. "I know it's a lot to ask, but can I borrow your truck during lunch? I have some errands to run."
My spidey-senses were tingling, but all I said was, "Sure. Can you drop me off at the Lobster Pot on your way? It's out on the pier."
I texted Gram back and asked her to order me the crab-leg salad. She wasn't keen on ordering before all parties arrived, but I was on a tight schedule.
We didn't have a lot to talk about as Luke drove me to the restaurant. The pier was busy with people fishing, shopping, and eating at the various restaurants. "Do you need a ride back?" he asked politely.
"No, I'll hitch a ride with Gram and Alice."
He raised his eyebrows. "Brave woman to get into a car with Alice behind the wheel."
I laughed. "Yeah, I've survived before. I'm sure I'll be fine. Take your time with your errands."
"Thanks," he said with a smile.
I walked into the Lobster Pot with its great waterfront view and nautical-themed decor and saw Alice and Gram sitting at a small table near the big panoramic windows. I did a mental double take at the contrast between the two women. Gram with her powder-white hair, old-fashioned glasses on a chain, and cream-colored linen pantsuit with matching pearls was a study in understated elegance. Alice, on the other hand, looked like she'd just finished up a bad day at clown school. Her hair was a bright reddish pink. She wore ropes of gold chains around her jowly neck, and every finger sported a chunky ring. Her outfit was something from the early eighties, complete with oversized shoulder pads and a big red bow at her ample bosom.
"Yoo-hoo," Alice called, waving a bejeweled hand at me. "We're over here, Alex."
I wasn't dressed appropriately for lunch at the Lobster Pot. But I was still relatively clean, and I'd worn a sweater over my plaid shirt, which gave me a less industrial appearance.
"We've already ordered, dear," Gram said as I sat down at the table. "I know you don't have a lot of time. I'm just tickled that you could make it."
I smiled. "No problem, Gram. It's my pleasure."
Alice laid her hand over mine. "How do you like having two eligible bachelors under your roof, Alex?" She winked her heavily made-up eye at me, and one side of her false eyelashes came loose and fluttered at me like the wing of a butterfly. It was really distracting.
"Uh…yeah, it's great," I said, having trouble not staring at the fluttering lash. It was waving at me. "They're really nice guys."
"Any romance brewing?" she asked with another wink and wave.
"Now, now, Alice," Gram said. "Let's not dig into Alexandra's personal life. Besides, these things take time."
Alice gave up her line of questioning and reached up to reaffix the lash to her lid.
My phone buzzed with a text. Gram frowned at me. "It might be work," I said, pulling the phone out of my pocket to see the message.
It was from George: Why is Mr. X driving your truck?
Before I could answer, another message came through: Text me now, or I'm calling the police. Are you okay???
Jeez—give me a chance to answer already. I texted back: I'm fine. He had some errands to run. I'm out to lunch with Gram. Can't talk now.
He responded immediately: I'm going to tail him. Wow, he must have superfast fingers. Good to know.
I replied: Tail him?? Don't let him see you!! I thought breakfast was awkward enough this morning. I could just imagine the fuss if Luke caught George tailing him.
"Everything okay, dear?" Gram asked in a tone that meant if something wasn't on fire, then I'd better put the phone away. She hated phones at the table.
"Yes, it was George. All done," I said, tucking the phone back into my pocket.
The waiter brought our meals and asked me what I'd like to drink. I ordered iced tea. My stomach rumbled at the sight of the huge salad ringed with Alaskan king crab legs.
"That's some salad," Alice commented. She and Gram had ordered the soup-and-salad combos. No giant crustacean legs on their plates.
"Yep," I said and grabbed the claw crackers.
"Reminds me of eating crabs at the shore when we were kids," Alice said. "I'm originally from New Jersey, you know," she added proudly.
Oh, there was no doubt in my mind. I nodded politely and took my first luscious bite of crab meat. Heavenly.
"Yep. We had a big extended family. Lots of cousins and aunts and uncles." She pointed her soup spoon at me. "Well, of course, everyone was involved in the family business back then."
I stabbed at my salad. "Oh, yeah? What type of business was your family in?"
"Oh, this and that," she said airily and then laughed.
Gram leaned in, saying, "Her family was connected, dear."
I raised my eyes. "What do you mean by 'connected'?"
"We were the number one mob family in Jersey until my father and uncle got busted by the Feds for tax evasion in the seventies. Lived out their days in a federal pen." She nodded sadly.
I stared at her with salad hanging out of my mouth. I glanced over at Gram.
She motioned to my napkin. "You have food hanging out of your mouth, dear."
I gulped and wiped at my face. "Your family was involved with the mob?" I was incredulous.
Alice leaned in and looked me in the eye. "We weren't involved. We were the mob."
"And you knew about this?" I asked Gram.
She nodded and took a sip of her soup. "Of course, that's been years ago, and Alice isn't responsible for the choices of her family. She was born into that lifestyle. Besides,
her family sent her here and never visits her. What kind of family is that?"
Alice snorted. "I'll tell you what kind. The ungrateful kind! After all I did for them, they put me out to pasture!" She held up her hands as if the Lobster Pot was the end of the line. "As far away as they could get me without actually sending me to another country. A small pittance of an allowance to live on. Ridiculous!" She wiped her mouth on her napkin and seemed to gather herself.
"They never come to visit? Even your kids?" I asked. Gram gave me a warning look, but it was too late.
"Never had any kids. I was too busy helping the family." She must've seen my eyes widen, because she added quickly, "Not in that way. I was just always there to run errands, help the wives, take care of my nieces and nephews. Just the spinster aunt everyone took advantage of."
She was starting to get riled up again. Gram intervened with, "Well, dear, it seems that you've really come into your own since arriving in Danger Cove. You have friends who love and depend on you and such a sense of style and flair."
I nodded in agreement. Alice looked pleased. "I do have flair, don't I?"
We finished our lunch, and I signaled for the check. I felt bad for Alice, abandoned by her family and still feeling like the ugly duckling of the bunch. I was glad she and Gram were friends, despite her less-than-law-abiding family.
* * *
I had the unfortunate pleasure of being driven back to Marlton House in Alice's red convertible. The backseat was little more than a bench, and it was piled high with quilts from the Anderson Gallery. Her stipend couldn't be too bad if she was buying such expensive quilts.
"These quilts are beautiful, Alice," I said, leaning forward.
"I couldn't say no to them," she said with a cackle.
Gram strained her neck to look back at me. "I thought you just bought the one with the chevron pattern."
Alice waved a hand as she revved the engine and gunned it at the next red light. "I bought a couple more. I just couldn't resist."
Gram turned again and gave me a strange look but changed the topic. "Alexandra, I'd like to give a dinner party on Saturday. Maybe something with a theme. Aren't they all the rage now?" she asked.
Alice squealed and slammed on her breaks to avoid going through the next red light. "How much fun would that be? Don't you love it, Alex?"
"Um, sure," I said. Just what I needed—one more thing on my already overflowing plate.
"You should ask George what he thinks, dear," said Gram. "He's so creative. I'm sure he'd come up with a wonderful theme."
"Sure, I'll do that," I replied. My words were cut off as Alice stomped the gas and we peeled out from the stoplight again. "Whoa. Why so fast?"
Alice looked in the rearview mirror. "We got coppers on our tail."
I strained my neck to look behind us. She was right. We had coppers behind us. And they had on their red flashing lights.
"I think I can lose them at the next light," she said.
"Oh my," Gram cried, holding on to the handle above her door.
"No," I said sternly, "you need to pull over. Now."
"Not a chance. Eat my dust, coppers," she screamed into the rearview mirror and held up her middle finger.
Gram gasped. I sighed and shook my head. This couldn't be happening. Alice must be going through full-blown dementia.
"Pull over now!" I demanded. Instead, she hooked a left that cut off three cars and left an inch of rubber in the intersection. I looked back and saw George's blue BMW at the back of the line. We were officially a parade now.
I sat back in my seat and made sure my belt was tightened. My cell phone rang. It was George. "What the hell's going on?" he yelled.
"Uh, Alice is having a break with reality. She thinks she's driving the getaway car after a big bank heist or something. She says she's not pulling over."
"She's a pretty good driver for eighty-five. Listen, we need to talk. I tailed Luke to the police station. He never came out. Did you hear me?" he yelled as we bounced through another intersection, narrowly missing two pedestrians.
"Yeah, it must mean that he turned himself in. Guess this disproves your theory that he doesn't have amnesia. Look, can we talk later?" I asked as the car veered over a curb. "I need to commune with God or something before I die." I hung up the phone and leaned forward. Gram's eyes were squeezed shut. Alice's face was a mask of demented determination.
Time to take matters into my own hands. I reached down and grabbed the gearshift, throwing it into neutral. The car lurched violently and started to slow.
Alice seemed confused. She banged on the steering wheel. "Not now! Not now!"
"Must be out of gas," Gram said in a shaky voice.
"No, it can't be." As Alice turned knobs and jiggled the key, we rolled to a stop. Police officers swarmed the car, guns drawn.
"Turn off the car and step out," boomed one of the officers. "Hands in the air."
"Don't tell the coppers nothing," Alice hissed as we opened the doors and climbed out.
An officer I recognized came up behind me, saying, "Alexandra Jordan, I have a warrant for your arrest. Place your hands behind your back."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At the police station, I was fingerprinted and led to an interview room. I looked around, hoping to catch a sign of Luke as I entered. Detective Marshall had been less than forthcoming with details as he cuffed me and read me my Miranda rights. To be fair, he'd kept his mouth full of SweeTARTS on the ride over, so talking wasn't an option. Strange to see a grown man eat so much candy. Maybe he was trying to quit smoking or something.
I stared at the blank walls in the interview room and rubbed my wrists. Note to self…handcuffs sucked. After this experience, I wasn't remotely interested in trying them out for fun. The door opened, and Detective Ohlsen came in with two cups of coffee and an apologetic look on his face.
"I'm sorry about all this, Alexandra," he said, handing me a cup of coffee.
I took the cup gratefully. "What are the charges against me?" I asked with a slight catch in my voice. Detective Ohlsen rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Marshall should've gone over this when he read you your rights. He did read you your rights, didn't he?"
"Yes," I said, ditching the idea of getting out of here on a technicality. I doubted it would work, and it was sure to tick off Detective Ohlsen.
"Good to know," he said in a low voice. He opened a folder. "You've been charged with a number of interesting crimes as determined by our prosecuting attorney, Mr. Wolfe. These charges came about based on information he received a couple of hours ago from your amnesiac houseguest." He cleared his throat to indicate what he thought of Luke.
I gasped.
He continued, "You've been charged with interfering with a police investigation, tampering with evidence, and obstruction of justice." He looked up at me from his overgrown eyebrows to see how I was taking the news. His face was weathered but kind, and his hair was more salt than pepper. He was the most seasoned officer on the police force and was regarded as one of the most reasonable. I certainly wasn't happy to be sitting in front of him while he read a list of charges, but I was glad it wasn't one of the other guys.
I kept my face blank. The truth was, he was right. I should've gone to the police as soon as I found the box. "Guess I need to speak to my lawyer," I replied. Unfortunately, the only lawyer I knew handled real estate. I supposed I could give her a call and get a referral to a criminal attorney. I cringed, thinking about that conversation. Detective Ohlsen nodded and pressed his lips together.
"So Luke came in here and told you I did all of these things?" I asked, still not believing he'd thrown me under the bus like this.
"I really can't comment on his interview. However, off the record, I think Mr. Wolfe's presence in the building at the time of Luke's arrival was an unfortunate coincidence for all parties involved. Not to mention, slightly suspicious." Detective Ohlsen closed the file and stood. "We might've handled this situation a little differently if
we'd kept it within the department for a few days." He gave me a sad nod.
Before I could ask him why it was suspicious that Mr. Wolfe was here when Luke came, the door swung open, and a handsome, chiseled face that I hadn't seen in years came into view. Frank Wolfe gave me a big smile. "Why, Alex Jordan, haven't seen your pretty face since high school."
Frank had been a hot-to-trot football player, a senior, and prom king when I was a lowly freshman. Unlike Big Ron, who was also a senior and a popular football player, Frank had liked to pick on the lowerclassmen. Especially tomboys like me.
"Still a little rough around the edges, I see," he said, taking in my old sweater, jeans, and work boots in one snooty glance.
"And you're still an asshole, I see," I spit out. Detective Ohlsen barely suppressed a laugh. Frank glared at him, saying, "Perhaps the prisoner needs to be cuffed."
I sat back but continued to glare. Detective Ohlsen said, "You can't handle a hundred-pound girl, Wolfe? Maybe you're in the wrong business."
Before Frank could retort, Detective Ohlsen said to me, "You'll have a chance to call your lawyer in a few minutes. Remember, you have the right to remain silent." He nodded his head at Frank in warning as he went out the door.
Frank looked over my file and then at me. "You're in big trouble, little Alex. Now we can avoid all this unpleasantness if you just give me your side of the story. Lawyers only muddy the waters. This Luke fellow is an outsider." He leaned in toward me confidentially, and I could smell his pricey cologne. "Who knows if he even has amnesia, right? I'm much more likely to believe an upstanding local like yourself. So why don't you give me your side of the story?" He pulled out a small notebook and a Mont Blanc pen from his pocket.
"Why don't you go first?" I suggested. "Tell me Luke's side of the story."
He gave me a nasty smile. "You'll show me yours, if I show you mine, huh? While I'd love to see yours"—he glanced at my generous curves accentuated by my sweater, making my skin crawl—"that's not how this works."
"Guess that means we're waiting for my pesky lawyer then," I shot back.
Secret of the Painted Lady Page 16
