I shook my head and stomped out of the room. I continued to stomp around as I changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants. I glanced in the mirror and decided I needed a bit more work. The end of my ponytail was drenched in soup, and I had a mysterious smudge over my left eye. I washed my face, freshened up my hair, and headed back downstairs. Even though I didn't usually go for the hard stuff, a martini was starting to sound good.
I stopped short when I saw George bent over my computer. Two martinis sat on the coffee table next to him.
"Looking for something?" I asked.
"Nope. Just wondering why you're shopping for guns." He glanced up at me with concern.
"Maybe I need some protection with everything that's been going on around here," I said defensively.
"A Sig Sauer? I would've pegged you as more of a Glock girl," he said.
I stared at him stonily.
"So what's the real reason you're looking at this particular gun?" he asked.
To tell or not to tell? The desire to see his reaction won out. "That's the murder weapon."
George looked mildly surprised. "Well, I didn't see that coming," he said. "A Sig Sauer, are you sure?"
I nodded. "Apparently, Detective Ohlsen is trying to tip the scales in my favor and slipped VanSant the case file."
George stood up and paced around the room. He paused to poke at the fire. "What did VanSant share with you?" he asked, his back toward me.
"Well, first I want to thank you for hiring Mr. VanSant. I want to pay you back, but it may take a while," I said gratefully.
George seemed embarrassed. "I know what it's like to be facing the police alone. I couldn't let that happen to you. And it's a gift. I don't want your money."
"We'll haggle that out after we get through this crisis," I replied and then changed the subject. "Reggie the Fence's real name is Reginald Giordano. He had a long arrest record with few convictions. Friends in high places and good legal representation."
George didn't appear too particularly interested in Reggie the Fence. "Anything else?"
I sighed, not sure how much I should say. "After I told him about your missing diamonds, he said he thought you were the most likely murder suspect," I said before I could chicken out.
George turned suddenly and stared at me. I continued, "He wanted to tell Wolfe so that Wolfe would go after you and drop the charges against me."
George threw back his head and laughed. "That's why the bastard never loses. He'll rip off the hand feeding him to save his client." George shook his head and continued to chuckle.
"But I told him he couldn't use what I'd told him. I threatened to fire him," I replied quickly.
This made George laugh even harder. "How'd he take that?"
"He did seem a little surprised," I said with a smile.
George walked over and sat down next to me on the couch. He looked intently at me. "What else did he tell you about me, specifically?"
I met his eyes. "He said you were a good person with a checkered past. And that he wouldn't be surprised if you committed murder to keep your new life in Danger Cove."
"I can see why he might think that," George replied thoughtfully. "But what about you? Do you think I killed Reggie?"
"No, but I think you know more about this case than you've told me. I don't understand why you can't just come clean about everything."
"There are just some things I'm not ready to share yet," he said quietly. "But I can assure you I didn't kill anybody. I'm definitely not the killer type."
"Then why do you have a gun under your counter at the shop?" I asked softly.
He shook his head and smiled. "You are quite the investigator, Nora. You found my gun. Nice work. By the way, it's not a Sig Sauer."
"I didn't think so," I replied. "But you didn't answer my question. Why do you have a gun?"
"Let's just say I've been looking over my shoulder for a long time, and it's a hard habit to break."
Never a straight answer from him. "So what can you tell me? Do you know who killed Reggie?" I asked.
"Nope, but I can tell you who didn't."
I raised a brow. "Other than you, me, and Gram?" I asked sarcastically.
"I haven't been able to rule out Gram yet, but both Jack Condor and Luke are no goes." He gave me a smile.
I knew about Condor's airtight alibi, but I didn't buy Luke's. "Luke's definitely innocent?" I asked with a little more feeling than I intended. "The police said the same thing, but I just don't see how we can be sure."
"I wouldn't call him innocent," George said wryly, "but I'm ninety-nine percent sure he didn't murder poor Reggie."
"Then who is the murderer? And where are your diamonds?" I asked.
He held up a hand. "All in good time, Mrs. Charles. First we need to assemble all the suspects in one room. Your Gram and I have plans for a little 'whodunit' dinner party on Saturday night."
"A what?" I asked in surprise. "You know this isn't a game. Someone we know is a killer, and you want to invite the suspects to Rockgrove?"
"Come on, Nora. This is Thin Man 101," George joked. "We gather all the suspects into one room, apply a little pressure, and the killer confesses."
I stared at him blankly. "You're serious? That's a television trope. It only works on Scooby-Doo."
"If it's good enough for Scooby-Doo, then it's good enough for us," George replied.
I had one foot in jail. There was a murderer on the loose, and George and Gram had decided to plan a dinner party for Scooby and the gang. "You've both lost your minds," I snapped, throwing up my hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I managed to stay out of the dinner party preparations by working on Marlton House from sunup to sundown on Friday. I was in renovation heaven. My crew was on time and extra-motivated knowing they were receiving a paycheck at the end of the day. Big Ron helped me pick out kitchen cabinets, tile, countertops, and appliances at the home improvement store. Both upstairs bathrooms were nearly finished, and the attic no longer bore any resemblance to a bat cave. Life was good for a change.
Pulling up in to Rockgrove at the end of a good work day was the ultimate reward. Gram was crazy to think about selling the place. With Marlton House in good shape, I needed to dissuade her from that line of thinking. Maybe I should talk to Alice and ask her to back off the idea. It was all well and good for Alice to live in a comfortable condo with every amenity, but I couldn't picture Gram being happy there, and given her advanced age, it just seemed cruel.
The kitchen was a hive of activity with Dolly leading the charge and two other helpers that I recognized as her granddaughters working efficiently in her wake. Gram was sitting at the table, offering suggestions and ordering everyone around. Seeing the kitchen table made me wonder fleetingly where Luke was tonight. I hoped he was okay. My stomach rumbled, and the smell of Dolly's cooking pulled me out of my thoughts.
"What is going on?" I asked, sniffing around the stove and putting my finger in a pot. Dolly smacked my hand.
"That's for the party tomorrow," she said, stirring the pot with one hand and handing a tray to her granddaughter with the other.
"Oh, good grief," I said. "I can't believe you are going to this much trouble, Gram."
"Alexandra, dear," Gram said, ignoring my comment. "Dolly didn't have time with all the party preparations to make dinner, so George is taking you to the Smuggler's Tavern tonight."
My matchmaker radar was buzzing. "What are you going to eat?" I asked.
Gram waved a hand. "Oh, I've been taste-testing all afternoon. Don't you worry about me. Just go get cleaned up and changed. George is supposed to be here at seven."
I glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes was more than enough time for me to change. "And you might want to take a shower, dear," Gram called as I headed for the stairway. "You have sawdust or something in your hair."
It was drywall dust, but she was probably right. My desire to avoid Gram's matchmaking was overcome by my grumbling stomach. The Smuggler's Taver
n served the best food, and it was a pretty lively place on a Friday night. I was a little miffed that George hadn't at least called and asked me out to dinner directly instead of going through Gram. I might be a tomboy on the outside, but a girl still liked to be asked out to dinner properly.
I took a hot shower and dressed in a fitted pair of black slacks with a plum-colored V-neck sweater and black ankle boots. I blew out my hair with a big roller brush and my little-used hair dryer until it shone like a dark halo. I even applied minimal makeup to make my eyes smoky and my lips lush. I stood back and admired my handiwork. Not bad for a tomboy. I turned sideways and got the full effect of my fit, but curvy, figure. I was so much more comfortable in a work shirt and jeans, but I suppressed the urge to change into something less clingy.
It was a few minutes after seven when I went downstairs and found George discussing tomorrow's menu with Gram and Dolly. There seemed to be a debate going on about the best way to prepare a flan. Oh brother.
George stopped talking in midsentence. His eyes met mine in open admiration. "Thank you," he said, coming forward and kissing me gently on the cheek.
"For what?" I asked in surprise.
"For all this," he said, gently touching my silky hair.
I started to say something sarcastic, but his look was genuine. "You're welcome. You look nice, too." And he did. His blazer was a perfectly cut mix of casual elegance. And, of course, his slacks were straight-from-the-cleaners perfect. "Thanks for taking me to dinner. I haven't been to the Smuggler's Tavern in a while."
The ladies all started talking at once, making such a fuss over my improved appearance that I felt like an ugly duckling transformed into a swan.
"Wow, everyone," I said with a laugh. "I didn't realize I usually looked so bad."
"Not bad, dear," said Gram tactfully. "Just the same, day in and day out. We don't get to see you dressed up very often."
"You look lovely, Alex," said Dolly simply. "Such a beauty."
I blushed at the compliments. Gram handed me a light wool jacket she'd bought me several Christmases ago that I'd only worn a few times.
We said our good-byes and headed out into the crisp night to George's car.
He opened the door for me, saying, "You are stunning, Mrs. Charles."
I answered playfully, "Why thank you, Mr. Charles."
* * *
The Smuggler's Tavern was at the end of Craggy Hill Road, a few minutes' ride from downtown. It had an exceptional view of the cove and the lighthouse. It also had the typical nautical theme of many of the town's seaside restaurants. However, the wood paneling and dark slate floor gave the restaurant a rustic, authentic quality. During warmer weather, there was garden seating available. I couldn't wait for the warm weather to get here. Danger Cove springs were spring-like only in that the calendar marked it as spring and the town Easter parade took place. I'd heard on the radio that a coastal storm was blowing in from the ocean with the promise of wind, rain, and maybe even sleet for this weekend.
A noisy bar dominated the center of the restaurant, but we were seated in a quiet, cozy corner. A little too cozy for my taste. I felt a little shy now that I was sitting across from George in the dark restaurant.
"So how are the dinner party plans going?" I asked, taking a sip of the wine George had ordered.
"Quite well," he said. "I have received confirmations from nearly all the guests. Your grandmother was responsible for the positive responses. She has quite a lot of pull around town."
I tilted my head. "You invited people who needed to be talked into coming? Like who?" I asked.
"I can't give away all my secrets. But, yes, there were a few reluctant invitees," George replied.
"So explain this dinner to me again." For the life of me, I couldn't understand why we were putting on a dinner in the middle of all our troubles.
"Just some good old-fashioned detective work. We get all the parties involved in the case together under one roof and see what happens."
"You think someone is going to confess to Reggie the Fence's murder and the theft of your diamonds under the guise of a whodunit mystery dinner?" Although it sounded farfetched, in theory, I supposed it could work. But why go through all the trouble?
"Exactly," George said, his eyes twinkling. "We'll put on a good show for them. They won't realize they've been caught in a trap until they're a few courses into the meal without any way out short of running from the dining room. At that point I would expect alliances to start to crumble. Perhaps Condor will reveal his client to take pressure off of himself. Keep in mind we'll have a roomful of witnesses, and Condor has quite the temper. He won't be able to just take something back once it's out in a heated exchange."
I raised an eyebrow. "So the trap is that instead of this being an actual murder mystery dinner, you're going to spring the real murder case and all the facts on the unsuspecting guests. If someone freaks out, then that would be almost a confession in itself," I said, toying around with the idea. Still seemed like a kooky plan, but it was definitely going to be interesting.
The waiter came, and I ordered filet mignon. George had the catch of the day. We drank some more wine until the meal arrived and then ate in silence. I practically inhaled the perfectly cooked steak. I glanced over to see George watching me eat.
"Don't do that," I said, putting down my fork. "I feel like a zoo animal."
George raised his brows. "Well, if the cage fits…" he teased.
"I'm starving. I've had a long day of physical labor," I said defensively. Okay, so he was right. I had been sucking my food down like a lumberjack.
"I'm just glad you're enjoying it," he said with a grin.
I picked up my fork again but decided to change the subject. "Have you thought about where Luke might be?" I asked.
"Oh, I think he's still around here. Amnesia or no, he's got a job to finish."
I nodded. "It makes sense for him to be close by since he's involved with Condor. But I really thought he'd go to Seattle. Get outta Dodge, you know? Although he doesn't have any money, unless Condor floated him a loan."
"Maybe, but my gut tells me he's still around here. How do you feel about him just taking off?" George looked at me keenly.
I felt a blush rise and was glad for the dark room. "I really liked Luke, and I'm disappointed that he left without saying a word," I replied primly.
"Uh-huh," George murmured, clearly not convinced my feelings were purely platonic. "There isn't a little more there than just concern over a missing houseguest?"
"There was nothing between Luke and me. Frankly, I'm more disappointed he threw me under the bus on his way out of town. I don't need this mess right now." Our conversation was cut short by the waiter taking our plates and offering dessert and coffee. We both ordered coffee, and George ordered cheesecake with two forks.
"So back to our discussion about the handsome, mysterious Mr. X."
"There's nothing to discuss, George." I was getting a little annoyed by the conversation. I'd only known Luke a few days. Sure he was attractive, and there'd even been some sparks, but I wasn't in love with the guy. "And I don't think Luke is half as mysterious as you," I said, turning the tables.
"Do tell, Mrs. Charles," George purred.
I let him have it with both barrels. "First—you arrived in town over a year ago, and still nobody knows anything about your past. Second—you have a relationship with one of the best criminal lawyers in the country, who told me you had a 'checkered past.' Third—you keep a gun taped under your counter." George raised a fork laden with a luscious bite of cheesecake to my mouth. I pursed my lips then relented. It was irresistible.
I swallowed the cake and continued, "I barely know anything about you, George. If you expect me to trust you, then you'd better start talking about your life before Danger Cove. 'Cause right now you might as well be an amnesia victim too, for all that you share."
George took another sip of coffee and nodded. "You're right. I promise I will soon," he add
ed, reaching across the table to take my hand.
I drew it back. "I think we need to stick to our separate rooms, Mr. Charles, until you're able to share more," I said more lightly than I felt.
He grinned at me. "That's quite an enticement, Mrs. Charles. I'm feeling more like sharing already."
I grabbed the spare fork and took a hunk out of his cheesecake. "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," I grumbled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"I'm not wearing that," I said for the tenth time. George held a shimmering champagne evening gown in front of me. It was a perfect replica of a 1930's gown Nora Charles might have worn for a night out on the town.
"But you have to," he pressed. "We're playing Nick and Nora Charles. We need to be in character if we're going to pull this off."
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. "Why do we have to be dressed up when no one else is? This isn't a costume party."
"We are the hosts. We set the tone for the whole dinner," he insisted.
"They'll think we're nuts." I took the dress from him and held it against myself. "It won't fit," I said, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. The dress was beautiful, and I loved the style.
"Oh, it'll fit." He raised his brows at me in a way that sent a flush through my body.
"Fine," I said. "I'll wear it."
George clapped his hands. "Great. Now I need you to wear your hair like this." He handed me a grainy picture printed from the Internet of an old movie star. "I know you won't be able to get yours exactly like this, but at least try putting it in a bun at the back and making those curls on the side."
Oh brother. "The only thing I know how to do to my hair is put it in a ponytail and blow it dry. This is way out of my league."
"Don't you have a girlfriend you could call to help?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I know girls from high school, but I haven't had much time to hang out with them since I got back to town. And I don't usually work with women. So now you know. I'm a pathetic loser with no friends," I said with a glare. My lack of girlfriends had been a bone of contention between Gram and me since I'd come home. Second only to my lack of boyfriends, of course. I wouldn't mind having a couple of friends to hang out and do girly things with occasionally, but my schedule just hadn't permitted it.
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