We both glanced at Mr. Chicago being taken away in handcuffs. “Maybe.”
Bill tucked a loose strand of my hair behind an ear. “I think you can take care of yourself.”
“I think so too,” I said. Then I smiled. “It was nice hearing you bust through the back door.”
“I assumed Carlos was lying when he said you’d been there and gone.”
“It took you long enough to get here. I had to fight off Mr. Chicago, cut the wrist rope and ankle cord, keep Carlos talking…”
“And I had to get all my backup in place. After all, you weren’t answering your phone.”
“True.”
“Which was when I knew something was wrong.” He pulled me to my feet and into a warm embrace. His body felt strong and safe.
“We rescued your car. Suki is having it delivered to my place.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll have Ralph take you home. Let you get out of those wet clothes. I’ll only be a little while.”
In dunking my head to douse my eyes, I’d also doused myself from the waist up. “I could use a date with a hot toddy and a warm comforter.”
His mesmerizing blue eyes twinkled, his muscles tight under his uniform jacket. “And me.”
Yahoo!
22
Outside the Windjammer, the wind whipped down Main Street, scattering leaves, sending wisps of smoke from fireplace chimneys twirling in the late afternoon air. The sun was setting, though it was only four thirty. Inside the restaurant, the temperature was comfortable, the atmosphere cozy. A Thanksgiving tradition in progress: some twenty-five of Etonville’s finest citizens enjoying a turkey feast planned by Henry, aided by a crew consisting of his wife, Enrico, Bill, and Carol and her husband. Benny and Carmen, with help from Lola’s daughter, Pauli, and Janice, had set a long banquet table that stretched from one end of the Windjammer to the other. Glassware sparkled and silverware glistened. The white linen crisp and starched, the candles flickering. Benny served drinks.
“You can top mine off,” Lola said, sitting at the bar, extending her wineglass to Benny as he made the rounds with bottles of red and white wine. Folks mingled around the dining room, chattering happily, waiting for the spread to emerge from the kitchen.
Benny obliged. “Here ya go.” He smiled and headed across the room to see to his wife and daughter. Vernon entertained the princess with the only magic trick he knew: making a coin disappear behind his ear. Benny’s daughter giggled and clapped her hands.
I plopped onto a stool beside Lola. I’d been up early, helping to prep the kitchen. I was ready for a break. “Whew. It takes a village,” I said and sipped my seltzer, gazing at the crowd in the dining room. I smoothed my green silk blouse.
Lola flipped her blond hair over one high-end, designer-dress shoulder clad in burgundy knit. “I must say, something is smelling delicious.”
I agreed.
“This is a lovely tradition. I don’t have to cook.” She wrinkled her nose. Kitchen capers were not Lola’s strength. “Speaking of cooking…we need to consider catering when we investigate more wedding venues.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I raised my hand and saluted her playfully, light from the candles glinting off the facets of my engagement ring.
Lola studied my face. “You went through a lot this last month. Falling down steps, fighting off Gabriel, escaping from the wardrobe and John Doe…” She shivered, putting an arm around my back.
“Not to mention pepper spraying everyone who got near me.”
“That too,” Lola said. We shared a laugh.
“I’m glad to be celebrating Thanksgiving in one piece.”
Lola was silent for a moment. “Maybe this tradition will change after you’re married.”
“Why would it change? We all need to eat, and Bill loves to cook,” I said.
Change was coming, my life about to be altered permanently. I’d been obsessed with identity these last weeks, my own and the people around me. Carlos and Bella had adopted different identities—from Mercer to Johnson to Villarias in the witness protection program—to escape the Chicago mob. John Doe had switched his identity as an agent for the Chicago OCU to a hitman for the same Chicago mob, for money, to obtain the flash drive. He’d tried to convince an overconfident Carlos that together they could outsmart the mob and use the flash drive as financial leverage, that Carlos would be able to buy his and Bella’s freedom by surrendering the evidence. When Carlos still hesitated to turn it over to him, kidnapping was the last resort, and the Speedwell folks were simply pawns in John Doe’s plan.
If the actor hadn’t felt so invincible, he might have realized he couldn’t trust Mr. Chicago either. Once the former government agent turned mob enforcer had the evidence in his hands, he had no intention of keeping the Villariases alive. Even Gabriel had surrendered his identity as Bella’s son to keep their secret safe.
What did I have to fear? Bella’s reading of my palm was both right and wrong. I was “making a momentous decision,” but my life wouldn’t be “surrendered” to anyone else. Becoming Bill’s wife would only be one aspect of my identity. I could maintain my individuality as a restaurant manager, BFF, Etonville Little Theatre supporter. Your palm doesn’t control your fate. You do.
“Hey, O’Dell.”
Penny had donned a brown sweater and stretchy black tights for the occasion. “Hi, Penny. You look nice. All that personal training is paying off.”
She sipped a martini, then popped an olive into her mouth. “You know what they say.”
I couldn’t imagine.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you live longer.”
I stifled a grin. “Working out was tough?”
“O’Dell, let’s put it this way. You can’t fool around with your health. It’s better to be safe and sorry.”
“Got it.”
“Things in Etonville will be a little less dodgy with you-know-who behind bars.”
“Carlos.”
Penny leaned in conspiratorially. “I knew something was off with him from the beginning. That vampire stuff.”
“He’s an actor. Was an actor. The ‘vampire stuff’ was part of the act.”
“That’s what they all say until…” She mimed a knife crossing her throat. “…there’s a dead body.” She looked at me meaningfully.
Penny had a point. Carlos had perfected the “vampire routine” on and off the stage, freaking out Etonville in the process. The coroner even found two “bite marks”—well hidden in Daryl Wolf’s armpit—where the aconite was delivered by syringe after Carlos knocked him out with the stake.
“Speaking of dead bodies…heard you’re thinking of moving out of town after your wedding,” she said casually.
“Moving? Where’d you hear that?” The Etonville rumor mill.
Penny nudged her glasses. “Was hoping that Etonville could settle down.”
Her euphemism for “no more murders.”
“Later, O’Dell.” She held up her martini glass. “Only two hundred calories.”
I motioned to Benny to bring me the whole bottle of wine.
I scanned the room; everyone looked to be enjoying themselves. Aromas leaking out of the kitchen indicated dinner was imminent. I stared. “Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself. In a corner, Walter and Jocelyn were deep in conversation. She was animatedly explaining something, and he was listening intently. What in the world could they be talking about?
“Surprising.” Lola laughed at my side. “And we thought Jocelyn was barking up a nonexistent tree.”
“Especially after Bella read Walter’s tarot cards and told him he would be taking advantage of a new love interest.”
“Speaking of Bella…too bad about how she ended up,” Lola said.
“According to Bill, her part in the murder plot was negligible. She hadn’t intended
that Daryl Wolf die. Might get off with involuntary manslaughter. Now that the police have the flash drive and her testimony against John Doe, the Chicago organized crime unit has the potential to take down a bunch of mob guys.”
“And Carlos?”
“He’s trading his evening dress for an orange jumpsuit. His acting career is on hold for the time being.”
“Did Bill find out where Carlos stashed the memory stick?” Lola asked.
I shook my head. “He claimed he never intended that Bella find the evidence. He thought sending her to the theater would keep her safe until John Doe, or the police, came to his rescue. The Bernridge police got there first. He did not trust anyone. Including his wife. He never did say where the flash drive was hidden.”
“And all the while, John Doe was hanging around, waiting for Carlos to hand it over. Where was he during the kidnapping?” Lola asked.
“Turns out he never believed the flash drive was in the theater. Too obvious, he thought. While we were searching the set, he was ransacking the Hanratty place.”
“So glad Dracula is over,” Lola said with relief.
Lola and I clinked glasses, toasting the end of the paranormal in Etonville.
The swinging doors into the kitchen opened with a flourish, accompanied by oohs and aahs from the assembled guests. Bill, Enrico, Henry’s wife, Carol, and her husband began a slow procession of sides to the table: stuffing, vegetables, salads, several kinds of potatoes, and pasta. The last was at Carol’s insistence—her family was Jersey Italian. No holiday meal was complete without a macaroni dish. I moved around the room playing the role of hostess, making sure everyone had a full glass of something.
“I’d say we have a Code 7,” Edna announced enthusiastically and took a seat next to the Banger sisters.
“Edna and her codes. I never know what she’s talking about.” Mildred took a sip of wine and tittered. Thanksgiving was one of the few times all year the choir director allowed herself to imbibe.
“Got something to do with the grub coming.” Vernon sat next to his wife.
“Meal break,” Edna beamed.
“Copy that,” I said.
“Dodie, we’re so glad you’re able to join us for Thanksgiving,” said a Banger sister.
“Especially after you sprained your ankles, broke a wrist, and got an eye infection from that pepper thing,” said the other.
Yikes! “But I didn’t…” I was about to protest and deny when I inspected their lovely, smiling faces. I gave up. “I heal fast.”
The sisters, Mildred, and Edna nodded. Vernon harrumphed.
Henry emerged from the kitchen, decked out in his white chef’s apron and hat, holding the turkey aloft like a sacrifice to the gods. The room erupted into spontaneous applause.
With everyone seated, Mildred said grace.
Then I raised my glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”
The restaurant fell silent, expectant faces turned to me, standing at one end of the table. “We have a lot to be thankful for this year.” Heads nodded, and there was some vocal agreement. “Besides this beautiful meal…”
Henry beamed.
“…there are wonderful friends, a lovely community.” I felt a lump in my throat. “I see a lot of love around this table tonight.”
Jocelyn winked and covered Walter’s hand with hers; Pauli slid his eyes at Janice, who blushed; Lola nodded; Mildred lowered her head to Vernon’s shoulder. The Banger sisters glowed.
“To us!” I said.
“Hear, hear!” echoed Edna.
“Let’s eat,” announced Vernon.
From the other end of the table, Bill mouthed I love you.
* * * *
The remnants of the pumpkin and mince pies lay on dessert plates, coffee cups nearly empty. The candles had burned down, the room toasty and snug. The guests were full, relaxed, and heading toward drowsy.
Bill motioned to me. I waited a second, then slipped away from the table and followed him into the kitchen. “Where are you?” I asked.
“In here.” The pantry, whose shelves were lined with canned goods, jars of condiments and spices.
“What are you…?”
He held a square object wrapped in a brown bag. “Thought we needed a little privacy for this.”
“What is it?”
“Something I’ve been meaning to give you.”
“Pretty fancy wrapping,” I joked.
“I was in a hurry…anyway, I have the feeling you’ve been worried about your… changing status after we get married.”
How did he know that?
“Am I right?” he asked kindly.
“Well…”
“Thought so.”
“Bill, I don’t want to lose who I am. I don’t want to change.”
“I know that, and I don’t want you to change—”
I continued in a rush. “I mean…maybe I should be thinking of doing more, doing something else with my life—”
“I agree, and—”
“Not that I’m not thrilled to be getting married. And I love the restaurant. But—” I stopped. “What did you say?”
“I said I agree. About you doing more with your life.”
“Right,” I said slowly. There had to be a catch.
“So I got you this.” He grinned and handed me the package.
I tore at the brown paper. It was a book. Private Detection 101. “Wha…?”
“Consider it a prewedding gift. You’ll need it when you enroll in the certification course. For private investigation.”
I teared up. “I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless.”
Bill kissed me sweetly. “That would be a first.”
“I mean, even Carlos said I was killing time here at the Windjammer when I was actually a detective at heart, but I love this place,” I said.
“First of all, you don’t need to leave the Windjammer to take an online course. Second, really? You’re listening to a soon-to-be-convicted murderer?”
“Thank you.” I flung my arms around his shoulders and laid a big one on his mouth.
He finally came up for air. “Should we get back to our guests?” he murmured.
“In a minute. Right now, I’m having my own Thanksgiving.” I covered his face with smooches, saving his lips for last. “I love you!”
Private Investigator Dodie O’Dell…OMG!
Acknowledgments
This book, like the others in the Dodie O’Dell Mystery Series, is the result of help from a number of people. I owe them a debt of gratitude.
Thanks to all who entered the Killing Time character name contest, especially the winners: Tim Capalbo, Glen Holley, Katherine Wortman, and Andrea Karwandy. You’ll find your creative entries in the pages of this book.
Once again, I am grateful for the support I received at Kensington to make this mystery series a reality, especially from John Scognamiglio and Rebecca Cremonese.
I appreciate Dru Ann Love, Lori Caswell and the Great Escapes Tour bloggers, Roberta Isleib from Mystery Lovers Kitchen, and Brooke Showalter for their help in promoting my mystery series. Finally, thanks to my friends, family, and readers who supported my Dodie O’Dell journey. I have appreciated your sense of humor, inspiring feedback, enthusiasm, and the odd cup of tea (or something stronger) when needed. You know who you are!
Finally, my thanks to Elaine Insinnia, my first and last reader, who consistently and generously provided story ideas and encouragement as I wrote and rewrote. I couldn’t have done it without you….
About the Author
Suzanne Trauth is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and a former university theater professor. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Dramatists Guild, and the League of Professional Theatre Women. When she is not writing, Suzanne coaches actors an
d serves as a celebrant performing wedding ceremonies. She lives in Woodland Park, New Jersey.
www.suzannetrauth.com
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