by Mary Campisi
He winked at her and laughed. “If I weren’t meeting my niece for lunch, I’d skip the meal and go straight to the dessert.”
“You wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last.”
Harry laughed and made his way toward the back of the café where Christine sat, head bent, reading the Magdalena Press. “How’s my favorite niece?”
She looked up and smiled. “You’d better not let Lily hear you say that or you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
He laughed and gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek before he slid into the booth opposite her. “Lily knows you’re both my favorites, and if I forget, she’ll set me straight.”
“You know she’s got her bathing suit and towel packed and ready for the second you give word the pool’s ready.”
He sighed and grabbed a menu. “I know, I know. Who would have thought I’d be bothered so much by disappointing a bunch of kids? This whole pool business is downright annoying. If I were in Chicago, we would have been swimming three weeks ago.”
Christine shot him a look that said he was full of it and he knew it. “If you were in Chicago, you wouldn’t even have a pool.”
“That’s beside the point. This town is growing on me, but damn, can things not move any faster? The inspector is supposed to call me later today and he’d better, or I’m heading over to his house and he’s not going to like what I have to say.”
“Mr. Abernathy? Be nice to him; his wife just had a baby.”
Harry blew out a disgusted sigh. “So if a person has a life issue, like a baby, a marriage, or hell, a divorce, he’s allowed to be incompetent?” What the hell kind of place permitted that?
“No.” Her voice gentled. “He’s allowed to be human.”
“I’d like to see that husband of yours putting up with this. I’ll bet he wouldn’t tolerate a man telling him he couldn’t get his work done because he had to stay home and change diapers.”
“Uncle Harry, be nice.”
“I just don’t want to keep disappointing the kids. It bothers me. And then there’s Lily. She’s so excited about this pool, even told me she had a list of friends to invite. If you had told me two years ago that I’d be worried about a pool and kids, I’d have said you belonged in an institution. But here I am, in the middle of no-man’s land and actually not minding it.”
“That’s because you’re with the woman you love, and the kids you love. If you’d told me that two years ago, I would have put you in an institution.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, I guess crazier things have happened.”
Christine was the best part of his old life, the one person before Greta who’d kept him from becoming a totally worthless human being. She’d loved him despite his many failings, even the one he’d thought she’d never forgive. He pushed that memory away, back into the dark corners of his brain, where he could almost forget it existed. He’d do anything for Christine, had forced himself to put up with her mother’s ridiculous monthly dinners and complaints over her bad back and every other friggin’ ailment she could conjure up. Gloria had been a real piece of work, but lucky for all of them, she was long gone and incapable of causing them further pain.
“So, what’s going on with that husband of yours?” Harry bit into the ham and Swiss he’d ordered and decided Greta really would like this place, even if it weren’t Harry’s Folly, and even if they didn’t serve penne with spinach and garbanzo beans.
“Nate’s fine. Busy.” She forked a strawberry from her fruit cup and said, “He and Cash just got an order for a bedroom set from a woman in Connecticut. How cool is that? Tess is thinking about expanding the marketing even further, maybe eventually as far as the West Coast. And Nate is talking about bringing on another person—” she paused and met his gaze with a half smile “—but you know my husband is very picky about who he lets into his inner circle.”
“Huh.” That was like saying a beer connoisseur was picky about his beer. “The man doesn’t trust easily, but once you’ve got him, you’ve got him for life.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I like to think I’m part of that inner circle, but with that guy, you just never know.”
That comment made her laugh. “He likes you, Uncle Harry. A lot. And I know he’ll never admit it, but he’s glad you’re here.”
Harry sipped his ice tea and shrugged. “Probably about as glad as a cook without a kitchen. Every time he visits, he starts on me about why I think I need a place that takes up three lots and could house five families. The only thing he does seem to like is the fact that building the place gave a lot of people jobs.” He paused, grinned, and added, “And my liquor. He’s learned not to refuse the good stuff when I offer it to him.”
“Don’t spoil him.”
“Not likely.”
Her voice dipped. “And don’t try to change him. I love him exactly as he is, with an occasional adjustment here and there.”
“An adjustment? You mean like teaching him to pretend he likes someone, or can at least tolerate the person, when he can’t stand to breathe the same air? Or to keep his mouth clamped and his expression blank when he disagrees? In the name of social etiquette and political correctness?”
“Uncle Harry. Nate is not that bad.” When he raised a brow and stared at her, she plowed on in an attempt to make him see how “social” her husband really was. “He’s much calmer than he was when I first met him. And more forgiving.”
“Right. Tell that to anybody who’s ever crossed him.”
“He’s big on loyalty, and telling the truth. I wish more people had that kind of integrity.”
Harry almost heaved his ham and Swiss sandwich. Was she talking about him? Hell, he’d never been one for telling the truth, and loyalty? To what? A brand of scotch or a style of clothing? He certainly hadn’t been loyal in the women department, except when it came to protecting Chrissie. But then he met Greta and she’d changed everything, including the part about telling the truth. Now he pretty much spit it out like projectile vomit, because the not telling ate a hole in the center of his gut, and fear of losing her over a lie ate at his soul.
And then there was integrity. No one had ever strung that word and Harry’s name in the same sentence—until his wife. Damn, but the woman expected a lot out of him, and damn if he wouldn’t do anything not to disappoint her.
“Nate’s becoming more tolerant, too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Harry bit into his sandwich. See if he’d give Nate Desantro any more of his top-shelf liquor. A saint shouldn’t drink, should he? Nope. Harry chewed and pictured his next encounter with the man, when Harry would tell Nate he was too good, too loyal, with too much integrity to hang around with Harry and his booze. Desantro would laugh at him and pour them both doubles. Nate was a good guy and Chrissie was lucky she married him and not that worm, Connor Pendleton.
“He really is becoming more tolerant.”
She was not going to let it go. “Fine. The man’s more tolerant.”
Her lips twitched. “I said he was becoming more tolerant. There’s a difference. But, I was very proud of him for not hunting down the new police sergeant and interrogating him.”
“Why would your husband interrogate the policeman? Isn’t it usually the policeman who interrogates the civilian?”
“Unless the new police sergeant is Ben Reed, Cash’s old partner in Philly. Do you remember him from Tess’s wedding? Tall, big muscles, dark hair, blue eyes?”
“Sure you aren’t talking about me?” Harry grinned. “Is he the guy all the women were swarming around?”
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
“Hmm. He did seem to have a way with the ladies; kind of reminded me of myself in my younger days.”
That made her smile. “I’m sure. He’s very friendly, but Nate says a guy who acted like Magdalena was made up of a bunch of lumberjacks and hillbillies would not suddenly up and leave a city to move here.”
“Your husband’s got a point.” Maybe this B
en Reed guy found a woman here. Or maybe he’d been run out of town and was in hiding. Or maybe he’d gotten a woman pregnant and high-tailed it out of the city as soon as the pregnancy test read positive. Or maybe—
“The only reason Nate didn’t pursue it was because Cash vouched for him.”
“Well, that should mean something, shouldn’t it?” And weren’t cops part of a brotherhood? They wouldn’t screw each other, not with the whole brotherhood-partnership deal in their skulls.
“It does, and that’s why Nate’s not hunting the man down with a notebook of questions. But he’s got an eye on him.”
“He’s got an eye on everybody, doesn’t he?”
Harry had meant it as a joke, but he didn’t miss the pain flitting across her face or the sadness in her voice when she spoke. “Nate’s had his share of hurt from outsiders and he wants to protect this town and the people he cares about from them.” She paused, added, “In case they aren’t who they say they are.”
Chapter 5
Word of Gina Servetti’s roses spread through town faster than Cash’s lightning abilities at a shooting range. If only the news were as accurate as Cash’s shots. Some said the roses were the result of a lover’s quarrel from the boyfriend the town had yet to meet. Others said they were from a secret admirer, perhaps married or simply too shy to own up to the attraction. And then there were those who insisted the bouquet had come from one of Gina’s relatives in an attempt to stir up interest among the unmarried men in the community.
Ben blew out a sigh and glanced through the police blotter. Runaway dog, runaway cat, runaway hamster. Hamster? He slammed the blotter shut and considered his predicament. According to Jeremy, who filled him in on the rose rumors, the first round of possibilities had swirled around an hour or so ago, when This Flower’s For You delivered a box of long-stemmed roses to Gina Servetti’s address. The delivery man could have ended the speculation by offering the name of the sender, but maybe it was his way of drawing out the tale, providing snippets of possibilities like a guessing game. Ben figured his name would surface before sundown, but how and in what capacity was anybody’s guess. Maybe they’d toss him and Gina in the middle of a lover’s spat with Ben begging forgiveness. How ridiculous was that?
He’d sent the damn roses because he was out of line and she’d called him on it, something not many women did, probably because they’d take any attention he offered. Not Gina, though. She’d just as soon boot him out the door as have a conversation with him. Her indifference was intriguing and damn perplexing. Most women got all soft and gooey when he slid a smile their way or lowered his voice a few decibels to what they perceived was an intimate and “for their ears only” conversation. Gina hadn’t been interested in his words, his smile, or his voice. But he wasn’t giving up on her because she was the key to making the people in this town believe he really wanted to be here and the more he knew about them, the easier his stay in Magdalena would be. A few months of cooldown was all he needed before he could contact Melissa and if he had to, that jerk assistant DA boyfriend of hers, to see about coming back to Philly.
All Gina had to do was give him that information and he’d figure out how to use it. It’s not like he was asking her to divulge dark secrets; he only wanted what most of the town already knew, but in a workable format minus the emotion and guessing. What he knew about Gina Servetti so far was that the woman could give a dispassionate account of people, relationships, and backstory.
“Hear you sent Gina Servetti roses.”
There it was, dropped in the middle of his day by a kid who still couldn’t grow more than three whiskers on his chin. Ben glanced up from his papers and narrowed his gaze on the junior officer. “Who’d you hear that from, Jeremy?” Play it cool and see what the boy knows.
“Is it true?” The boy’s face lit up. “Did you really send twelve long ones to Gina Servetti?”
Ben picked up his pen, turned it end over end, and said in a casual voice, “Maybe. And why do you say her name like it’s crud from the bottom of your shoe?”
“Not crud.” Jeremy pulled up a chair and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “More like a jalapeño pepper. You don’t go near them unless you’re ready to get burned, and that woman will burn you with that tongue of hers.” His voice dipped lower. “She’s a viper.”
What would Gina think of that description? A jalapeño pepper and a viper. Hmm. “Are you saying she’s burned you or bitten you?”
“Nah, not me.” He shook his head so hard, his flat top shook. “But no guy will go near her. She’s not bad to look at, a little too curvy for my taste, but she’s deadly. If you look at her a second too long, even if you didn’t mean anything by it, she’ll come after you.”
Ben tried to picture Gina going after the male population of Magdalena. He doubted she “went after” men like Nate Desantro or Cash. Maybe she only went after the ones who tormented her, but why would they torment her? Now that was the question. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman who has curves.” He smiled. “Especially if they’re in the right places.” Gina had curves, nice ones, and they were definitely in the right places. He could see where somebody like Jeremy might find a waif-type more attractive, but what did a twenty-two-year-old kid know about women?
“So, why’d you send her flowers? Are you and Gina together?”
“No. She’s my friend.” Or she will be once I talk her into it.
The boy’s face scrunched up and he scratched his jaw. “Friend?” And then, “Friend?” he repeated, this time with a hint of something that sounded like doubt. “Gina doesn’t have guy friends.”
Ben shrugged. “Well, she does now.” He shut down the conversation after that, certain there would be looks and backward comments from the residents once news of the roses spread through town. Cash might have a thing or two to say about it, and Mimi Pendergrass would no doubt bring up the subject. And there was probably no escaping Nate Desantro, if the man chose to comment.
The real question was what made Gina burn men like a jalapeño pepper and bite like a viper? Ben had no idea, but he intended to find out.
***
“The pesto is excellent. Did you make it yourself?” Ben twirled a forkful of pasta, plunked it in his mouth, and savored the taste of basil, garlic, and Romano cheese. This was his second helping and he’d already eaten three slices of bread, a salad, and a cup of wedding soup. He’d need to run to Philly and back if he kept eating like this, but damn, Mimi could cook.
“Actually, no.” She hesitated, cleared her throat, as though uncertain of her response. In the short time he’d known Mimi Pendergrass, the woman hadn’t hesitated over anything—not her words, actions, or expressions. She had an opinion and she put it out there with confidence, no dancing around issues or feelings. So why now, over a dish of pasta?
“This isn’t my recipe, though it is my basil.” She dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin and gestured toward the table. “But the rest, the wedding soup, balsamic vinaigrette on the salad, even the garlic bread, are all the handiwork of a very talented young man.”
“I’m impressed.” Ben enjoyed cooking, knew good food, and this was the real deal. “I’d like to meet this guy.” He’d bet the pasta was homemade, too, and not purchased in the refrigerator section of Sal’s. Okay, now he really wanted to meet the guy. Any person who made his own pasta was a worthy opponent in the culinary arena.
Mimi’s cheeks turned a dull rose that had nothing to do with the empty wine glass in her hand. “I’m sorry, Ben, but that’s not possible. You see, while he may be talented, he doesn’t possess the confidence to tell his father about his passion. He hides it and works in a career that’s not suited for him.”
“That’s crazy.”
Her voice dipped in sadness. “He can’t disappoint his father.”
That was something Ben didn’t understand, but then he’d never had a parent to disappoint. “I’ve never understood people who gave up their happiness to fulfill another person�
��s expectations.”
“It happens. And sometimes the other party doesn’t even realize they’re making unfair demands until it’s too late. The relationship is fractured, sometimes even irreparable.”
Was she talking about the boy or a page from her own life? A husband? Child? Friend? It wasn’t his business, but he liked Mimi and didn’t want to think about her torn apart by a past misstep. He refilled her wine glass and said, “Would you be speaking from personal experience or observation?”
No hesitation this time. “Both.”
The set of her jaw and coolness in her blue gaze told him that was as much as he was going to get. “I’m sorry.”
She forced a smile and shrugged. “It’s done and there’s no changing it. All that’s left after a grave mistake is the choice to curl up and stop breathing or stand tall and take the next step, and then the next, until you feel almost alive again.”
There was pure pain dripping in those words. “I really am sorry,” he said again. “Do you think you can convince this boy to tell his father?”
“I have no idea. He’s old school, a pillar in the community. Young men in Magdalena work in factories, drive trucks, or build things. They do not work in a kitchen and create the perfect Bolognese sauce.”
Ben ripped a hunk of bread from his plate and dipped it in the olive oil mixture. “Then it’s time for this town to change.” He popped the bread in his mouth, savored the flavor of garlic and oil. “Say the word and I’ll vouch for the kid’s culinary skills. It’s as good as anything in Philly.”
Mimi smiled, a real smile this time, and said, “That’s very kind of you, Ben, but it’s a bit more involved than that, and,” again the hesitation, “his father isn’t going to value the opinion of an outsider.”
“Oh.” Well, that put him in his place.
“People make their own choices, good or bad, and they have to live with those choices.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “So, what’s this about you sending Gina Servetti roses?”
