Incognito

by Adrienne Giordano

  “You’re not old.”

  “For that, I am. Anything more than two drinks and I feel like a bus hit me.”

  “You had three last night.”

  “It became a double-decker on that third one.”

  Lucie laughed. No wonder Tim loved this man.

  Henry put the cart in gear and backed out. He cruised along, waving to neighbors out for a late morning stroll or doing yard work.

  “Fred,” he called to a man loading a paddleboard into the back of a pickup. “Be careful on that thing. Wear a life vest.”

  Fred raised a hand in response. Lucie felt a tug of longing for Franklin. Which was saying something, because for years all she wanted was to run from it. Now, as she got older, she appreciated the comfort of knowing everyone on the block. Knowing their eccentricities and habits. Mrs. Delvecchio leaving her garbage cans out long enough that one of the neighbors would bring them in for her. Or the Jamesons flying their W flags on every Cubs’ win.

  Home.

  “Everyone seems so friendly here.”

  Henry nodded. “For the most part. I’m in a good area. A lot of northerners here, so we all trade stories. Over on the west side are more the local folks. They’re snobs. Like they should run the place because they’re natives.”

  That, too, sounded like her hometown, where lifers made sure the new folks understood the parking rules. Meaning, if there was a lawn chair or a garbage can in a spot, the spot was “reserved.” In the winter, if you shoveled it, you owned it until the next snowfall. No exceptions.

  “I’m assuming Mattie lives on this side?”

  “Yes. Right on the border though.”

  “And where is she from? I don’t think she said.”

  Hey, Tim might have been overreacting, but it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.

  “All over. New Hampshire, Connecticut, Delaware. She migrated down the east coast until she got here.”

  “Wow. I can’t imagine. My parents have lived in the same house for thirty years.”

  “That was me before I moved here. Forty-five years in my house. I needed a change.”

  Un-hunh. Just as Lucie expected. “So you moved down here and met Mattie.”

  “Yep. She’s got an adventurous side.” He glanced over and smiled. “I’m hoping I can get her to settle down.”

  “You seem very fond of her.”

  He hooked a left turn and waved to a couple walking a dog. “Hi, Beth. Ernie. See you at poker night.” He came back to Lucie. “After my wife died, part of me went with her. I almost couldn’t stand it. Everywhere I looked, something reminded me. And then I met Mattie and—boom—I’m like a new man. I have ten years on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She helped me through the worst of the grief.”

  “It’s wonderful that you found her. Does she have children?”

  “No. Never wanted them. She’s divorced. Married a Navy man for a few years but couldn’t take him being gone so much.”

  “I’ve heard it can be difficult.”

  Henry pulled up to a quaint cottage with an attached garage and a screened lanai jutting out from the back. Yellow and pink flowers bordered the front and a giant potted plant stood near the door, a welcome sign sticking out of the dirt.

  Everything about the place felt bright and homey. Well-loved.

  “It’s pretty,” Lucie said.

  “My Mattie has great taste.”

  Of course she did. According to Henry, Mattie might be perfect.

  He parked in the driveway and led Lucie up the front path. A loud bark erupted, the deep gravely sound carrying through the door.

  Clearly, Aphrodite wasn’t the toy poodle Lucie had expected.

  “Um, what kind of dog is Aphrodite?”

  “Pit bull.”

  With a name like Aphrodite? All righty then.

  “She’s okay. Mattie rescued her from the pound. She felt sorry for her. Damned dog is strong as an ox, but once you get to know her she’s lovable.”

  “How is she with strangers?”

  “Hit or miss. She’s territorial. But she knows me. You’ll be fine.”

  Henry unlocked the door, pushing it open while sliding one knee in to block the dog. More barking, but nothing about it sounded aggressive. It was excited. Once inside with the door shut, Lucie stood in the entryway, allowing Aphrodite, a stunning gray pit bull, to sniff her.

  “You can pet her,” Henry said. “Good girl, Aphrodite. Stay.”

  While Aphrodite did her inspection, Lucie took in the living room, a large area with a vaulted ceiling. Breezy black curtains hung on the front windows, blocking any sunshine. If Lucie lived in Florida, she’d have sun streaming in all day.

  Still, the room was cozy with two loveseats, a couple upholstered side chairs, and a Persian rug with bursts of red and orange.

  After a minute, sensing Aphrodite had settled down, Lucie held the back of her hand out. A few sniffs later—lookie here—the dog gave it a swipe with her tongue. “Yes,” Lucie said. “You’re a sweet girl. Are you ready for your breakfast?”

  The dog’s ear flared up. Aphrodite took off running down the hallway, her paws sliding on what looked like Travertine tile as she made a turn into what may have been the mudroom.

  “Now you did it,” Henry said. “Cover your ears. She knows that word.”

  “Breakfast?”

  Ah-wooooooo.

  Henry angled around Lucie, hustling into the room with Aphrodite. Lucie was fast on his heels, bypassing the kitchen that opened to a small dining area.

  In the mudroom, Aphrodite stood next to an elevated double dog bowl, her tail swinging back and forth.

  “I’m coming,” Henry said. “Relax.”

  Ah-woooooo. Ah-wooo.

  No wonder he’d warned her to cover her ears. As a professional, Lucie should’ve anticipated something like this. One thing she’d learned the hard way was to never get a dog too hyped up.

  “Lucie, while I’m giving her a snack, grab the leash out of the cabinet by the sink. It’s in a bowl on the first shelf.”

  She opened the cabinet to the right of the sink. An envelope—whoopsie—and a folded flyer tumbled out of an overstuffed vertical letter organizer on the second shelf. Lucie scooped both items from the granite counter and noted the envelope’s smooth linen paper. The ornate lettering on the return address caught her eye. Really, she wasn’t snooping.

  Not much.

  Crawford Academy - Los Angeles, California.

  The other was a flyer about the grand opening of a new condo development in Boston.

  “Not that one. The other cabinet.”

  At the sound of Henry’s voice, Lucie flinched and quickly finagled the envelope and flyer back into the organizer. “Sorry. They fell out when I opened the cabinet.”

  “Yeah. No problem. Honest mistake.”

  It was. But Crawford Academy? In Los Angeles. Why did Mattie have a letter from a school if she had no children. Too bad Lucie hadn’t had an extra second to peek inside.

  Why would a Florida retiree be interested in Boston? She shook it off. Bad, Lucie, bad.

  But…Tim. By now, he’d be deep into investigative mode, working his contacts about Mattie Mournay.

  Helping the cause. That’s all this snooping was. A way to put Tim’s mind at ease and save their vacation from further stress.

  When she got back to Henry’s, she’d do a search on Crawford Academy. Mattie might be an alumna. Heaven knew, Lucie got all sorts of mail from Notre Dame.

  Lucie retrieved the leash from the opposite cabinet and handed it to Henry, who waited in the doorway for Aphrodite. “Why don’t I wait outside while you two finish up?”

  “Sure. We’ll be out in two minutes.”

  Two minutes. More than enough time for a girl to put her thumbs to work on her phone.

  “Crawford Academy,” Tim said from his spot at Henry’s kitchen table.

  The low swish of running water through the wall told them Henry was still in the s
hower washing—as he put it—the dog stink off. In the last twenty-four hours, Henry had showered no less than three times. He was either doing naughty things in there or obsessed over hygiene.

  Either way, it gave Lucie time to fill Tim in on her findings.

  “That was the name on the envelope. I looked it up. It’s a boarding school in Los Angeles. Three-thousand students at fifty-five thousand per year.”

  Tim whistled. “Mattie doesn’t have any kids. Why is she getting a letter from a boarding school? Did you look inside?”

  “Of course not. That’s her private business.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. He knew better. Lucie spent half her life snooping. Her amateur detective antics tended to test the upper limits of his blood pressure.

  “Like you’ve never snooped in private files? What about the whack-job gallery owner?”

  Ooh, he just had to go there. A crime had been committed and she’d been implicated. She had to snoop. “Totally different, Detective. I was about to become someone’s prison bitch. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Prison bitch. Good one.”

  “And, hello? Your uncle was standing right there. I couldn’t rifle through the woman’s mail with him hovering.”

  The lack of response indicated Tim’s willingness to concede the point. Lucie waved one hand. “Anyway, Crawford Academy. Could she have gone to school there? Henry said her family moved around a lot.”

  Tim sat back and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “He never said anything about California.”

  True. “He said northeast. Shoot.”

  “According to my search, she’s never lived on the west coast. Mostly Connecticut.

  Hunh. How the heck was Mattie linked to Crawford Academy? Lucie should’ve risked it and looked in the envelope. Lost opportunity. For all the stuff she’d pulled in the last year, a little peek hardly ranked in her top ten of illegal offenses. Next time. “What else did you find?”

  “Nothing. Matilda Mournay is squeaky clean. No arrests, no convictions, not even a speeding ticket.”

  “Then why are we doing this? Maybe we should stay out of your uncle’s business and let him live his life.”

  “Ha!”

  “What?”

  “Usually, I’m the one telling you that. I’m seeing it from the other side.”

  Finally, she wasn’t the screwed up one. “It’s not fun is it?” Maybe not for him. For her? Loads of fun.

  “Hell no.”

  “If nothing else, you now understand how it feels when a loved-one is involved. It’s ten times worse.”

  Tim sat forward and propped his chin in his hand. Something told Lucie he wasn’t about to let Henry’s love life go unexplored.

  She walked around the table to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Stop worrying. Henry is a big boy. He’s in love and we’re meddling. It’s not fair.”

  “Can’t help it.”

  “Well, try harder. We’re in paradise. Your uncle is happy. Leave it alone and let’s have a relaxing visit. Peace, no family drama, and a hot Irish detective. That’s all I want.”

  If nothing else, Tim could be distracted by sex. Lots of it. If it diverted him from interfering in his uncle’s life, she’d do it. Happily. Whatever her issues with her family, she never butted into their lives. Her constant attempts to convince Joey that being a bookie wasn’t a career only amounted to him being irritated with her. Miss High and Mighty, he’d called her. In the end, it wasn’t worth driving a wedge between her and her brother.

  People needed to do what they needed to do.

  Tim sat up and swiveled sideways, guiding her onto his lap. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

  Ooh, those words must have hurt. She’d refrain from teasing him about it. “Listen, O’Hottie, you promised me time at the pool. Let’s move it. I’m ready for a day with zero stress.”

  “Finally.”

  Lucie tipped her head up, allowing warm sunshine to spill over her cheeks. This was what vacations were meant to be.

  Beside her, Tim disrupted her stillness by straightening his beach towel and tucking the corners through the slats, so they wouldn’t flap around. He glanced at her, took in the new sapphire two-piece bathing suit Ro talked her into, and waggled his eyebrows. “I like the suit.”

  The bathing suit, by Ro’s standards anyway, was tame and covered most everything, revealing only enough cleavage to make Lucie’s petite body look like more than a bag of bones. Thank God for boobs.

  Her whale white skin wasn’t exactly the thing of sex sirens, but a girl had to start somewhere. By the end of the week? Look out, people. Tan, tan, tan.

  Tim straddled his chair and pulled his T-shirt off as he dropped onto it.

  My, my, my. Her man’s shoulders. Those babies landed somewhere between totally ripped and toned. Lucie caught her breath every time. Every. Time.

  She reached into her bag, grabbed SPF fifteen sunscreen, thought about it, and opted for the fifty. This was a job for the big boys. Without it, he’d be redder than his hair in an hour.

  “Here you go handsome. I don’t want you crispy tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  He started the process of armoring up while peering out at the pool, where patrons circled a swim-up bar.

  That was an idea she’d gladly support. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah. The bar?”

  “I’d love it. We’ll take a selfie and send it to Ro and Joey.”

  “It’s a plan.” He handed her the sunscreen. “Do my back and we’ll go.”

  She squirted a mound of lotion into her hand. Whoopsie. She’d protect the entire state with that glob. She swiped a quarter-sized amount onto Tim’s back and wiped the rest on her towel. Blech.

  “Did my uncle tell you he wants us back by two-thirty for sightseeing?”

  “He didn’t, but that should work. We don’t want to be out here too long the first day. Is Mattie coming with us?”

  “God, I hope so. I’m insanely curious about that woman.”

  She finished rubbing in the last of the sunscreen and gave him a light smack. “I know but be careful asking too many questions. Your uncle won’t appreciate it. He’ll know you’re pumping her for information.”

  Tim sat back, hooked his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “I told my mother I’d give her a report. She’s driving me crazy with the texts. Insisting on a picture.”

  Lucie imagined Tim’s mother, a woman who opted for nothing shorter than knee-length attire and breezy tops, getting her first look at Mattie’s animal print. “Oh, boy.”

  Tim laughed. “Exactly. She’ll freak.”

  “I’m glad it’s your family drama and not mine. I’m enjoying the quiet. I love them, but they’re a lot.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  She swatted him on the arm without any real force. They both knew this break from the Rizzo crew was much-needed. No sense denying it.

  A couple in their late fifties walked past on their way to the pool steps. Tim did his cop thing, watching them as they went, studying their movements.

  The couple entered the pool, dodging a group of folks chatting in the shallow end.

  Retirement. Lucie would enjoy lazy days of hanging by the pool or beach and visiting with friends. “This place is busy.”

  Tim nodded. “It’s flooded with snowbirds until April. Henry said we’ll put our freedom at risk if we save a chair by the pool. If you throw a towel on the chair and don’t actually sit, the pool police confiscate your towels.”

  “No way.”

  “They had a brawl last month. Fines were handed out, Luce. It was ugly.”

  “If only those were our problems in Chicago.”

  “I’d be bored.”

  As a detective with the Chicago Police Department, Tim saw all kinds of depravity. Some nights he came home laughing, telling her wacky stories too absurd to not be true. Others, as much as he tried to hide his foul mood, she knew whatever had crashed in o
n him had left its mark. The cases he particularly disliked were crimes against the elderly. Those drove him to madness.

  A woman’s laughter came from the bar. Time to try it out. Lucie glanced over at Tim. “Let’s go to the bar. We’ll talk about you retiring and becoming the towel police.”

  “Amen, babe. Amen.”

  In the distance, the theme from The Godfather sounded from the direction of the parking lot.

  Her father was thirteen hundred miles away and reminders of her hometown still chased her. “It never ends,” she said.

  “Hey! Knock it off,” came a woman’s shout from the same general direction.

  Was that? Half-paralyzed, Lucie held Tim’s gaze.

  Couldn’t be.

  “Relax,” Tim said. “Uncle Henry sends me pictures of tricked out golf carts. It’s a thing down here. Some have custom horns. A friend of his paid thirty thousand a few months back.”

  Thirty thousand dollars. On a golf cart.

  “Woohoo!” the woman’s voice sounded again, this time closer and…Oh. My. God.

  That voice. Still paralyzed, Lucie couldn’t move. She simply sat, gaze pinned to Tim’s face as he looked beyond her, and his amused smile slowly disintegrated. And then, there it was.

  The horror.

  Locked jaw, hard eyes, stiff posture.

  “Woohoo! We’re here!”

  Lucie shook her head hard enough to dislodge something. That’s what she needed. The part of her brain that registered current action to fall out of her head.

  “Tim, tell me I’ve gone insane and that the voice I just heard is in my head. It’s not real.” She waggled a hand. “I’m hallucinating it’s Roseanne, who should, at this very moment, be manning the phones at our office.”

  “Woohoo!”

  Dammit, if she never heard a woohoo again she’d die happy.

  Refusing to look, she focused on Tim. “You’re not answering.”

  What the hell was wrong with him? Probably the same thing wrong with her. The two of them stunned stupid.

  “Luce! O’Brien! What kind of greeting is that?”

  Oh no. That voice was definitely not her imagination. That one had tormented her since the day she popped out of her mother.

  “Shut it, Joey. We just got here and already you’re starting.”