I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  Ryne slid into the booth, across from me. Just as he did, the restaurant lowered the lights. Jeez, I hoped he didn’t think this was a date. However, from his slight frown, maybe he was thinking the exact same thing. That made me relax a little.

  “So what’s good here?” Ryne asked after the waiter brought us menus and Ryne a glass of Chianti.

  “I’ve heard the lasagna is wonderful.” I almost choked on my words. I didn’t want lasagna. I was sick of it.

  “The pizzas look good. Want to split one?”

  Yes, yes, I did. I loved pizza, it was a food group to me, and I hadn’t had one in at least a week. I realized I was nodding and stopped myself. “No. Thanks. I have my heart set on the lasagna.” Maybe Ryne would like his pizza with too much meat or anchovies, so it wouldn’t be so tempting.

  Ryne had his head cocked to one side. God, he looked like a freaking Disney prince. All he needed was a steed and a cape to fling around. Maybe it was the lighting.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re just too good looking. It’s obnoxious.” Chianti did that to me sometimes, made me say things I normally wouldn’t.

  “I apologize. I’ll work on that.” He said it with a jaunty grin that in no way was an apology.

  “You must have women throwing themselves at you all the time. It’s probably exhausting.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard them beating on my door at all hours of the night. I may have to move.”

  I laughed.

  A woman with gleaming long red hair approached us. She turned her back to me but slid something onto the table before sauntering off with a sultry backward glance.

  Before Ryne reached for the piece of paper, I snatched it off the table. It was a business card with a number handwritten on the back and a note that said, Call me. Ryne just watched me, shaking his head.

  “I swear this doesn’t happen . . . often,” he said.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Are you going to let me see it?”

  “She’s a massage therapist. I thought she looked like a professional, didn’t you?” I flipped the card over to him.

  “I have been a bit achy lately,” Ryne said, rolling his shoulders.

  “Me too. Ever since Friday night in the gym. Maybe I should call her. I bet she’d love that.”

  Ryne smiled.

  The waiter distracted us by showing up and taking our orders. Lasagna for me, of course, and a pizza bianca with artichokes, peppers, onions, and kalamata olives for Ryne. I almost drooled just listening to his order. Even the waiter seemed a bit mesmerized by Ryne’s deep green eyes and cleft chin. The guy ought to grow a beard to cover that thing up.

  “How’s your uncle doing?” I asked.

  “Fair to middlin’. Won’t listen to his doctor or me.”

  “Has anyone been back to try to sell you autographed sports items?”

  “Is that the reason you asked me out for dinner? To grill me?”

  “I wanted to thank you for your help last night with the mannequin situation.”

  “Situation? That’s what you’re calling it? It seemed like a threat to me.”

  “You have a lot of experience with threats?”

  Ryne shrugged, which surprised me. Maybe his ailing uncle wasn’t his only reason for moving here. “Do you have any news from the police about the mannequin?”

  “No. But I haven’t followed up.” I repressed a shiver.

  “It was a disturbing sight.”

  I nodded. Chilling, frightening, warped.

  “I didn’t answer your question, but it’s no. No one’s been by trying to sell us anything autographed or owned by a famous sports icon.”

  The waiter came by and set a stand for the pizza in the middle of the table. Seconds later he came back with the pizza, which smelled fantastic. “I’ll be right back with your lasagna,” he said with a wink. Apparently, he was an equal opportunity flirt.

  He came back, carrying a plate with a piece of lasagna so beautiful, it looked like a sculpture with a little cheese oozing out, a dab of rich red sauce dripping down, and layers of noodles. Just as he lowered it toward me, another waiter ran up and whispered frantically in his ear. He looked at me, then up across the booths. I saw a man in a white chef coat, with his arms folded. I recognized him from the picture on the Belliginos’ Web site. It was the owner/chef, and he was glaring in my direction. Tony from Billerica must have warned him I’d be around. I gripped the side of the plate of lasagna, which the waiter still held suspended over the table.

  The waiter tried to pull the plate toward him. “I’m so sorry. There’s a hair in it. Not up to our standards at all. I’ll get you something else. How about a nice chicken marsala?”

  “I don’t see a hair. It’s fine. I’m not a fan of marsala.” I loved chicken marsala, but I wasn’t going home without this piece of lasagna. Angelo was counting on me. I pulled the plate toward me in a bizarre game of tug-of-war. The plate was hot, but I wasn’t about to let go. “I don’t see a hair. Do you see one, Ryne?”

  Ryne looked mystified. “Not really, but if our waiter says there’s one, maybe there is.”

  The waiter rewarded him with a smile.

  “You can share my pizza, Sarah,” Ryne said.

  “I want the lasagna. If there’s a hair, it’s probably mine.”

  “We can’t be sure,” the waiter said, glancing back and forth between the owner and me. “We can’t risk it.”

  “How long will it take to get another one?” I didn’t want to be here all night.

  “We’re out,” the waiter said.

  “This is an Italian restaurant. How can you be out of lasagna?”

  The waiter looked panicked for a moment. “The, uh, supplier didn’t bring any more lasagna noodles. We won’t have them until tomorrow.” He shrugged like he was trying to apologize as we both still gripped opposite sides of the plate.

  I felt sorry for him but gave the plate a final tug, anyway. The waiter let go, and the lasagna went flying. Most of it landed on the table with a splat. Part of it landed next to me on the seat of the booth. I covertly covered the portion on the booth with my napkin. I looked up at the waiter with what I hoped was an innocent expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I’ll clean the table up,” the waiter said. “Would you like to order something else?”

  I smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll just share the pizza.”

  Now Ryne looked surprised. He’d remained amazingly calm once again. It must be his superpower.

  The waiter quickly cleaned off the table and brought me a plate. Ryne started to serve me a piece of pizza, but I covered my plate with my hand.

  “I seem to have lost my appetite. It’s my stomach. I’m really sorry.” I used my napkin to pick up as much of the spilled lasagna as I could off the bench of the booth. I stuffed the whole thing in my purse, threw money on the table to cover dinner, and left.

  Chapter 22

  Fifteen minutes later at eight-fifteen I was knocking on the back door of DiNapoli’s. Since they were still open, I couldn’t very well hand them a napkin full of lasagna in front of a bunch of people. Angelo opened the door and motioned me in. Rosalie joined us. We huddled back by the bathrooms.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have very much,” I said, keeping my voice low. I dug the napkin out of my purse and handed it over as I told them what happened. They both stared at me with their mouths open.

  Angelo burst out laughing. He bent over and rested his hands on his thighs. When he stood back up, he had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. He gasped in some air. “I’d have liked to have seen that,” he managed to get out before another gale of laughter burst from him.

  Rosalie was shaking her head. “No more, Angelo. You can’t ask Sarah to do this.”

  “There’s only one more restaurant,” I said. “Tony and the other restaurateurs are not going to scare me off. I’ll figure out something. Maybe next time I’ll wear a disguise.”
>
  Angelo carefully peeled back the layers of the napkin. We all stared down at the pitiful-looking mash of noodles, cheese, and sauce. Rosalie made a snorting noise; then she started laughing.

  “I’ve never seen a lasagna look so awful in my entire life.” She wiped at her eyes as she continued to laugh.

  “It looked pretty when they brought it to the table. Like art,” I said.

  Angelo sniffed it. “Smells good. There’s enough here to get an idea of what it tastes like.” He frowned. “I’ve seen his Web site, with his fancy pictures of food, his lasagna included. But fancy looks don’t mean it tastes good.” When Angelo was upset like now, a long-gone Italian accent returned.

  Rosalie swiped her pinkie through the sauce and tasted it. “It’s good, Angelo.”

  Angelo frowned at her.

  Rosalie patted his arm. “Yours is better, though. We need to get back to work.” Rosalie grabbed my face and kissed both my cheeks. “You don’t have to do this anymore.”

  But, oh, I did.

  * * *

  I’d changed out of my dress into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before I went over to the Ellington Bowlarama to find Rex Sullivan at nine. I spotted him over on the candlepin bowling side of the building. The bowling alley had both the better-known tenpin games and candlepin, which was popular in New England but hardly anyplace else. I hadn’t even heard of it until CJ and I moved here. I pushed thoughts of CJ to one side as I headed over to Rex.

  I’d taken two steps when the lights went off, a siren wailed, strobe lights started flashing, and laser lights shot around. Ugh. Cosmic bowling night. Kids loved it. CJ and I had brought Carol’s kids one night so she and Brad could go out on a date without paying for a babysitter. I’d vowed never to go again, yet here I was.

  I walked a few more steps. The lights made me feel drunk, and I smacked right into someone. I apologized before moving on more cautiously. It was easy to spot Rex’s team because they all had loud Hawaiian-print shirts with the Sullivan Luxury Car Sales logo on them. Rex was standing at the top of a lane, ball in hand, when I arrived. Candlepin balls were smaller than tenpin balls and didn’t have any holes to put your fingers in. They also weighed a lot less, at just over two pounds.

  Rex unleashed the ball down the lane. It flew along. Strength and speed were even more important in candlepin than in tenpin. The ball crashed into the pins. He knocked six of the ten pins over. Four fell out of the way, and two lay in front of the remaining pins. Unlike in tenpin, nothing picked up the pins that remained standing or swept away the ones that had fallen over.

  Loud rock music blared as the strobe lights went off and disco lights came on. Rex would have three tries before it was the next person’s turn. I waited to approach him until he had finished and high-fived his teammates. He took a swig from a glass that looked like it held bourbon. As he swallowed, he spotted me and waved me over.

  “I heard you were at the dealership today.” He almost had to yell in my ear for me to hear him. I inhaled again, hoping and worrying that he’d smell like the aftershave of the person who had attacked me. But again, all I smelled was bourbon. So far, of all the school board members, he seemed to have the most reason to want Melba out of the picture. “Let’s go to the bar so we can talk.”

  I nodded.

  Rex clasped one of his teammates on the shoulder, bent down, and spoke in his ear. The teammate glanced at me before nodding. I followed Rex to the bar and was relieved when the door closed behind us and the music became a dull background thumping. The lighting was dim in here, but at least none of it was flashing. We settled at a table after Rex ordered another bourbon, a double, and I ordered a gin and tonic.

  “I heard you did a test-drive today.” Rex swirled the bourbon in his glass, then glanced up at me.

  Rex was a handsome man. His azure eyes were intense; his mouth was full and sensual. His silver-streaked black hair looked a little too perfect. I could see how a woman could fall for him. But I also noticed that age had left his face a little saggy and his eyes a bit bloodshot.

  I smiled. “I did. It’s an amazing car.” I didn’t want to get Tim, the salesman who took me, in trouble, so I felt like I had to choose my words carefully. Besides, I wasn’t here to talk about cars. “I put it on my wish list.” Unless a genie came along, that was where the car would always remain. I needed to get back on topic before he was called back to bowl. There were so many things I couldn’t ask Rex: Did you have an affair with Melba? Did she keep your son from getting into Harvard? Were you trying to oust Melba?

  I decided to play dumb. Men often expected blondes to be dumb, anyway, and lots of people didn’t think running garage sales could even be a job. “Why do you think Anil did it?” I twirled a piece of my hair as I asked.

  Rex tossed back the rest of his bourbon and twirled a finger at the bartender, indicating he wanted another. “To silence her.”

  I jerked my head up. “About what?”

  “No idea. But why else would he do it?”

  “Were they having an affair?” I really wanted to see Rex’s reaction to that statement.

  “With Melba?” He threw back his head and laughed.

  Did that mean everything Mac had told me was a lie? Because this didn’t seem like the reaction of a man who’d had an affair with Melba.

  “I heard they were close.”

  “Not that kind of close, as far as I knew. Anil was a lot of things, but he seemed devoted to his wife and family.” Rex didn’t look at me when he said it. Guilt that he hadn’t been?

  “I heard that Anil got into some kind of argument with Melba and was almost arrested. What was that about?” I asked.

  “Mac always calls it the night that Anil went nuts. Usually, Anil is cooler than a spring day. Nothing ruffles him. We were all shaken to see Anil had a violent streak.”

  “Violent? Did he hurt anyone?”

  “Naw. I held him back. Not that I really think he intended to hit Melba.”

  “What happened that night to make him act that way?”

  “It’s just board business. People want different things and have different ways of trying to get them.” He shook his head. “No one suspected it would end the way it did with Melba dead.”

  The more people refused to say what caused the altercation, the more curious I became. I didn’t know about it when I talked to Betty or Nancy. Maybe one of them would give me more information. The bartender arrived with two more drinks. I hadn’t touched my first one yet. Rex’s eyes got misty, and he raised his glass. So I grabbed mine and raised it, too.

  “Here’s to Melba. A wise woman and good friend,” he said.

  We clinked our glasses.

  “You knew her a long time?”

  “Since high school.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Not that different than she was as an adult. Studious, smart, loved kids.”

  “She didn’t ever get married or have her own children?”

  “No. She was focused, determined to go to Harvard, and she got in. Graduated with honors. Never heard her mention wanting to have a family.”

  Did something flicker in his eyes when he said “Harvard,” or was it just the aftereffects of the strobe lights from earlier?

  I couldn’t figure Rex out. His side of the story seemed so different than Mac’s. He certainly didn’t seem to want any harm to come to her. The door to the bar opened. One of Rex’s teammates stuck his head in.

  “Rex, come on. We need you.”

  Rex stood and threw some money down on the table. “Stay and enjoy your drinks.”

  I took a sip of my gin and tonic as I watched Rex walk out. Strut was more like it. He walked with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and had it. He certainly supported the town. But did he resent that when he needed the town’s support or at least Melba’s, he didn’t get it?

  The night air was still warm when I walked out of the bowling alley a few minutes later. Cars glinted in the moonlight. All
the cars except mine, because it wasn’t where I’d left it. I walked around the parking lot, stunned. I thought I’d parked it by an old oak tree, but now a little blue Smart car sat in that space. I turned a full circle. The Suburban was big and easy to spot. It simply wasn’t there. Someone had stolen my car.

  Chapter 23

  Fifteen minutes later I stood beside Pellner on the sidewalk outside of the bowling alley.

  “How long were you in the bowling alley?” he asked.

  “An hour, tops.” I drummed my fisted hand against my thigh.

  “You’re sure you didn’t leave the keys in it?”

  What difference would that make anyway? You weren’t allowed to take someone else’s car even if the keys were in it. A fact the police had made painfully clear to me last winter in a snowstorm. But rather than be snarky, I dug through my purse, pulled my keys out, and dangled them in front of Pellner. “They’re right here.”

  “Did you have a key hidden in the car someplace?”

  Last night Pellner had asked me almost the exact same question about my apartment. “No. CJ would have blown a gasket if I’d done that. I know better.” Even though CJ was no longer around, his influence certainly was. You didn’t get over twenty years of marriage in six weeks.

  “And you’re sure you drove over here?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes. Of course I drove over here. I’m not some loony tune wandering around town.”

  “You didn’t loan it to someone?”

  “No. Pellner, someone took it.” My voice had grown increasingly loud.

  “Do you have an extra set of keys at home?”

  “Yes. Of course,” I said.

  Pellner and I stared at each other. Someone had been in my apartment last night. I hadn’t noticed anything was missing, but I kept an extra set of keys in a junk drawer in the kitchen. I could have easily not noticed they were gone. A small crowd had gathered around us. Apparently, a stolen car was more exciting than cosmic bowling.