Jimmy grimaced. “My folks weren’t exactly Ozzie and Harriet, either. I guess nobody’s were.”
To end the uncomfortable silence that had crashed down upon us, I glanced at my watch. “Everything should be ready in a couple of minutes. I hope you’re starving.”
We sat down at the small table in the corner of living room that was nearest the kitchen, a family heirloom that doubled as a desk and, on more formal occasions, a dining room table. So far, so good, I decided as I brought out what appeared to be a perfectly respectable dinner. Between the candles I’d lit and Jimmy’s bouquet, which I’d stuck in a vase and placed at the center of the table, I gave the impression I actually knew what I was doing.
As soon as Jimmy pronounced my dinner delicious, I said casually, “I’ve been reading about the Frack case in Newsday every day this week. It doesn’t sound as if you guys are making much progress.”
“They’re following all the usual steps. Don’t worry; Harned knows what he’s doing. Would you mind passing the rice?”
“What about forensic evidence? Have the police turned up any fingerprints? Hairs? Fibers? Anything at all that would provide a clue to who Tommee Frack’s killer was?”
“This is really terrific. I never would have guessed you’d be such a good cook.”
“I’m not.” In response to his look of surprise, I said, “This recipe just happens to work because it requires all of five ingredients—including the chicken. Do they have any suspects? I mean, Tommee was such a high-profile guy. There must be somebody they think had good reason to want him dead. And what about the canary? I haven’t read a word about it.”
Jimmy looked up from his plate. “How come you’re so interested?”
“I suppose because I’m the one who found the body. It’s made me wonder why he was murdered. I’ve been talking to some of the people who knew him, and—”
“You mean you’re actually investigating this case? Like you were a cop or something?”
“Not exactly. It’s not as if I have any delusions about possessing that kind of expertise, not to mention street smarts.” But I did know something about the male ego, at least enough to recognize that I’d come dangerously close to threatening the one in my presence. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. You should know all about that, being an animal doctor.”
I was about to launch into my usual spiel about how I could take care of myself. But Jimmy wasn’t finished.
“My advice, as both a professional and a friend, is to steer clear of this whole mess. Murder is really bad news, Jess. Believe me, it’s not something you want to get involved in.”
I didn’t want to ruin an evening that, so far, seemed to be going surprisingly well. So I merely said, “Okay. In that case, maybe I should settle for you keeping me posted on the investigation. One thing I’ve been wondering about is—”
“Hey, Jessie? I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I really meant what I said before. About this being my night off.”
“But this is a murder! Don’t you find it fascinating?”
He shrugged. “I don’t feel the way you do about my work. I didn’t go around playing cop when I was a little kid. To me, it’s just a job.”
So much for furthering my professional insights into the Frack case.
Yet while Jimmy might not have fit into my master plan, I had to admit that I did enjoy the rest of the evening. True, it felt a little odd to be in the company of an attractive, attentive man who wasn’t Nick. But every time I was struck by the strangeness of what I was doing, I reminded myself that an evening like this, enjoying a surprisingly decent meal and laughing and actually having fun, was long overdue.
So I was disappointed when I noticed Jimmy sneaking peeks at his watch.
“I’m sorry, Jess, but I’m going to have to make this an early night. Gotta work tomorrow.”
“I understand completely,” I said, impressed by his self-discipline.
Then we were standing by the front door. My least favorite part of a first date. That tense couple of minutes that aren’t only the most awkward time of the entire evening; they also determine whether the date as a whole will be pronounced a success or a failure.
I still hadn’t decided which outcome I’d prefer when Jimmy took a small step toward me, then gently took my face in his hands.
“This was nice,” he said in a husky voice I hadn’t heard before. “I’m glad you invited me.”
“It was nice,” I agreed. My voice sounded weird, too.
“And Jess? You know what you were saying before, about not finding it easy to trust?”
I nodded.
“I want you to know you can trust me. I’m one of those easy guys. You know, what you see is what you get.”
The catch in his voice and the look in his eyes told me he was about to kiss me. I knew I’d been expecting it. I knew I’d even been wanting it. But somehow, now that the moment was here, I knew I couldn’t handle it.
So I looked away.
“I’d better let you get out of here,” I said with a sunny cheerfulness that sounded ridiculous. “I owe it to the law-abiding citizens of Norfolk County.”
“Yeah.” I could still feel the warmth of his hands on my cheeks. And then he leaned forward and planted a light kiss on my forehead.
The gesture was as sweet as it was unexpected. It also left me with the impression that no matter what Jimmy Nolan claimed, there was a lot more to him than met the eye.
Chapter 6
“Lettin’ the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier ’n’ puttin’ it back in.”
—Unknown
I could still feel the soft touch of Jimmy’s lips on my forehead twenty minutes later as I sprawled across the couch, finishing my wine and trying to decide how I felt about the evening. When I heard a tentative knock at the door, I assumed it was him. I hoped he’d only come back because of a forgotten jacket or some other practical reason, something that wouldn’t make any emotional demands on me I clearly wasn’t ready to handle.
I was totally unprepared to open the door and find Nick on my doorstep.
“Oh! It’s you! I was expecting . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone. This late, I mean. It is late, isn’t it?”
“Ten-thirty.” Nick checked his watch. “Is that too late for me to drop in?”
“It depends on what you’re dropping in for.” My defenses were already snapping into place. “If you’re here to lecture me again, then yes, it’s too late. If you came over to have a civil conversation, then no, it’s not.”
“No more lectures. I promise.”
“In that case . . .”
Before I had a chance to extend a polite invitation to come in, the two monsters descended upon him. In a flash, eight paws were on him, and there were so many wet dog kisses that I was tempted to offer him a raincoat.
“Down, Max!” I commanded. “Lou, get away from him!”
Of course, my attempts at calming them down were pointless. The dogs were so thrilled over seeing Nick again that nothing could distract them. From their level of excitement, you’d have thought Elvis had returned.
“Hey, guys!” Nick crouched down, clearly just as happy to be reunited with them. “How ya’ doin’, Max? Come here, Lou. How’s my boy?”
They lapped up the attention shamelessly, leaping and barking and flailing about like whirling dervishes. I felt like a fifth wheel. I glanced over at Cat, who hadn’t budged from the couch. The two of us exchanged a cynical look.
“Okay, guys,” I interposed finally. “Calm down. Lou, get down.”
“Well, at least somebody around here is happy to see me,” Nick said pointedly, standing up and brushing wiry white Westie hairs off his trousers.
I wasn’t about to touch that one. “Now that you’re completely covered in dog spit, would you like to come in and sit down?”
“Yeah, I could use a minute to recover.”
“How abo
ut a cup of tea? Would that help? Or a glass of wine?”
“Wine would definitely be more helpful than tea.”
I went into the kitchen to pour us each a glass.
“Hey, Prometheus!” I heard him saying. “How’s the pretty birdie?”
“Awk!” the parrot replied. “Damn you, Nick Burby! A-awk! Damn you, damn you!”
I could tell my cheeks were the same color as the merlot I carried as I slunk back into the living room.
“I see my memory lives on,” Nick said, laughing.
“I can explain how Prometheus learned that particular phrase . . .”
“No need,” he insisted, shaking his head and chuckling. “I’m sure he’s had more than one opportunity.”
Nick was settled into the stuffed chair and Catherine the Great was settled into his lap. Predictably, she had waited until the dogs had made total fools of themselves before making her own overtures. Now she was purring as contentedly as if our visitor were one hundred sixty-five pounds of catnip. Even though Cat was contemptuous of most two-legged beings, she had decided early on that Nick was in a category all his own.
Max and Lou trotted over, no doubt expecting to plop down on the floor next to Nick. As soon as they got within three feet of his chair, Cat let out such a yowl that both backed off. But even though they be-grudgingly found a spot a safe distance away, they kept their adoring eyes glued to him.
Let’s face it, I thought. Everybody loves Nick.
I sat down on the couch. My living room was so small that our knees practically touched. I pulled the wooden coffee table closer to us, allegedly to give him a place to put his wineglass, but really to construct a barrier between us.
He took a sip of wine, then set his glass down. Fixing his eyes firmly on mine, he announced unexpectedly, “I’m here to call a truce.”
“A truce?” I took a sip of my own wine. More like a gulp, actually. “I didn’t know we were fighting.”
“We were . . . disagreeing.”
“Oh. You mean about whether or not I’m capable of asking a few questions to try to find out who murdered Tommee Frack.”
“About whether or not it’s safe to . . . Look, let’s end this, okay?”
I shrugged. “I never wanted to start in the first place.”
“Good.” He picked up his glass and settled back in his chair. As he did, his eyes traveled around my tiny home. “The place looks good. Hasn’t changed much.”
Was it my imagination, I wondered, or did his posture alter slightly as his gaze lit on my dining room table, still set with two plates, two wineglasses, and two candles, now almost burned down to stubs?
I resisted the urge to smile smugly. Instead, I remained mysteriously silent, refusing to answer the unasked question that suddenly hung in the room.
“I guess I should blow those out,” I murmured. “Fire hazard and all.”
Nick merely nodded. I noticed that he immediately helped himself to a few king-size gulps of wine.
That’s one for me, I thought triumphantly as I went over to the table and blew out the candles. But instead of sitting down again, my nervous energy prompted me to start picking up dirty dishes.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Nick deposited Cat on the floor, leaped out of his seat, and began scooping up silverware.
“You really don’t have to—”
“It’s no trouble. Anyway, I came over here tonight because I wanted to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?” I turned my back to him and headed into the kitchen.
He followed a few paces behind. “I think you’ll like this.”
There was hardly enough room in the kitchen for one person, much less two. I eased out, taking care not to brush against him.
“So what’s this offer?” I asked once we’d sat back down in the living room.
“I’ve decided to help you.”
“Help me with . . . ?”
“The investigation. I’ve even brought you some information.”
He’d just said the magic word. I decided to try keeping my mouth shut. At least long enough to find out exactly what he knew.
“Go on.”
“I talked to a friend of mine inside the police force.”
I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
“The medical examiner has determined the cause of death. Tommee Frack was struck in the head and died from blunt-force trauma. His assailant hit him three times, using some sort of spherical object about three centimeters in diameter. The police haven’t been able to ID the murder weapon.”
I nodded, struggling to comprehend the violence of such hatred.
“There’s more,” he continued. “I also managed to find out what the cops learned from canvassing the neighborhood. No one reported seeing anything unusual the day before you found Frack’s body. Just the regular flow of traffic that you’d expect in an area like Brewster’s Neck. A few neighbors driving in and out, a UPS truck, a FedEx truck, a cop car cruising the neighborhood, the garbage pick-up, a taxi—”
“A taxi? That sounds interesting. It would be the perfect way for someone who didn’t belong in the neighborhood to come and go.”
Nick made a face. “And how much do you think you’d have to tip the driver to keep him from mentioning the fact that the luggage you’d put in his trunk consisted of a corpse?”
“It was just a thought.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I had the same thought. I even called the taxi company. Turns out it was just a housekeeper who commutes to her job in a cab.”
“So what does this mean? That we should start looking for a murderer with a Brewster’s Neck address? Someone local?”
“Not necessarily. The murderer probably drove in with the body in the middle of the night, at a time that no one spotted him.”
“Or her,” I said distractedly.
He frowned. “Frack’s ex again?”
“I’m telling you, Nick. She’s still in love with him. Bizarrely so, in fact. The news that he was marrying somebody else could really have been the last straw for her.”
“Well, maybe you’re right about not ruling anybody out. At least, not this early in the game.”
I jumped up from the couch. “I have to write down this new information. About the cops canvassing the neighborhood, I mean.”
“Write it down?”
I retrieved my notebook from my purse. “It’s a system I developed for staying organized. I’m writing down every piece of information I have, along with the source. That way, I can go over my notes and look for patterns, clues I might have overlooked, that kind of thing.”
I bent my head over the spiral pad, muttering as I recorded the list of vehicles Nick had named.
“UPS, FedEx . . .”
“Don’t forget the taxi.”
“Got it. You know, this is kind of fun. Having somebody to kick around ideas with, I mean.”
I glanced over at Nick, expecting him to agree.
Instead, he grimaced. “I guess I finally had to admit I didn’t have any choice.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that I realized that whatever I said, no matter how much I warned you about the dangers of what you were proposing, you were going to go ahead and do exactly as you pleased.”
“I get it,” I said archly. “You decided to protect me from myself.”
I stood up, grabbed a few more dishes, and pointedly headed back into the kitchen. Annoyingly enough, Nick insisted upon following me.
“I wish you would stop twisting everything I say and making it into something bad.”
I busied myself with stacking dishes. “It doesn’t take much twisting, if you ask me.”
Without any warning, Nick placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around so I faced him. Given the size of the room, we now stood eye to eye, so close that our bodies were touching.
“Please, Jess, just hear me out.”
His voice had become soft. His eyes had, too. I for
ced myself to look away, knowing full well the effect that tone of voice and that look could have on me.
“You have some wonderful qualities, Jess. You’re remarkably intelligent, you’re determined, you’re focused . . . you’re someone who knows exactly what you want.”
He tightened his grip on my shoulders, just the slightest bit. Part of me wanted to shrug him off. But part of me wished he would never, ever let go.
“But those qualities,” he went on, “as wonderful as they are, also have the potential to get you into trouble. I want you safe, Jess. If you’re going to do this, I figure I might as well do everything I can to make sure you come out of it in one piece.”
The intensity of his tone, and of the moment, set off alarms inside my head. When it came to basic survival techniques, I was no fool.
In a syrupy Southern accent, I quipped, “Why, Nicholas Burby, ah didn’t know you cared.”
“Of course I care, Jess. You must know that,” He was still speaking in that soft voice. He rubbed his hands up and down my shoulders in a gentle caressing motion. I could feel myself melting like the candles I’d just put out of their misery. “Look—I know that certain things between us have changed. It breaks my heart, but I’m doing my best to accept it. I wish there was some way I could convince you that you and I aren’t your parents. That every couple in the world isn’t just replaying their script—and that being with someone doesn’t have to mean losing yourself in them.” Nick sighed deeply. “I know how you must feel when you’re dealing with a dog or a cat who’s spent so much of his life being afraid that he’s determined never to let anything hurt him, ever again. I guess it’s pretty much a losing battle. At least, that’s what I’m trying to make myself understand.
“But there are some things that haven’t changed, and probably never will—like the fact that no matter what’s happened, you’re still special to me, Jess.” His voice thickened with emotion. “That’s just the way it is. And if anything ever happened to you . . .”
I almost exhaled with relief as he was interrupted by Max and Lou barking. But then I immediately tensed. I knew those barks. Someone was on the property.
“It’s just the dogs,” Nick pointed out.
Dead Canaries Don't Sing Page 10
