by Rula Sinara
She shut down her laptop, stood and pulled on her jacket. “I have to run an errand this morning,” she told Hilde. “Is there anything you need me to look at before I go?”
“I’m good. I’m working on the classifieds that came in after last edition’s cutoff.”
“Thanks. If anyone needs me, could you have them call my cell phone?”
“Will do.”
Emily slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and left the office, nearly colliding with Mable Potter and her dog. Déjà vu.
“Good morning, Mrs. Potter. We have to stop meeting this way.”
The elderly woman laughed. “I had to go to the bank and pay my phone bill,” she said. “I brought Banjo along because he can always use the exercise. He’s a rambunctious little rascal.”
Emily stroked the mutt’s scruffy fur and smiled when he gazed up at her with a playful look in his eyes. His tongue dangled out of the corner of his mouth.
“It’s nice to see you both,” she said. “Did you have a good visit with your daughter on Sunday?”
“We had a lovely time. She helped me plant my window boxes and then we had lunch with red velvet cake for dessert.”
“That sounds very nice.”
“I took some of the leftover cake out of the freezer this morning. Would you like to join me for a slice and a cup of tea?” Mable asked. “Last time I bumped into you, you said you would.”
At the mention of cake, Emily realized she was hungry again. “You know what? I’d love to.” If she wasn’t careful, she was going to turn into a whale, but she would worry about that later.
The dog’s antics amused Emily as they walked the several blocks to Mable’s house, particularly his fondness for sniffing out abandoned objects. He discovered a crushed pop can beneath the hedge in front of the Fenwicks’ house, which he carried for half a block, and then dropped it when he encountered a child’s blue bouncy ball on the boulevard.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Banjo,” Mable admonished, tugging on his leash. “Your ball is at home. This one belongs to the Hubert children.”
Emily picked it up and tossed it over the gate and into their front yard. She picked up the pop can, too, and tucked it into one of the outer pockets of her bag. “I’ll carry this to your place, and we can put it in your recycling bin.”
“That’s a good idea, dear.”
At the Potter home, Emily opened the gate for the elderly woman and her dog and followed them up the front steps. Once again, the front door was unlocked. In the kitchen, the dog lapped water from the bowl next to his bed, then curled up, chin on his back feet, and closed his eyes.
Mrs. Potter put the kettle on for tea, told Emily where to find the cups and saucers and dessert plates, and rattled on about the weather, her daughter, the neighbors and the news that Chief Fenwick was retiring from the Riverton PD.
Emily watched with amusement and mild concern as Mrs. Potter took a quart of milk out of the refrigerator, filled an old-fashioned, floral-patterned creamer, and then put the milk—and the sugar bowl—away in the fridge. The woman had seemed distracted last Saturday morning when Emily had helped her carry her groceries home, but Emily had attributed that to her being excited about the long-overdue visit from her daughter.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Mrs. Potter, and let me finish setting the table for tea?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind, dear? You are my guest, after all.”
“I don’t mind one bit.” She held a chair for the woman, and then discreetly retrieved the sugar bowl and placed it next to the creamer on the white lace-covered table.
“Well, I don’t mind sitting for a spell. My hip has been acting up again. I keep saying I need one of those hip replacements, but Doc Woodward says it’s just arthritis.”
Emily wondered if Dr. Woodward had noticed that Mrs. Potter was also getting a bit absentminded. Surely her daughter would have noticed, since she’d spent the whole day with her mother on Sunday.
None of your business, Emily reminded herself. She had plenty of her own family issues to deal with and worry about without taking on someone else’s. So she poured the tea and served the red velvet cake. Her hostess had insisted on a thin slice, but Emily served herself a generous portion and savored every mouthful.
Half an hour and another cup of tea later, she excused herself. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Potter. This has been lovely, but I have to get back to the office. I’ll give you a hand with the dishes, though.”
“You will do no such thing. I’ll take care of these myself.”
“Are you sure? What about your hip?”
“I’ll manage just fine. Will you come again?”
“Of course I will.” Emily looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and noticed the crumpled pop can in the side pocket. “Where’s your recycling bin?”
“I keep it out on the back porch, dear.”
“I’ll let myself out the back door, then.”
Banjo sprang to his feet the instant the door creaked open.
“You can let him out, too,” Mable said. “He goes out there to do his business.”
The delicate reference made Emily smile. “I’ll be sure to close the gate, then, so he doesn’t get out.”
The dog raced in a wide arc around the backyard while Emily eyed the garden shed again. To satisfy what was probably an unnatural curiosity, she checked the door and found it locked as before. She still found it curious that Mable would lock the shed but leave her home unsecured when she went out, unless she had misplaced her keys. Perhaps they were in the fridge. Ha!
With that thought, Emily let herself through the front gate, carefully latching it, so Banjo couldn’t get out. Having tea with Mrs. Potter had been a pleasant diversion, she thought, as she ambled back to Main Street. It was almost lunchtime, and she was hungry, again, so she decided to stop by the barbershop to see if Fred could get away a little early. She usually settled for a light lunch—a salad or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich—but today she was going all out. She could almost taste the Riverton Bar & Grill’s cheddar-bacon burger with a chocolate malt and a side of fries. Fred would patiently listen to her self-doubts, and then he would dismiss them and remind her that no matter how things played out, she had a whole village to help her raise her child. She needed to hear that right now. That, and eat a cheeseburger.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK ARRIVED AT his favorite pizza joint in Little Italy to find his longtime friend Paul Woodward already seated, stirring cream into a cup of coffee. He stood as Jack approached the table, grinning. They greeted one another with a handshake that quickly morphed into a one-armed hug and shoulder slap.
“Good to see you,” Paul said.
“Likewise. It’s been too long.”
“Since Eric’s funeral. Has it been two months already?”
“Yeah, it has been.” Because that was exactly how pregnant Emily was.
The server stopped at their table. “Something to drink for you?”
“Coffee, please.”
“Sure thing. You fellows ready to order?” he asked.
Jack and his friend exchanged glances. Paul raised an eyebrow. “What do you say? The usual?”
Jack laughed. “Works for me. An extra-large pepperoni, ham and salami.”
“With extra cheese,” Paul added.
“You got it,” the waiter said. “I’ll be right back with the coffee.”
“Thanks. So, what have you been up to?” Jack asked after the server walked away.
“The clinic’s been busy. One of our doctors retired, and we haven’t found a replacement yet, so we’re all working extra hours until we do.”
It was true Paul had gone to medical school because his father had practically demanded it. However, the guy had turned out to b
e a top-notch family doctor. Instead of joining his father’s practice in Riverton, Paul had opted for a busy practice in Chicago. He wasn’t the type of person to toot his own horn, but he’d been instrumental in setting up a community program for single mothers who lived below the poverty line and struggled to raise healthy kids.
“How’s your dad these days?” Jack asked.
“I talk to him every Sunday morning. My father is as dedicated to his patients as always, and as high-handed with me as he’s ever been.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Paul shrugged. “I’m starting to worry about him. I called him on Sunday morning, and he told me the same story twice, practically word for word, with only a minute or two in between. Something about the chief of police resigning because his wife is having health problems.”
“Could be a normal part of aging, couldn’t it?” Jack asked, avoiding the subject of Gord Fenwick’s retirement. He wasn’t surprised that word was out, but he didn’t want to let on he had all but been offered the job. No point, since he wasn’t going to take it. Or was he? And why did he keep asking himself that when he had no intention of accepting the offer?
“Forgetfulness is normal,” Paul agreed. “Up to a point. I’m getting concerned, though, so I guess it means I’ll need to schedule another trip to Riverton so I can see firsthand how he’s doing. In your text message you mentioned you were just there yourself.”
“I was.” Jack waited, knowing what his friend’s next question would be.
Paul hesitated before he asked it. “Did you get out to the farm to see Annie?”
“I did. She asked about you.”
“Hmm. Did she?”
Jack knew it had practically gutted Paul to watch Annie fall in love with Eric, marry him, have his child. Jack had always thought she and Paul were better suited. Annie had constantly taken a backseat to Eric’s love of the limelight. Paul would have placed her on a pedestal. But as Jack’s sister, Faith, was fond of saying, “The heart wants what the heart wants.” Jack was lousy at figuring out what his heart wanted. Did he really want Emily Finnegan or did he simply want to do the right thing? She had accused him of the latter, but couldn’t it be both?
“Annie always asks about you,” he told Paul. “You should call her. Better yet, go out to see her when you’re in town.”
Paul stared into his coffee mug. “I will. I figured I’d give her some time. So,” he said, glancing up and looking more composed. “What took you back so soon?”
“A case I’m working on.”
Paul nodded. “Is that still the South Side Slayer I’ve been reading about in the papers?”
“That’s the one.”
“Thought you already had that guy behind bars.”
“We do, but we’d been trying to track down a witness.”
“And there’s a Riverton connection?”
Jack shrugged, keeping it vague. “Could be. The person we’ve been trying to track down is the daughter of one of the murder victims—the homeless woman—and that’s where she turned up.”
“Strange.”
“And it gets stranger.”
“How so?”
“The girl is staying at Annie’s B & B.”
“Huh. You’re right, that is strange.”
“And that’s not the strangest part. This girl’s mother’s name was Scarlett Daniels. When I had dinner with Emily the other night, she mentioned her mother—the one who ran out on them all those years ago—is also named Scarlett.”
Paul let out a long, low whistle. “And you think this dead woman, Scarlett Daniels, might be the Finnegan sisters’ mother?”
The waitress returned with Jack’s coffee. “Thanks. I haven’t connected all the dots yet, but, yeah, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance.”
“Did you tell Annie about it?”
“No. I figured I’d hold off until I see what I can dig up on these two Scarletts, then take it from there.”
“Interesting. What about Emily?”
“Didn’t mention it to her, either.”
“But you took her out to dinner.”
“I did.” It was Jack’s turn to stare into his mug as though it might be a crystal ball. He sure could use one.
“I didn’t know you knew her that well. Interesting.”
Jack shot him a look. “You have no idea.”
Paul leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “The doctor is in.”
Jack gulped some coffee. So far he hadn’t breathed a word about any of this to anyone, but he needed some perspective. Who better to help him get there than a lifelong friend? “I stuck around the church for a bit after Eric’s funeral, but it was all too much, you know?”
Paul nodded. “It was a shock, for sure.”
“He was our age. His kid is still just a little kid. It didn’t make any sense, still doesn’t. Anyway, I’d had enough and decided I needed to get out of there. I ran into Emily leaving the church—she was feeling pretty blindsided, too—so we both left.”
“Together?”
“Yeah, we decided to go for coffee, and then that turned into dinner, and then I took her home. She has an apartment in town.”
“I know where she lives. When you say you took her home...”
Jack stabbed the fingers of one hand through his hair. “I spent the night.”
“Ah, got it.” Paul smiled. “And now the two of you had ‘dinner’ again this week,” he said, using air quotes to turn the word dinner into a double entendre. “I had no idea the two of you had a thing going on.”
“For the record, it really was just dinner this week. And until last time happened, there was nothing going on.”
Paul raised his eyebrows.
“It was one of those things,” Jack said. “With the funeral and everything, we were both in a bad way that night, and it sort of just...”
“Happened?”
“I’ve always liked her. She’s supersmart and she’s—”
“Hot.”
Jack smiled at that. “Smokin’. Those sisters are really something, as you know yourself,” he said. “And to be honest, I’ve had a thing for her since Eric and Annie’s wedding, but I never acted on it. We’re totally different people. I live here, and she lives there.”
“And now that your relationship has changed?” Paul asked.
“I was planning to keep in touch, see her when I could, but now there’s a little more to it.”
Paul narrowed his eyes. “And that would be...?”
Jack lowered his head, rubbed the fingers of one hand hand back and forth across his forehead, glanced up again. “She’s pregnant.”
“Dude.” Paul reverted to the lingo they had used as fifteen-year-old dorks who thought they were too cool for school. “I... Wow...I don’t know what to say.”
“I experienced a loss of words myself.” He might feel like less of an idiot right now if Paul wasn’t sporting an ear-to-ear grin. “And when I found them again, I apparently said the wrong thing.”
The waiter’s untimely appearance interrupted them, and they put their conversation on pause while the guy dealt out plates and set a huge pizza in the center of the table. “Anything else for you gentlemen?” he asked.
“Looks good,” Jack said. They each took a thick wedge of the pie, snapping off the long, stretchy bands of cheese, savoring the first bites.
“So, let me guess,” Paul said after swallowing several large mouthfuls. “When she told you, you asked, ‘Are you sure?’ Or did you go with the old tried and true ‘How did this happen?’”
“Sounds as though you have some experience with this sort of thing.”
“Not personally, but doctors hear freaked-out guys ask their girlfriends and wives those questions all the time.”
Jack sighed. “For the record, I didn’t ask either of those things. All I said was we would get married right away.”
“Whoa. So it’s that serious.”
“No, it’s not. At least, it wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. But a baby’s a game-changer.”
“Without a doubt,” Paul said. “But a wedding? That’s kind of a game-changer, too.”
Tell me about it, Jack thought. “Lately, especially since Eric’s funeral, I’ve been feeling like something’s missing, that I’m ready for a change.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking along those lines myself.”
“Annie.”
Paul gave a single nod, his mouth forming a grim line. “Always Annie.”
In spite of having his own life suddenly turned upside down, Jack acknowledged his friend’s turmoil. “Give her some time, man. You never know.”
“Did you set a date for the wedding?”
“No. She turned me down.”
Paul leaned back in his seat. “Okay, now that, my friend, is the game-changer.”
“No kidding.”
“But are you sure getting married right away is the best option?”
As far as Jack was concerned, it was the only option. “Can you imagine the buzz around town when people hear about this?”
“Apparently, Emily’s not too concerned. Otherwise, she’d have said yes.”
“She’s as freaked out as I am, so she’s not being rational.”
Paul chuckled. “I sure hope you didn’t tell her that.”
“Even I’m not that dense. I simply told her we’d get married, she could move here and I’d take care of everything.”
