by Linda Reilly
“No. Nothing.” She took a deep breath. “It was obvious there was nothing I could do. Her face …” Tears poked at her eyelids. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the scarred wooden table and blotted her eyes.
“I understand you knew the victim.”
“I knew her, but not very well. Before yesterday I hadn’t seen her since I was in grade school.”
His smile was flat. “But there was some bad blood between you, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t call it that exactly.” How could she explain the childhood grudge Ria had nurtured for almost thirty years? “You’re right about one thing—Ria definitely didn’t like me.”
O’Donnell opened his folder and narrowed his gaze, but at what, Talia couldn’t see. For all she knew, it could have been his grocery list. Then he went back to the beginning and started over, asking her the same questions again and again.
Talia’s head felt as if someone was bashing it with a hammer. She’d give anything for a couple of ibuprofen.
O’Donnell sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me something, Ms. Marby. How do you suppose Ms. Butterforth got hold of your grandmother’s scarf?”
“I have no idea, Sergeant. I asked her, but she refused to tell me. And I’ve told you that at least four times.” She was tempted to ask if he had a hearing problem, but decided not to test fate.
“How well do you know Kelsey Dakoulas?”
“Not well at all. I only met her yesterday.” In her initial interview with Derek Westlake, Wrensdale’s chief of police, she’d blurted out that she spotted Kelsey leaving the gym right before she found Ria’s body. She hadn’t meant to incriminate Kelsey—she was only trying to state the facts as best she could.
She almost wished she could take it back, except … what had Kelsey said to her earlier when she was spouting off about Ria?
Not unless you want to kill her for me.
Talia shifted on her chair, which felt as comfy as a slab of iron.
“You look chagrined, Ms. Marby. Did you just recall something?” O’Donnell stared at her, hard.
“I—no,” she said, feeling unnerved. “I was just thinking that someone Kelsey’s size could never have overpowered Ria long enough to … you know, strangle her.”
“So you’ve already entertained the notion that Ms. Dakoulas might have murdered her employer?”
“No! That’s not what I meant.”
O’Donnell smiled, but it was more like a smirk. “Did you know, Ms. Marby, that it only takes about three pounds of pressure to strangle someone? A young woman in good health could accomplish it with ease.” He focused his gaze on hers like a heat-seeking missile.
Talia rubbed her fingers over her eyes. Was he implying that she could accomplish it with ease?
He pummeled her with more questions for another hour or so. Around the time Talia felt her head was going to split open, he stood abruptly and said, “I think we’re done here. For now.”
Talia pushed her chair back and slipped her jacket on. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town?” she said, more testily than she’d intended.
O’Donnell tapped the edge of the folder onto the palm of one large hand. “I don’t have to, do I? You just did it for me.”
*
Rachel Ostrowski, her BFF, was waiting for her in the lobby. “Oh, honey.” Rachel threw her arms around Talia and hugged her close. “I can’t believe this is happening to you again!”
Talia returned the hug, and then stood back and looked at her friend. As always, Rachel looked spectacular in her black cashmere jacket and gray suede boots. More important than her outer beauty was the kind and generous soul housed within.
“Those earrings,” Talia said, smiling at the glittery, oversized reindeer dangling from Rachel’s ears. “They’re so not you.”
“I know. But aren’t they a hoot? Derek got them at—” Her face flushed. “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter where they came from.”
“Rach, you don’t have to be afraid to say Derek’s name just because he’s the chief of police.”
Rachel’s face grew somber. “Derek’s removing himself from the case because of our … you know, relationship. Did he tell you?”
“No, he didn’t. So he won’t be working with O’Donnell then?” Talia didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. What was that old saying about the devil you know?
Rachel bit her lip and frowned.
“What is it? What aren’t you saying?” Talia asked her.
“It’s nothing. It’s just that the detective who’s going to work with the state police is a real go-getter. Type A personality. Works practically around the clock. In other words, a royal pain in the—”
“I get the picture,” Talia said.
“Never mind that now. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Rachel looped her arm through Talia’s. “Come on, I’ll drive you home. They’ve cordoned off the community center, so you won’t be able to get to your Fiat until tomorrow.”
Talia groaned. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Rachel’s Jeep Cherokee occupied a prime spot directly in front of the police station on Wrensdale’s busy main street. They jumped inside, and Rachel started the ignition and flicked on the heat.
“It’s all so surreal, isn’t it?” Rachel said quietly, shaking her head. “Oriana Butterforth. I can’t stop picturing her as that lonely little schoolgirl who stole my brother’s rabbit.”
“I know. Me, too. It was so awful, Rach. If you could’ve seen her, lying there …” Talia swallowed back the lump in her throat. “We’ve got to figure out who did this to her.”
5
Bojangles, Talia’s calico cat, issued a plaintive meow the moment Talia stepped inside her bungalow.
“Oh, Bo, sweetie. I’m sorry I didn’t get home sooner!” Talia flipped on the nearest lamp and tossed her purse onto the sagging tweed chair her grandfather had been so attached to. She lifted the cat into her arms. Bo rubbed her silky head against Talia’s face and began chewing on her hair.
“Come on, let’s get you some real food. Do you want turkey medley or fancy shrimp tonight?” She kissed the cat’s whiskers, and Bo made a brrrrup sound in her ear. “Okay, turkey it is.”
The sight of her cozy kitchen was so welcome that it almost made her weep. She’d kept everything the way her nana had left it, right down to the old white Zenith AM radio that had the worst reception on the planet. Nana had died earlier that year, and Talia still missed her horribly. She always would, she realized, but Nana was always alive in her memory.
After feeding Bo, Talia raced into the bathroom and took a quick shower. She felt like staying under the hot spray forever, but Ryan would be arriving in half an hour.
She thought about Ria again and tears streamed down her cheeks. Ria should be home right now, getting herself all gussied up to meet that handsome stranger. It was obvious the man had been smitten with Ria. He couldn’t stop drinking her in with his eyes. Talia wondered if he’d heard about her death.
Talia fluffed her short blond hair with a brush, then threw on a pair of good jeans and a perky green holiday sweater. Still blotchy from the crying jag she’d had in the shower, she dabbed on a bit of blush and a hint of eye shadow. The doorbell rang and she scurried to the front door.
“Hey,” Talia said weakly, her stomach already roiling at the aroma of chicken lo mein and egg rolls.
Ryan Collins dropped his brown bag on the floor and enveloped her in his arms. Talia pressed herself against his chest, relishing the lingering scent of his citrusy soap.
After a long moment he cupped her cheeks in his hands, one dark curl brushing the top of his rimless glasses. “You holding up okay?” He kissed her lightly on the forehead.
Talia covered his hands with her own. Tears threatened again, but she forced them back. “Of course I am. Come on into the kitchen. You’re probably starving.” She grabbed the brown bag while Ryan shed his lined nylon jacket and folded it over the arm
of the old green sofa. He scooped up Bo, who’d been wrapping herself around his legs in a pathetic plea for attention.
“Hey, Bobo, you taking good care of my gal for me?” Ryan cradled the kitty in his arms and ferried her into the kitchen.
My gal. Talia knew it sounded old-fashioned and maybe even sexist, but she loved it when Ryan called her that. Her almost-fiancé, Chet, who’d strung her along for years, had always called her babe, which she’d hated.
Ryan set Bo down and looked at Talia with concern. He pulled out a chair for her. “You sit while I set the table. You feeling okay to eat?”
Talia took another whiff of the spicy food. “I wasn’t sure a minute ago, but I’m starting to get my appetite back, at least a little.” Very little.
Ryan set out two pink-flowered plates, along with napkins, silverware, and glasses of ice water. While they ate, she gave him a play-by-play of her day, ending with her “interview” with Sergeant Liam O’Donnell.
Ryan shoveled a forkful of fried rice into his mouth and followed it with a swig of ice water. “That name, Oriana Butterforth—it sounds so familiar. I think she might have been in my class in grade school.”
“She was a few years ahead of me, so that’s possible,” Talia said, feeling her eyes well up again.
“Have you talked to your folks?” Ryan asked gently.
“I talked to Mom while Rachel drove me home. She freaked when she heard what happened, of course. She was a little calmer by the time we hung up. Dad’s off skiing in Colorado with a couple of his college buds. He got sick of waiting for it to snow in the Berkshires.” She took a tiny bite of her egg roll, which she’d barely touched.
“Tal, the police will find the killer. They’re pros. They know what they’re doing.”
Talia gave him a faint smile. “Is there a message buried in there somewhere?”
“I just … I don’t want you getting hurt. Remember what happened a few months ago?”
Remember? How could she forget her confrontation with a vicious killer?
“How is Arthur?” Talia said, changing the subject. Ryan’s father, who suffered from early-onset Alzheimer’s, lived at the Wrensdale Pines, the assisted-living facility where Talia’s mom, Natalie, was the assistant director.
“Okay.” Ryan blinked. “He was a little off today. Maybe he sensed that you were having a rough day. I distracted him by reading him some Dickens. He’s always loved The Pickwick Papers.”
“You’re such a good son.” Talia beamed at Ryan. “I’ll go with you next Sunday to visit, if that’s okay.”
If I’m not being held on a murder charge, she thought glumly.
Ryan brushed her fingers with his. “It’s more than okay. Dad will love it. Hey, before I forget, I have a treat for you.” He slid off his chair and fished a plastic container out of the brown carryout bag Talia had left on the counter. He gave it to her, and she popped the lid.
“Oh, glory be,” Talia said, staring at what looked like a puffed-up fortune cookie. “Let me guess. This is from Tina, right?”
Ryan grinned. “It’s a lemon mad-e-leine.” He pronounced it with an impeccable French accent. “Tina heard what happened and wanted to send you a treat. She said to let her know if you wanted some ideas for deep-frying it.”
Tina Franchette was an acquaintance of Talia’s from high school. She was also the head chef at the Wrensdale Pines. “Share it with me?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not a chance. It’s not that big, and you barely ate a thing tonight. That, my love, is all yours.”
Talia felt heat flood her face. Ryan had never addressed her that way before.
As if he realized he’d let his feelings slip through, Ryan reddened and made a production out of clearing the dishes from the table.
“Oh, this is scrumptious,” Talia said after she’d swallowed a bite. “Buttery, lemony, and downright heavenly.” She had to remember to call Tina and thank her for the madeleine.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” Ryan said. “If you’re interested, I can get tickets for A Christmas Carol at the Colonial Theatre in Pittsfield.”
“Really? I thought that was last weekend.”
Ryan sat down next to her and grinned. “It was, but they’re giving a command performance next Sunday at four in the afternoon.”
“What about your dad?” Talia touched his arm.
Ryan’s eyes danced. “That’s the best part. I can get three tickets. We can all go.”
Talia leaned over and hugged him. “That’s great. Arthur will love it.”
After the kitchen was tidied up, they watched television for a while. With Ria’s murder running laps around Talia’s mind, she couldn’t really concentrate on anything. It was almost ten when Ryan yawned, encased her in a long hug, and kissed her good-bye. “Long day tomorrow,” he said. “I’m working on a project for a new facility in Waltham, and we have a tight deadline to meet.” Ryan, a software engineer, worked for a company that designed programs for medical offices.
Another ten minutes elapsed before he was finally out the door. Talia stood in the doorway of her adorable bungalow, watching the taillights of his Honda recede in the distance. A wave of longing fell over her. She sensed Ryan had wanted to stay, that he was ready for the next step in their relationship.
The problem was, she wasn’t. Not yet.
She wasn’t sure she would be for a very long time.
6
Monday morning dawned with a crisp December chill in the air. Clouds crowded out the sun, and Talia wondered if the first snow of the season would finally arrive.
She was almost ready to leave when she remembered that her Fiat was still parked behind the community center. She called her mom and begged a ride to the restaurant, a task Natalie Marby was happy to perform.
“You look exhausted!” her mom exclaimed when Talia plunked herself onto the front seat of the toasty warm Buick. Talia hugged her, assured her she was fine, and the two headed toward the eatery.
Traffic was sluggish. As they drove past the town lot, Talia was shocked to see Martha’s gargantuan Chrysler parked at an angle in a spot close to the sidewalk. Was that white streak a new scratch on the side? It was hard to tell with all the dents and dings that covered the monstrous thing.
Talia had never given Martha a key to Fry Me a Sliver. She wondered if her employee was prowling the busy downtown in search of a strong cup of coffee.
“I wish I could help you today, honey,” her mom said, pulling up in front of the arcade. “I’ve got meetings scheduled nearly all day long.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Honestly. I’m dragging a little, but work will keep me occupied. The day will be over before I know it.”
Her mom, dark blond hair perfectly coiffed and sprayed into place, bit down on her glossed lip. “I suppose,” she said. “Call me if you need a ride later, okay?”
They hugged again and Talia unlocked the door to Fry Me a Sliver. She thought about what she would say to Martha—if the woman showed up, that is. Early that morning she’d discovered a garbled message from Martha on her cell phone, apparently left late the night before. A supposed “GI” attack had sent Martha scurrying home from the fund-raiser. She’d spent the remainder of Sunday in her apartment, running in and out of the bathroom.
Way more than Talia wanted to know.
Inside the eatery, Talia made a pot of French roast coffee for herself and then started on food prep for the day. She shredded cabbage and carrots for coleslaw and set it all to drain in a massive colander. Next she whipped up a batch of meatballs, using her slightly revised version of Nana’s original recipe. To Talia’s delight, the deep-fried meatballs had been a surprising hit. The drawback was that they were time-consuming, especially since she served them with a homemade marinara sauce.
The fish delivery truck arrived, and she signed for two boxes of kitchen-ready haddock. She was slicing a large dill pickle when a knock on the door startled her.
Talia wiped her hands on her blue apron, and
when she opened the door, there stood Martha.
“Okay if I start work early?” Martha said in a sheepish voice. Her face was pale. The ever-present scarf was wrapped around her neck, and her peacoat—this one a ghastly shade of orangey-gold that reeked of mothballs—was buttoned right to the top.
“Well … sure,” Talia said. “Of course you can, Martha. Why don’t we sit and talk for a minute and have some coffee. Did you know you left without your coat yesterday?”
“Yeah, I know. Lucky thing I had a backup.”
Martha slung her backup coat and the scarf over the hook on the back of the kitchen door. “I’m sorry I left you hanging in the breeze yesterday. In between customers, I kept sneaking some of that marble cake and raspberry sauce. Didn’t even bother to fry it. I didn’t realize how much I’d eaten till it landed in my stomach all at once and started rumbling around.”
In that instant, Talia felt terrible. She’d asked Martha to volunteer her day off for a local event she probably had no interest in. How selfish was that?
They sat at the tiny table in the alcove behind the commercial fridge. Talia poured Martha a cup of coffee and refilled her own mug. “Martha, I’m the one who should apologize, asking you to work on your day off. I’m going to pay you for the time you put in yesterday.”
Martha took a loud slurp of her coffee and set her mug back down. “Nah, you don’t have to. It’s not like I ever have anything special to do.”
Talia’s heart twisted. Was Martha truly that alone?
“Does any of your family live close by?” Talia asked her.
Martha shook her head and gulped back the rest of her coffee. “I’ll get started sprucing up the dining room. You ever notice how much space those clunky wooden chairs take up? I bet the dining area would look a lot roomier with different chairs.”
Talia sighed. It wasn’t the first time Martha had hinted that the eatery was too cluttered, and the kitchen too small. And she had to admit, the captain’s chairs were a bit oversized. Still, that was no reason to ditch perfectly good chairs.
“By the way,” Martha said when Talia didn’t respond. “I went over to Queenie’s Variety for a coffee and a jelly doughnut this morning. Seemed like everyone in there was yammering about the murder.” She grabbed the lime spray cleaner from beneath the counter.
