Out of the Dying Pan

by Linda Reilly

  Will’s lips twisted slightly. “Actually, and I don’t mean to sound unkind or self-centered, but I purchased every floral arrangement in this room. Ria’s mother seems to possess somewhat limited resources. I thought it only fair that I pick up the tab.”

  Talia suspected he’d picked up the tab for everything, including the elaborately carved mahogany coffin in which Ria now lay. She swallowed back the sob that threatened to burst from her. “I’d better get a seat,” she said.

  Will nodded gravely. “Pastor Rice should be along anytime,” he said. “Perhaps we can chat later.”

  Talia nodded and hurried along the aisle between the wall and the rows of chairs. She was just sliding into a row about halfway back when she spotted Detective Prescott, seated in the last row. Looking appropriately solemn in a navy pantsuit, she appeared almost bored. Talia smiled and nodded at her, giving her a tiny wave as she lowered herself onto a padded chair. Prescott shot her a glance but pointedly ignored her.

  Thanks for the snub, Talia thought to herself. The woman certainly did run hot and cold. Talia wouldn’t be calling her “Patti” any time soon, she decided. What had she been thinking when she agreed to that?

  The remaining seats began to fill. The white-haired gent who’d greeted her in the lobby came in. He leaned over Anita and spoke quietly. She nodded, and then she and Ralphie moved to the front row of chairs, murmuring to each other in hushed voices.

  “Hey.” A man brushed the chair next to Talia’s and sat down.

  Talia smiled up at Scott Pollard. “Hey yourself,” Talia murmured. “It’s good to see you, Scott.” A clean, woodsy scent wafted from him, which Talia thought suited him well. Jacketless, he wore neatly pressed navy Dockers and a pin-striped shirt. His short blond hair had been styled with gel, and his face sported about a day’s beard growth.

  Scott fanned himself with his hand. “Is it warm in here, or is it me?” He glanced at his watch and then smiled at Talia. “I’m glad I didn’t wear my jacket.”

  “It is pretty warm,” Talia said softly, sneaking a look at his wristwatch. The face of the watch portrayed a snarling pirate, complete with the requisite evil grin. Talia stifled a smile. The man must really be into the whole pirate gig.

  Pastor Rice came into the room. A spritz of gray hair sprouting from a balding pate, he clutched a prayer book in one hand and his reading glasses in the other. He spoke briefly to Anita Butterforth, after which he approached Will Claiborne. Will uttered a few words, and the pastor clasped Will’s hands in both of his. Will took a seat next to Anita, and the pastor stood before the mourners.

  “Dear friends and family of Oriana Fay Butterforth,” he began in a well-modulated voice.

  Oriana Fay. It was the first time Talia had heard Ria’s full name. Inanely, she thought back to that awful day, almost thirty years ago, when she’d taken the stolen rabbit from Ria’s small arms. The anguish in the girl’s eyes still haunted her. If Talia could go back in time, she’d break into her saved allowance and buy Ria a rabbit of her own.

  Talia pressed a finger to her eyes and choked back tears. When she looked up, she spied a last-minute mourner hustling into the room. Looking flushed and worried, Kelsey Dakoulas scooted onto the nearest chair. Talia waved, but Kelsey obviously hadn’t noticed her.

  The pastor spoke kindly of Ria. He praised her devotion to her mother, her love for animals, and her work in the community. Talia suspected that the man had never actually met Ria, but was doing his best to send her off to her Maker with glowing references.

  When the pastor was through, he asked if anyone wished to say a few words. Hushed whispers sifted through the room, along with the shuffling noises of the mourners preparing to leave. Talia wondered why Will Claiborne didn’t step up, but when she craned her head toward the front, she saw the reason. The poor man’s face was buried in his hands, and he was weeping silently.

  A solid arm pressed against hers. “Have you seen Andy Nash around lately?” Scott whispered in her ear.

  Why was he asking? Talia wondered. Had Andy really gone missing? She shook her head and pointed at the exit, signaling that that they could chat later.

  The pastor finally nodded to all, and then left the room. The mourners began filing out, except for one impeccably dressed woman who was determined to march in, oblivious of those around her who were trying to leave. Her brunette hair bound in an old-fashioned French twist, she wore a stylish black overcoat dress with a ruby red scarf tucked around her slender neck. Talia put her at fifty, maybe a tad older. Faded beauty were the words that came to mind.

  Anxious to get a better look at the woman, Talia shuffled forward as quickly as she could without stepping on people’s heels. She’d just reached the front row of chairs when she saw the woman stride over to Ria’s coffin, her light hazel eyes burning with hatred. With one red-gloved hand, the woman snatched a bundle of white roses from the voluminous vase and threw them at the lid of the casket.

  Will Claiborne leaped off his chair, his face the color of ripe tomatoes. He grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her away. “What are you doing here, Liliana?” Talia heard him hiss. “I told you to stay away.”

  “No one tells me what to do,” she retorted. “I supposed you paid for all this,” she said to Will, swinging her arm in a circle.

  Will’s face paled to a sickly gray. Releasing the woman’s arm, he staggered slightly.

  “Excuse me.” Talia scooted around the slow-moving senior in front of her. She hurried over to Will and gripped his arm, then eased him back into his chair. “Are you okay, Will?”

  He nodded dully, and the woman gave out a vicious laugh. “Well, isn’t this predictable. You’ve already got a new strumpet lined up to take the place of the other one.”

  Talia gasped. Who was this woman? She started to respond when she felt two powerful arms move her deftly aside. With the grace of a big cat, Detective Patti Prescott circled around Talia and looped her hand over the woman’s upper arm. “Ma’am,” she said quietly, “these people are grieving for a loved one. I’m going to have to ask you to show some respect.”

  “Who are you? Get your hands off me!” the woman shrieked, smacking her free hand at the detective’s viselike grip.

  The eyes of all who remained in the room swiveled toward the commotion.

  Prescott discreetly showed the woman her badge. “Do that once more,” she said softly, “and I’ll take you in for assaulting an officer. Are we on the same page?”

  The woman, Liliana, abruptly went silent. Then her whole body began trembling and she started to sob—waves of heartfelt agony that made Talia ache for her. Whoever the woman was, she’d obviously misinterpreted Talia’s concern for Will. And she sure must have hated Ria to have pitched those roses at the coffin the way she did.

  Prescott smiled at the cluster of people who’d stopped in their tracks to gawk. “Excuse us, folks,” she said in a soothing tone. “We just need to get some air.” She guided the woman gently toward the exit as if she were escorting the Queen of England to a waiting limo. Liliana’s legs looked as if they might collapse beneath her, but Prescott kept a firm grip on her and ushered her through the doorway and into the lobby area.

  Nicely done, thought Talia. Prescott had nipped the embarrassing scene in the bud with tact and quiet diplomacy. Talia couldn’t imagine what might have happened if the detective hadn’t been there.

  Scott came up behind Talia. He placed one hand lightly on her back and the other on Will’s shoulder. “Everyone all right here?” he said in a husky voice.

  “I think so,” she said, bending toward Will. “Are you all right, Will? Can I get you anything?”

  Will pulled in a deep breath and shook his head. “I am so very sorry for all this,” he said. “She threatened to make a scene at Ria’s service. I had no idea she would actually go through with it.”

  “Who is she?” Talia asked.

  Will looked at her with misery in his eyes. “That, I’m afraid, was my wife.” />
  *

  Walking to her car, Talia felt as if she’d been slammed in the back of the head with a rock. The last thing she’d ever have imagined was that Will Claiborne was married. Estranged, he’d called it, after he’d pulled himself together. Talia had always thought it was an odd way to refer to a marriage. In her mind, you were either married or you weren’t.

  Talia found her sympathies for him waning. She no longer felt as bad for Will as she had before, in spite of his insistence that his marriage had been dead for a long time. He’d apparently been trying to divorce Liliana for the better part of two years. She’d fought him every inch of the way, determined not to let him go. Every time he thought he was close, something always happened to delay the proceeding—a minor car crash, a surgical procedure, anything that would require a postponement. Liliana, he’d claimed, had an entire repertoire of stall tactics at her disposal, along with a high-priced lawyer.

  Outside, Talia snugged the collar of her flared jacket closer around the folds of her scarf. It was time to dig out her winter coat, she thought wistfully. The mild fall weather that trickled into December had lulled her into a sense of inertia. Once Mother Nature woke up and started to flex her muscles, they’d be in for some frigid weather, along with heaps of snow.

  She didn’t see Kelsey anywhere, but Scott Pollard caught up with her. “Hey, we never got a chance to talk, did we?” he said, behind her back.

  Talia turned and smiled at him. “Hey, Scott,” she said, noticing the twinkle in his brown eyes. She’d almost forgotten that he wanted to ask her something about Andy. “And no, we didn’t. Unfortunately, things turned a bit chaotic at the end.” The pale sun caught the highlights in his hair and danced there for a bit. She pulled her gaze away abruptly, not wanting to give him the idea she was interested in him.

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” He shook his head. “I gotta tell you, I really felt for that poor fellow. If that cop hadn’t been there to intervene, his ex probably would’ve scratched his eyes out, or done something even worse.”

  His almost-ex, Talia thought, but didn’t voice it. “I don’t think she would have resorted to violence. To me she seemed overwhelmingly sad. I actually felt bad for her. She seemed, I don’t know … desperate maybe?”

  A chill suddenly rode up her arms. Could Liliana have been desperate enough to kill Ria? Was she someone the police should be looking at?

  Scott shrugged, but his jaw hardened. “Maybe, but she came off like a nutcase. I mean, it was a memorial service, right? That’s a terrible thing to do to someone’s family.”

  Talia bit off a wry smile. If Liliana’s histrionics had bothered Anita Butterforth, she certainly hadn’t shown it. She’d sat right there with Ralphie the entire time, gawking as if she’d been watching an action movie. And when Prescott was leading Liliana through the doorway, Talia had distinctly heard Anita snicker.

  Scott grinned as they came up alongside Talia’s Fiat. “Well, you got a prime parking spot, didn’t you?” He patted the roof. “Cute little car. How does it drive?”

  “It drives fine, I guess. I don’t know much about engines, but the ride is smooth, and it handles beautifully. Compared to the SUV that I used to drive, this car is a peach to park.”

  Scott rubbed his hand absently over the roof of the Fiat. “Hey, look,” he said, his tone turning serious, “have you seen Andy Nash around lately? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since Sunday. I’m worried about him.”

  Interesting, Talia thought. Detective Prescott had asked her pretty much the same thing. Had something happened to Andy? Another, more disturbing thought popped into her head. Had the killer caught up to him and silenced him?

  Remembering Andy’s paranoia, Talia wasn’t sure how much to reveal. “I think I saw him earlier in the week,” she said, being deliberately vague.

  Scott stood a bit straighter. “Really? Where?”

  Again, Talia didn’t want to hand out details, even though Scott seemed genuinely worried about Andy. “He was, um, leaving the diner, I think,” she said. “Do you really think something happened to him?”

  Scott bit his lip and gave her a worried look. “I don’t know, but I’m afraid it might have. Wherever he is, I just hope he’s all right.”

  “Me, too,” Talia said distractedly, thinking back to that uncomfortable chat she’d had with Andy at the diner. Hadn’t Detective Prescott said that Andy’s dad was concerned about him, as well?

  “We’re pretty good buds,” Scott said, “but he’s a strange little dude, you know? I try to look out for him when I can. What scares me is that I think the cops might be looking for him, too.”

  Talia sensed that Scott knew something of Andy’s past and was trying to prevent him from doing anything foolish. “He’s lucky to have a good friend like you, Scott,” Talia said.

  Scott looked off into the distance, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t realize until the fund-raiser that he’d had a thing for Ria. Evidently she’d made a date with him and then canceled at the last minute. That’s the type of thing that can really set him off, you know? Poor bas—I mean, the poor guy’s had a lot of rejection in his life.”

  If Talia had been waiting for an opening, now was the perfect time. “Scott, is there any way … I mean, do you think he could have harmed Ria?”

  “Andy?” He looked shocked at the question. “Nah, not a chance. At heart, he’s a good guy. He talks the talk, but he doesn’t walk the walk, if you catch what I’m saying.”

  “But if no one can find him, don’t you think he could be hiding from the police?”

  Scott chewed his lower lip and shook his head. “No way, Talia. I’m telling you, he’s really a solid guy. People just need to stop being such jerks and give him a break.” He sounded almost perturbed that he’d had to explain that to her.

  Talia gave him a disarming smile and then glanced at her watch. It was close to eleven. She really had to fly.

  “Hey, I’d better let you go,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “You’ve got fish to fry, right?”

  Talia laughed. “I do, and I hope you’ll check out our new menu one of these days. It’s not all about fish anymore. We have some tasty new sides, and we’re going to be experimenting with a lot of different deep-fried desserts.”

  “Tasty new sides, huh?” He drew out the word tasty. “Yeah, I heard that somewhere. I might stop in later if I have a chance. I’ve been straight out with a kitchen reno in Lenox, but I’m hoping to finish up today. Hey, if you ever need any home renovations, I’m you’re man, okay?” He gave the roof of the Fiat a playful slap.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, wary of promising anything.

  By the time she slid inside the Fiat, she was shivering. The parking lot had emptied out, save for the dark-colored sedan in the far corner. She started her engine and flipped on the heat. When she looked to her left, she saw Will Claiborne climbing into the cream-colored Lexus. His face looked drawn, and achingly weary. He didn’t wave, so apparently he hadn’t noticed her sitting there. Instead of starting his engine, he stared through the windshield. Then he dropped his head onto the steering wheel and wept.

  13

  Talia made it back to the eatery at ten past eleven, just in time to see the very rings of Hades flying loose.

  The moment she stepped through the door into the kitchen, Lucas looked at her with terror in his eyes. “Help me,” he mouthed. The carrot he’d been holding hit the floor. He bent to retrieve it and promptly slipped on a slice of onion he’d apparently dropped earlier, nearly biting the tile floor himself.

  Talia gripped his arm to keep him upright and then quickly shed her coat. She plopped it on the hook next to Martha’s peacoat, which in turn had been draped over the foul-smelling scarf. At least the scarf was underneath the coat today, instead of over it.

  Talia closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When she opened them, Bea’s arm was raised high, a wire whisk shaking in her fist. “You’re using too much flour i
n the batter!” Bea was bellowing. “Give me that bowl right now before you ruin the whole batch!” She made a grab for it, but Martha pulled it away, her eyes alight with triumph. The batter sloshed in the bowl, skimming dangerously close to the edge.

  “Hah! Too slow, old lady! Talia never complained about the way I make the batter, so get off my—”

  “Martha,” Talia warned, barely controlling the fury in her tone.

  “I was going to say get off my case,” Martha said with a pout. “Tell this one to leave me alone. She doesn’t even work here. She’s nothing but a temporary fill-in.”

  “A fill-in!” Bea spluttered, her black curls jutting from her head like springs. “I’ll have you know I ran this place for over twenty years! How dare you call me—”

  “Stop!” Talia ordered, making a time-out sign with her hands. “I cannot believe I’m hearing this. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I wandered into an unruly kindergarten class. What is the matter with you two?”

  Martha glowered at Bea, her thick arms curled around the batter bowl as if she were protecting it from marauders. She stuck her chin out. “She started it.”

  Bea huffed out a breath, her green eyes looking wild. “Don’t you get cheeky with me, dragon lady.” She waggled the whisk at her. “I’ve made thousands of bowls of batter in my day, and I know you’re adding too much flour. You’re not making batter, you’re making paste!”

  Martha stared her down. “I told you, this batter is for the meatballs, not for the fish. Maybe if you cut off a few of those crazy curls of yours, you could hear better!”

  Bea lunged for the bowl, causing Martha to swivel away from her with a jerky motion. A tidal wave of batter slopped over the edge of the bowl and made a direct hit on Martha’s sensible shoe.

  Martha stopped dead and gave Bea a murderous look. “That does it. Now you’re—”

  Talia stepped between the pair. She grasped Bea by the shoulders and steered her through the opening between the wall and the speckled turquoise counter, into the dining area. “You take a break,” she said. “Suzy has some of those holiday lip glosses you like. Why don’t you mosey around in her shop for a while and cool down. While you’re gone, I’ll deal with Martha.”