by Linda Reilly
“It was terrible,” Martha said levelly, “and it was all because the head honcho of that office was the bright-eyed offspring of the witch on wheels who supervised the entire region. Rumor had it that in order to increase her son’s salary to the level she felt he deserved, she had to sacrifice those other jobs. Well, let me tell you—it was more than rumor. I got it from a very good source.”
“But that’s so unfair!” Talia threw her arms up.
“Darn right it was. Especially since the guy didn’t know a casualty policy from his a—”
“Martha.”
“From his ankle,” Martha said, fire in her eyes. “Anyway, when he discovered that his new office was going to be the company-allotted fourteen-by-ten jail cell, he threw an all-out tantrum. E-mailed me forty times a day cussing me out. Demanded I submit a new floor plan for the office. Day after day, I ignored him. Finally the jerk calls me up on the phone one day and rips me a new one.”
Talia leaned forward. “I hope you stood your ground, Martha.”
“Oh, I stood it all right. I told him right where he could shove his complaints, and believe me, I didn’t mince words.”
Talia smiled. “I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, and then her smile faded. “That’s why you got fired, isn’t it?”
Martha nodded, and a rare blush colored her cheeks. “You figured that out, huh? Good. Now that I’ve gotten all that off my chest, I have something to give you.” She hoisted herself off her chair and went over to her peacoat. From the right-hand pocket she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Oh, no, it’s her resignation.
Talia watched silently as Martha unfolded the paper and smoothed it out. It was large enough to be the Declaration of Independence, so it had to be one heck of a resignation letter.
Martha sat again and spread the paper out before her. It took Talia a minute to realize what she was looking at—it was a sketch of the eatery’s kitchen, except that everything was out of place. “I’ve been spending my evenings playing around with this,” Martha said, “and I’ve come up with a floor plan I think will work.”
“You … did this at home?” Talia said, stunned.
“Yep. Cut into my reading time, too,” she griped. “Now look here.” She plunked a finger on the sketch. “The biggest elephant in the room is the fridge. It’s right opposite the main work counter. Every time someone opens it, which is about six hundred times a day, it shortens the gap to about a foot. That’s why we’re always doing the samba to get around each other in here. And let me tell you”—she jabbed a finger at her own chest—“this chick don’t dance.”
Suppressing a chuckle, Talia studied the sketch. Martha had obviously put a lot of thought into redesigning the kitchen—on paper, at least. She’d apparently taken measurements of everything when Talia wasn’t looking, because the dimensions were printed neatly on every single item. “So you’d put the fridge over there, next to the storage closet?”
“Darn right I would,” Martha said. “It’s the only logical place for it. And this table”—she slapped the table top—“needs to go. It never fit into this space anyway. A round table would work better, and it would leave room for us to add three narrow lockers for our coats and personal doodads. And our skateboards, should we have one,” she added with a wink. “Those coat hooks on the door are an eyesore. They definitely need to go. Like they say in the NFL, you’ve run out of real estate.”
Talia didn’t know what to say. Martha had obviously given the layout of the kitchen a lot of thought. Still, something about the sketch was off, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Now here’s the part you won’t like,” Martha said, as if she’d read Talia’s mind. “In order to make this work, you’re gonna need to cut into the rear of the dining area by about a foot and a half. The good thing is, you can do it without losing any vital dining space. That table, the one where Scott was just sitting? Right now it seats four, but if you replaced it with a smaller one where one or two people could sit, you’d have plenty of room for the buildout. Ever notice sometimes when a lone customer comes in, how they look around for a corner table so they won’t feel self-conscious eating alone?”
Talia mulled it over. She realized Martha was right. When she worked in downtown Boston, she’d eaten lunch alone in restaurants hundreds of times. She’d always felt more comfortable sitting at a small corner table than somewhere in the center of the room.
Wow, Martha had really thought this through. Talia was impressed. Her gaze skimmed the sketch for a few more minutes. Martha had even allowed space for a second worktable where the nonfish foods could be prepped.
“One last thing,” Martha said. “I know you’re fond of those captain’s chairs in the dining area. They remind you of an old English fish and chips shop, blah blah blah. But not only are they a pain to clean every day—they take up too much space.”
“But Bea loved those chairs!” Talia protested, somewhat miffed at Martha’s comment.
“I know,” Martha said, “and I understand your loyalty to her. But she turned this place over to you because she loves you and trusts you to do the right thing.” Her voice grew quiet. “I get that you want to follow in Bea’s footsteps. But that doesn’t mean you can’t squish your feet around in them and make them a little bigger, does it?”
Talia smiled. Sometimes Martha had a way of cutting right to the core.
Martha flipped over the sketch of the kitchen. “I wrote down a few links for you to check out when you have a chance. You can get some funky-looking restaurant chairs that are sleek and easy to care for, plus they’re a lot smaller. They’d be a nice contrast to the wooden tables, and they’d go with your new theme. I bet you could sell those captain’s chairs, easy.”
“Martha, I don’t know what to say,” Talia said. “All of this”—she tapped the sketch and then folded it neatly—“tells me that you really like this job and want to stay.” She pushed back the lump blossoming in her throat.
“Of course I want to stay.” Martha looked incensed. “Why would you think I didn’t?”
Instead of responding, Talia said, “Martha, why did you leave New Hampshire? Why didn’t you just look for a different job there?”
“I did look. Believe me, I looked. None of the jobs I could’ve had would have paid anywhere near what I’d been getting.”
“Okay, I get that, but … that doesn’t explain why you left the state,” Talia said quietly. “I’m sure what you’re earning here doesn’t even come close to the money you were making. Do you have family around here?”
Martha’s face fell, and she broke eye contact with Talia. “No, my only family was there,” she said, in a voice Talia could barely hear. “I had a foster child, a sweet, bright, beautiful girl named Dakota. She’s fifteen now. After I lost my job, I couldn’t support her anymore. Not the way I had before anyway.”
Talia felt her jaw slowly drop. Martha, with a foster child? The woman who claimed she stayed as far away from kids as possible?
“She didn’t want to leave, but I told the social worker I wouldn’t be able to take care of her anymore. Not on unemployment. The state helps out with foster care, of course, but it’s nowhere near enough to raise a kid. And my prospects for a decent job weren’t looking too good. I’m old, you know—”
“Stop it with that old stuff, Martha,” Talia said. “You might not be as limber as you used to be, but you’re very smart, and you have more energy than most thirty-year-olds.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Her shoulders sagged. The forlorn look in her eyes was heart-wrenching. “Anyway, I don’t think Dakota will ever forgive me. But I only wanted what was best for her. If there was a way I could’ve made it work, I would have, but …” She broke off, as if her mind was coasting backward to her old, happier life. She swiped a hand quickly over her right eye. “She’s with a good family now, with some foster sibs. That’s all that matters.”
Talia’s heart jerked in her chest. So many littl
e things fell into place. Martha drawing animal faces with mustard and marinara for the little ones she’d thought were “too quiet.” And wearing that silly green frog hat at the fund-raiser.
The truth was, Martha loved kids.
“Is that why you bought that nutty green hat Sunday? To amuse the kids?”
Martha frowned, and her face went into the red zone. “Uh … no, not exactly. You know that Ria woman, the one who was murdered?” She grimaced slightly.
“Yesss …” Talia said slowly.
“Well, I, um, didn’t want her to recognize me.”
Talia wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear this, but she rolled her hand in a tell me everything motion.
“That morning, I think I told you, I had to park about a block away because I couldn’t fit into any of those dinky spaces behind the community center. Anyway, I kind of sort of brushed the back end of another car when I was parallel parking on the street behind the lot.”
Talia tried unsuccessfully to picture that scene in her head. It must have been like parallel parking a Coast Guard cutter. “Oh, no, don’t tell me. Ria saw you, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it at first. I was getting ready to leave the driver a note when I saw her go slowly past me in a red car. I didn’t know who she was, but she glared at me and made a nasty face, like she was memorizing my mug for a lineup. I figured she’d go straight to the cops and report me, so I whipped out of that space and took off. I had to park another block away.”
“So you never left the driver the note?” Talia asked her.
“No,” she said glumly, “but I keep looking out for that car. I really do want to pay for the damage. I just don’t want to report it to my insurance company—I’ve got too many points on my record now. If my premiums get any higher, I’ll have to live in the freakin’ car.
“Anyway, when I saw that same woman come in to the gym—I couldn’t miss that red hair—and plunk her stuff on the table next to ours, I almost popped an artery. I was terrified she’d recognize me, so I did the only thing I could think of—I bought a disguise.”
Talia smiled and shook her head. “Martha, you never cease to amaze me. Your creativity knows no bounds.”
“My sneakiness, you mean.” Martha snorted.
“And I appreciate all the work you did on this floor plan. But even if I agreed with everything, I’m not sure if I can afford the renovations right now. Plus, we’d have to close for at least a week.”
Martha shrugged. “Look, I hear you, sister. I never said it would be easy. Course there might be someone local who can help. Someone who specializes in that sort of thing.” She winked at Talia. “Bet he’d give you a fair price, too.”
Talia felt a rush of heat go directly to her cheeks. She was obviously talking about Scott Pollard. “Well, that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure he only does home renovations.”
“Maybe.” Martha eased herself out of her chair. “But you won’t know until you ask, will you?”
They quickly cleaned up the table. There was one more thing bugging Talia, something she had to ask. “Martha, did you always drive that car, the one you have now?”
Martha chuckled. “No. Cars have never been my thing, but I did have a decent set of wheels—a Nissan. When I lost my job, I sold it for a cheaper car. It gave me a few more months’ padding while I looked for another job. Plus, I wanted some extra cash to start a savings account. If I’d known the way that monstrosity sucks gas, I’d never have bought it. It was really a dumb thing to do.”
Martha had obviously needed the cash to pay living expenses, Talia thought sadly. But why the savings account?
“When I look at your face, I can tell exactly what you’re thinking,” Martha said, a glint of humor in her eye. “It’s getting so I can read you like a book. Look, I never saved much money. I didn’t even participate in the 401(k). I gave most of my discretionary income, as they say, to causes I favored.” She shook her head. “I guess it was shortsighted of me.”
“So you started a savings account a bit late in life,” Talia said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, but it’s not for me,” Martha explained. “I opened the savings account for Dakota, for when she goes to college. She doesn’t know about it. I’m not going to give it to her till she turns eighteen.” Martha closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose. In a voice so tiny it was almost a whisper, she added, “It was the least I could do for her. Selling the car was the only way I could do it.”
With that, Talia lost it. She turned and sprinted into the restroom, sat on the commode, and cried until no more tears would come. All this time she’d been calling Martha a grump and a complainer, poking fun at that ridiculous car she drove. Turns out she was probably the most unselfish person Talia had ever met.
Get it together, Talia scolded herself. Stop being such a crybaby.
Five minutes later, she ran the cold water and splashed it over her eyes and cheeks, and then dried her face with paper towels. With her puffy eyes and red nose, she looked like a wreck, but there was no way to hide it—not without a jar of pancake makeup and a garden trowel. By now Martha probably figured she’d fallen into the drain.
She returned to the kitchen, avoiding Martha’s line of vision. Martha, the batter queen, was already whipping up another batch of Parmesan batter for the meatballs. This past week, Talia noticed that the supper hour had been getting a little busier. In addition to needing more space, Talia was beginning to wonder if they would need to hire another employee. Lucas was only part time. He loved doing lunchtime deliveries, and it made sense to offer the service to her loyal customers.
As for the kitchen itself, should she contact Scott about getting an estimate for renovations? Would he even consider doing commercial work? She’d probably have to take out a small loan, but with business doing so well—fingers crossed—it might just be doable.
Well, she didn’t have to make a decision today, did she? It would be something to think about after the holidays were over. For now they were getting by, making do.
“Talia,” Martha said in a quiet voice, “there’s one more thing I have to tell you.”
Uh-oh. Now Martha was scaring her. “Do I really want to hear it?”
“Probably not, but I have to tell you anyway. It was me who spilled the raspberry sauce on the scarf that strangled Ria.”
“What?” Talia gasped.
Martha sighed. “While you were taking a break that day, we had a tiny lull in business. I was starving, so I made myself a snack and drenched it with raspberry sauce. Ria had left to go to the bathroom, I guess. I was dying to look at her stuff so I moseyed over there. The scarf was so pretty I fingered it. I didn’t realize I had sauce on my thumb. I tried to wipe it off, but that only made it worse.”
Talia shook her head and chuckled. “Forget about it, Martha. That raspberry sauce proves nothing. And I know you didn’t kill Ria.”
“I’ll tell the cops if you want me to,” Martha said meekly.
“No,” Talia said. “Let’s let sleeping sauces lie, okay?”
Martha looked relieved. “That sentence doesn’t really make sense, but I’ll accept it.”
After Martha left, Talia stuck the floor plan in her purse so that she could peruse it later at home, maybe tweak it here and there. Ryan was cooking dinner at his condo for her this evening. She was so looking forward to spending a relaxing (romantic!) evening with him. Maybe she’d bring the drawing with her and get his opinion.
The romantic part was scaring her a little. So far, Ryan hadn’t pressured her, but she knew he yearned for a more intimate relationship. Well, she did, too, but she also needed to feel ready to take that step. She’d left Chet only four months earlier. Not that she was mourning their split, but in her mind they’d been on the cusp of marriage. Being alone was something she was still getting used to.
To her surprise, she was finding that she enjoyed evenings alone with her cat. She could read to her h
eart’s content, eat Cheerios for supper, and indulge in whatever she wanted to watch on TV. With Chet they were always on the go—dining out with his friends or his co-workers, or going to sporting events she had no interest in. Relaxing evenings at home had been few and far between.
Now that she’d bought Nana’s charming bungalow, Talia craved the chance to be on her own for a while. She’d already added a few personal touches to the house, but had a lot more in mind. Which reminded her, she still needed to pick up some Christmas decorations. Something for the front door, at least.
The one thing marring her contented mood was that Ria’s killer was still out there. She wished the police had made more progress. The investigation seemed to be in limbo, at least the parts she was privy to. Andy Nash was still missing. Was he on the run from the police?
The dragon thing was driving Talia crazy. Most likely it had nothing to do with the murder, but she wished she knew for sure. What had Liliana called the two-headed snake? Amphis? Amphee?
She had to remember to Google it as soon as she got home. Either that or ask Ryan for help.
18
“I think I found what you’re looking for,” Ryan said, sliding his finger over his iPad.
They were nestled on Ryan’s leather sofa, arms touching, Talia sipping a glass of buttery chardonnay. She’d brought him up to speed on the week’s events, including her encounter with Liliana Claiborne.
Sitting here with Ryan in his condo, the faux oak blinds shutting out the shadows of the night and his bronze torchère lamp casting a soft glow over the room, she could almost believe that her life was perfect.
One glance at Ryan’s iPad and she snapped back to reality. Nearly a week had gone by since Ria’s death, and her killer was still free. She bolted upright and plopped her wineglass on the coffee table, which was actually an old restored steamer trunk. “You found the snake, I see.” Her voice rose in pitch.
“A two-headed snake is easy to find—it’s the dragon connection I’m looking for. This website—who knows how reliable it is?—makes reference to the fact that some people think the concept of a dragon originally came from serpents.”
