by Linda Reilly
“I guess that makes sense,” she said with a slight shudder. “They all look pretty scaly and slimy. Is there anything about an amphis or an amphee?”
Ryan’s swiped his fingers over the tablet with quick, expert moves. “I think this is the word we’re looking for. Amphisbaena—I have no idea how to pronounce it—is a two-headed serpent. According to this, there’s a head on each end.”
Talia shivered twice, once for each head. “But there’s no such thing, right? I mean, there can’t really be a two-headed snake?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Um, sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m looking at one right now. And it’s not only an image—it’s a real photograph. The difference is that both heads are at the same end.” He read for a few seconds, the dimple in his cheek deepening as he concentrated on the photo. “This article says that two-headed snakes are very rare, but they do occur in nature. It happens when the snake embryo in the egg doesn’t fully divide and doesn’t separate properly from its twin.”
Talia took a fast peek and then turned away. “All I can say is ugh. Ugh times two.” How could a snake have two heads? Wasn’t one head bad enough? It was like a creature out of a nightmare.
Ryan continued flying through the images on his tablet. “There are some great depictions of two-headed dragons, but obviously they’re the product of creative imaginations. Snakes and dragons are two different things. Snakes are real. Dragons are not.”
Talia knew Ryan wasn’t patronizing her. He was only emphasizing a point—there was no such thing as a dragon.
She sat back and thought for a moment. Anita had referred to the dragon as a filament of Ria’s imagination. She’d probably meant figment, but either way, she was saying that the dragon wasn’t real.
Of course it wasn’t. Dragons didn’t exist. But Anita had said something else. Something about—
“Wings.” Talia sat up straighter. “Anita said that Ria’s dragon didn’t have wings. Are they supposed to?”
She peeked over Ryan’s arm while he flipped through several more images. “Looks like most of them do. But remember, she was a little girl. She was drawing what she supposedly saw, and what she saw looked like a dragon.”
It looked like a dragon. But what if it wasn’t?
“Ryan, could Will Claiborne have thought of his family crest as a dragon, some sort of hybrid creature with two heads? He never used the word dragon when he showed me his ring, but now I’m beginning to wonder.”
“Sure, anything’s possible.” Ryan shook his head. “But the real question, in my opinion, is why he would want to murder the woman he loved. Or claimed he loved.”
Claimed he loved.
“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” Talia groaned. “I’ve thought about it every which way, and I can’t come up with any possible motive. He loved her, Ryan. Her death crushed him. That’s why he can’t be guilty, no matter how many snake heads are on his family crest!”
Ryan regarded her seriously. “So, Hercule, are you crossing him off your suspect list?”
She loved the way he pronounced “Hercule.” Very Belgian.
“Trés amusing,” she quipped. “But I can’t exactly see myself sporting a waxed mustache and lecturing people about little gray cells, can you?” She grinned up at him, loving the way his eyes shone through his rimless glasses.
“Hmmm, not sure about the little gray cells part, but I’m willing to test the mustache theory.” With a tender smile, he slid one arm over her shoulders and then leaned in and kissed her, drawing it out until every nerve in her body tingled. “Nope. I’ll take you without the ’stache anytime. All the time,” he added softly.
Talia’s heart drummed in her chest. She felt sure that if she tried to stand, her knees would morph into two puddles of vanilla rice pudding.
Ryan touched her cheek. “Honey, I’m a little worried that you’re getting so involved in finding Ria’s killer. I keep thinking about what happened the last time.”
Talia looked into his face and her heart melted. “I know, Ryan, and I get it.” And I love you for it. “But what happened last time was a total fluke. Wrong place, wrong time, remember?” She said it lightly, hoping to deflect his concern. “And I’m not really trying to find her killer. Can I help it if people keep confiding in me about their troubles?” Her voice ended in a squeak, a sure sign that she was fibbing a little. “Okay, I guess I do want to find Ria’s killer. Or at least steer the police in the right direction,” she added quietly.
Ryan sighed. “It’s just that you seem to be talking to all sorts of people who had reasons to hate Ria. Didn’t you say Andy Nash was furious when she canceled their date? And now he’s missing?”
“It is strange that he took a powder,” Talia said. She bit her lip. “Either he’s guilty and he’s running from the police, or he saw something that day …” She let the thought drift off.
“And your landlord’s wife seems a little unstable. She knew her husband wanted to marry Ria, so she definitely had a motive. You can’t cross her off the list.”
A list? Did she even have a list?
“And what about Kelsey? From the way you described your conversations with her, she had plenty of reasons to hate Ria.”
Talia shook her head. She still couldn’t see Kelsey as a killer. How could anyone who loved cats the way Kelsey did harm a human being?
“And, of course, there’s Will.” Talia blew out a sigh. “I can’t get that ugly family crest out of my head. Now that I know there really is a two-headed snake, I’ll probably have nightmares about it.”
“You said Ria’s mother has a boyfriend. Could he have killed Ria out of jealousy? Maybe because he wanted her mother all to himself?”
“No, and if you’d met Anita, you’d know why I say that. She made it pretty clear that the man in her life, whoever it was, always came first. I think Ria grew up as a very lonely child.”
Ryan looked away, his frown deepening. Was he thinking of his own mother? Talia knew she had a PhD in economics and was steeped in the world of academia. Even in the family photos that lined the mantel over Ryan’s fake fireplace, her face wore an air of bored resignation. Thank heaven for Ryan’s dad, a kind and intelligent man who doted on his son.
“I know this sounds like an empty request,” Ryan said, anxiety etched in his voice, “but will you promise me that you’ll be extra careful?”
Talia leaned over and kissed him on the nose. “I promise, and I’m not just paying you lip service. I don’t want anything to happen to me, either. You’ll be happy to know I’ve been remembering to keep my cell charged, and I have you on speed dial, so to speak.”
“Good.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “And now, speaking of lip service, I have a great idea.”
His eyes twinkling, he led her into the kitchen. A delectable aroma was seeping from the oven, something cheesy and creamy and down home delicious. The round white table was set with dark blue stoneware. Cloth napkins the color of burnished gold graced the left side of each plate, and a set of utensils had been carefully placed in the center. At the back of the table rested a white tile trivet that had a charming picture of an English castle.
Ryan pulled out a chair for her. “Every time you’ve eaten here, I’ve served either fast-food Chinese or pizza.” He gave her a sober look. “Truth is—scary music, please—I’m a terrible cook.” He pulled two wineglasses from a sleek-looking oak hutch at the back of the kitchen and set them on the table. Then he opened a fresh bottle of chardonnay and filled each of the glasses.
“Impossible,” Talia said, inhaling deeply. “My nose tells me otherwise, and if it’s working properly, you’ve made one of my favorite meals.”
Ryan grinned. “Turns out it’s one of my favorites, too. In fact, it’s about the only thing I know how to make.”
“Can I help?”
“Nope,” he said. “You’ve worked hard enough cooking for the masses this week. It’s my turn to serve you.”
Ryan snagged two oven mitts off the side of the stainless steel fridge. He opened the oven and very carefully removed a vintage blue and gold casserole dish brimming with golden macaroni and cheese.
“My mom’s recipe,” he said, setting it down on the trivet.
“Ryan, that looks fantastic,” Talia said.
“But wait, there’s more!” Beaming, he whipped a prepared salad out of the fridge. “It has a hint of vinaigrette dressing, but I have plenty if you’d like more. I remembered that you didn’t like dressing that overpowered.”
Yet another thing she adored about Ryan. He listened to every word she said and filed it away for the future. With Chet, she could always tell that his eyes were glazing over after three or four sentences of “how was your day” chatter during dinner. After that, she might as well have talked to the utensils hanging on the rack next to the stove. She’d learned to keep her part of their conversations short and snappy.
“I was going to make some mini-burgers—my only other specialty—but I thought it would be too much.”
“They would have been delicious, but I think you’re right.”
“Yeah, I’ll save those for another night,” he said. “But we can’t have a meal without rolls, can we?” He reached into the oven again and removed a foil-wrapped mound. “Now I didn’t bake these from scratch, but they’re pretty good. Do you like Parker House rolls?”
“Yum. Who doesn’t?” Gazing over the goodies on the table, she felt her taste buds dancing. More than that, she felt her heart swelling for this adorable man who’d gone through so much trouble to please her.
Ryan sat opposite Talia and held up his wineglass. “To you, sweetheart,” he said huskily. “May we enjoy many, many more evenings together like this one.”
Talia sensed he wanted to say more, but she was grateful he’d kept it light. They clinked their glasses together and dug into the food. “Ryan, this mac and cheese is unbelievable,” she said after swallowing a cheesy mouthful.
“Oh, phew, thank God you like it!” He smiled at her. “Like I said, it’s my mother’s recipe. She calls it the busy woman’s mac and cheese. Instead of preparing a cheese sauce, you just slice squares of cheddar and layer them between the cooked shells. Then you pour whole milk over it all and bake it. It’s amazing how it makes its own cheese sauce while it’s baking.” His smile faded. “Mom was never much for making meals, or even for doing things together as a family. Academia was her main gig. Still is.”
Ryan had hinted before that his mother had been somewhat distant. It made Talia appreciate her own mom and dad even more.
The mac and cheese was filling, but absolutely scrumptious. The squares of cheese on top had hardened to a golden crisp. Ideas began sparking in Talia’s brain. Could she deep-fry squares of baked macaroni and cheese? Hadn’t she seen that on a cooking show?
After dinner, Ryan plunked everything into the dishwasher. He offered her some ice cream, but Talia was too full to eat another bite. The evening so far had been wonderful—almost too good to be true. The lights low, they sat on the sofa for a while and watched television, although none of the shows tickled either of their fancies. She felt tension building inside her, roaring through her bloodstream like a waterfall. If Ryan asked her to, should she stay?
Ryan muted the television and tossed aside the remote. He pulled her close, and she sank into his arms. It felt so right, so perfect. It felt like the forever place she was always meant to be.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, plopping a kiss on her nose. “You smell really nice this evening. New perfume?”
Yay! He’d noticed her new scent—her “barely there” spritz of the green tea fragrance she’d bought from Suzy. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, grateful that she’d splurged on it.
Finally, when Ryan was holding her so tightly her breath caught in her chest, he loosened his grip. “I think it’s time I drove you home,” he said hoarsely, kissing her forehead.
A surge of relief, mixed with disappointment, swelled through her. She’d almost forgotten that he’d picked her up and would have to deliver her back to her bungalow.
Ryan was helping her slip into her jacket when she said, “Oh, Ryan, I almost forgot. Can I show you something Martha did today?”
“Of course!”
Talia fished Martha’s sketch out of her purse and showed it to Ryan, giving him a brief rundown of Martha’s complaints about the setup of the kitchen. She wanted to tell him more about her conversation with Martha, but if she stayed there much longer, she knew she’d never leave.
Ryan spread out the paper and studied the sketch. Talia could almost see the wheels in his head turning, his analytical mind taking in every detail. “She’s a savvy lady,” Ryan pronounced. “She knows her stuff. And I agree that you’ll need to build out into the dining area to accomplish this. But”—he held up a finger—“in the meantime, you could still move the fridge and do some rearranging to make your work space roomier. I like the locker idea, too.”
Talia wrinkled her nose. “That’s the part I wasn’t wild about. Won’t it look like a high school locker room?”
“It doesn’t have to. They make some lockers now that aren’t all gray metal and ugly. You could get some very attractive ones that will be so unobtrusive they’ll blend right into the background. Just thinking, though, you might need an electrical upgrade. You’ve already added another fryer, right?”
“Right, and I’m thinking about replacing the fridge with a more modern one. Bea bought the one I have so long ago I can’t even remember how old it is!”
“Good idea, Tal. You’ll save on energy, too. I think this is very doable, depending on your budget.” He swallowed and held her gaze. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, okay?” he added softly. “Just let me know what you need and I’m there.”
Talia felt her throat well up. She didn’t know if he was offering help with the buildout itself or with the financing, but all at once she was overwhelmed.
By the time she was back in her bungalow, thoughts were tumbling in her head like the objects in a kaleidoscope. As brilliant and stunning as the colors were, they were equally confusing.
Feeling thirsty, she poured herself a half glass of apple juice and gulped it back. She poked through her cupboards, anxiety making her itch for something to nibble on. Her shelves were looking pretty bare these days. She hardly ever had time to shop anymore, except to keep Bo supplied with cat food.
She plunked down on the sofa. Normally when she was in thinking mode, she’d grab one of her throw pillows and hug it to her chest. These days she had Bo, who made a much sweeter hugging pillow. She smiled when the little calico leaped onto her lap. Scratching Bo under the chin, she said, “What do you say, Bo? Should I renovate the kitchen at Fry Me? Should I take the plunge?”
She was avoiding the real question tripping through her head. Should I have spent the night at Ryan’s?
Bo rubbed her head against Talia’s arm and gave her a tiny lick. Right then, she made a decision.
Talia dug both her cell phone and Scott Pollard’s business card out of her purse. She sent him a quick text, asking if they could get together sometime during the week to discuss possible renovations.
She was surprised when her phone buzzed about three minutes later. She’d figured he wouldn’t respond until Monday, the next business day, but he’d already texted her back.
Totally jammed all week. U free tomorrow morning?
Tomorrow was Sunday. An idea was germinating in her brain, something that had been triggered by her conversation with Anita. Sunday morning was when she had planned to put it into action. She texted back.
Can u make 11:30 at the restaurant?
Scott’s response was immediate.
Put on the coffee and I’ll be there.
Talia was impressed. Quick service, and except for the “U,” he didn’t use typical text-speak. She texted Scott back, agreeing to make coffee and telling him to knock at the door when he
got there so she could let him in.
She thought about texting Ryan and asking if he wanted to join them. His input could be immensely valuable.
With a resigned sigh, she set her phone aside. That would really be taking advantage, she decided. Ryan spent every Sunday with his dad, Arthur, at the Wrensdale Pines. She definitely didn’t want to cut into their time together.
She was an independent woman now, and a business owner. If she couldn’t handle it herself, then she wasn’t cut out to own a restaurant.
19
The two-family house on Hampton Avenue hadn’t changed much since Talia had last seen it. She’d been a kid then, but in her memory it had always looked the same.
She parked her Fiat in front of the house, beneath the ancient oak where she’d once plunked her bike on a mission to rescue a stolen rabbit. A weird sensation shimmied up her arms. She had no idea who lived here now, but she was about to ask the owner if she could search one of the closets in the second-story apartment. How crazy was that?
Over the years, this dreary-looking abode had woven its way into the occasional dream. The house taunted her, like an unfinished story. The aftermath of the dreams was always an inexplicable sadness, a feeling that she’d failed at a task she’d been sworn to carry out.
Talia swung her legs out of her car, feeling the December chill sidle underneath her flared jacket. Why was she still wearing it anyway? She had a winter coat, all dry-cleaned and hanging in protective plastic in the bungalow’s coat closet. It was a gorgeous coat, stunning and stylish in rich navy wool, with a round collar and deeply slit side pockets. Chet had bought it for her last Christmas.
She sighed and locked her car. She’d answered her own question, hadn’t she? Anything even vaguely reminiscent of Chet bugged her these days. She’d kicked him out of her head and her heart, and she didn’t want any reminders. The Coat d’Azure on Main Street had some great fashions for realistic prices. She vowed to squeeze an hour from one of her days this coming week and buy a new coat.
