* * *
My parents, huddled together on the sofa in Aunt Lydia’s comfortable sitting room, looked up as Richard and I entered.
“Glad you could finally get away from that awful scene. You didn’t happen to see Scott outside, did you?” Mom asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t realize he’d beaten us back here.”
“We just heard his car pull up a few minutes ago, but he hasn’t come into the house yet,” Dad said, his expression troubled.
“Maybe he decided to walk off some stress.” I turned to Richard. “Sit down and chat with the folks. I’m going to pop into the kitchen and see if Aunt Lydia needs help with anything.”
“All right,” he said, after giving me a raised eyebrow look.
I left him making small talk with my parents and headed down the main hall of Aunt Lydia’s turn-of-the-century home. Stepping just inside the kitchen archway, I asked my aunt if I could offer any assistance.
“No, I’m fine. Just brewing some coffee.” She held up a bottle of brandy. “I thought perhaps a little shot of courage wouldn’t go amiss either.”
I leaned against the wall. “Good idea. Mom and Dad look pretty shaken. I think they’re more upset about Scott being questioned so intently than the death of the unfortunate Mr. Selvaggio.”
Aunt Lydia set down the bottle and grabbed a small tumbler, which I noticed already held some brandy. “Surely they aren’t worried that Scott would be considered a suspect? He only attended the party at the last minute, you know.”
“That may be true. And Selvaggio may have simply shown up today on a whim as well, but …”
Aunt Lydia swirled the liquor in the glass as she intently studied me. “You’re afraid it might not be quite that random?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that Scott has done some work in the past, helping the authorities track down evidence on fraudulent businesses and embezzlers and things like that. Who’s to say he hasn’t run up against Selvaggio in the past? I mean, if the guy is one of Kurt’s colleagues, he might have a shady past.”
“Or present.” Aunt Lydia took a swig of her brandy. “I have to admit I’ve been wondering the same thing. Especially since Hugh told me that Oscar Selvaggio had been implicated in some dubious art sales. Although, like Kurt, he’s never been charged with any wrongdoing.”
“If he’s moving stolen goods or laundering money or something, Scott might be on his trail. Which could explain why Selvaggio blanched at the sight of him.”
“But how would he have known someone like Scott? I’m guessing your brother conducts most of his work from behind a computer screen.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily assume that,” I said. “It’s what he leads us to believe, but he’s never actually claimed that explicitly.”
My aunt polished off the small amount of brandy left in her glass before speaking again. “He probably can’t, if what Hugh thinks is true.” She set the glass on the counter. “Hugh says Scott has the air of a government man. The type who works in the field, not just in an office.”
“You mean, an agent of some kind?” I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand, trying to loosen my stiff muscles. Although I’d already suspected this, it was interesting to get confirmation from someone like Hugh. “Like FBI or CIA, that sort of thing?”
“Yes, although there are many other agencies engaged in similar activities.” Aunt Lydia pulled a white cotton handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her lips. “Hugh’s worked with several of those, tracking down art forgers and exposing illegal sales of antiquities.”
“I suppose it’s possible.” I tucked a lock of my dark hair behind my ear. “Anyway, if you need help serving the coffee, let me know. Otherwise, I think I’ll head out back and see if I can track down Scott. Dad said he heard his car but hadn’t seen him come into the house. I thought he might be in the garden.”
Aunt Lydia waved me off. “I can handle this. You go and see if your brother is outside, and if so, if he’ll talk to you.”
“Neither of which is guaranteed,” I agreed. “Okay. Just save me one shot of that brandy, would you?”
“I’ll put a glass aside for you,” Aunt Lydia said with a smile.
I left the kitchen and crossed through the enclosed sun porch to reach the back door. Pausing on the outside stoop, I caught a glimpse of dark hair through the fluttering leaves of a tall rosebush.
“Hey you,” I said when I reached Scott. He turned away from his contemplation of the concrete birdbath set in the junction of crisscrossing pea gravel–covered paths. “What’s with the disappearing act?”
Scott used one thumb to shove his drooping glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just needed some fresh air.”
“Like earlier?” I tipped my head and surveyed him, noting his calm, unreadable expression. “When you were at the party, I mean. Richard and I saw you walking into the backyard from around the far side of the house. Right before we stumbled over Oscar Selvaggio’s body.” I twisted a strand of my hair around one of my fingers. “We had to tell the sheriff’s department, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right. No big secret.” Scott brushed a rose petal from the shoulder of his sweater. “I told the deputies I’d been taking a stroll outside around that time.”
“You weren’t the only one, though.”
“No?” Scott’s dark eyebrows rose above the top rim of his glasses. “I didn’t see anyone else, except for some young woman in a baggy gray dress.”
“That would’ve been Honor Bryant, Oscar Selvaggio’s assistant,” I said with a frown. “Kurt was taking a walk as well, but he’d headed inside by the time you reached the house, I guess,” I said, not sure that was entirely accurate. Kurt had entered the house by the back door prior to Scott crossing the yard, but not so long before that Scott should’ve missed seeing him.
“Must have.” Scott turned back to the birdbath. “Anyone else?”
“There was someone hiking through the woods,” I said, debating whether to mention Adele’s name. “An older woman in a purple dress. You didn’t see her either?”
Scott flicked his fingers across the surface of the water. “No, but I wasn’t in that area. I didn’t think the woods would be kind to my good shoes, so I just walked down the paved driveway to the main road and back.”
“Someone probably saw you, then.”
“Not sure. As I said, I didn’t encounter anyone else, except that assistant. She kept her head down and was intently focused on her cell phone, though, so it’s questionable whether she even noticed me.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Scott turned around to face me. “Why? Because it leaves me as a possible suspect in Selvaggio’s death?”
“I didn’t mean …” I took a few steps back before stiffening my spine and looking Scott in the eye. “Actually, I did mean that. Brad Tucker, the chief deputy, singled you out for special interest, along with Kurt and that woman in the woods. So it would’ve been better if Honor Bryant or someone else had seen you when you were out taking your stroll down the lane.”
Scott shrugged. “Not that it matters. Selvaggio’s death isn’t necessarily due to foul play. Could have been natural causes.”
I exhaled a gusty breath. “That’s true. I guess I’ve just had so many bad experiences over the last few years. I tend to jump to conclusions.”
“You have run into more than your share of murders.” Scott’s lips twitched into a smile. “Mom and Dad have despaired over your unfortunate habit of encountering killers.”
I shook my head. “It has happened far too often recently. But I swear, I don’t seek them out. It’s just that when there’s a mystery to be solved …”
Scott laid his hand on my arm. “You can’t help but investigate? I know. In that regard, I think we may be more alike than anyone suspects.”
“Could be.” I covered his hand with mine and looked him up and down. “Now tell me—why are you staying with Aunt Lydia until the wedding?
That’s a full four weeks. You’ve never taken that much time off work before, at least not to my knowledge. And don’t tell me it’s to help out with the wedding preparations. I know better than that.”
“You’re right, it’s not, although I am happy to help. No”—the brightness fled Scott’s eyes—“I do have another reason for staying here for a while.”
I lifted my hand and stepped away. “You’re either working a case or hiding out. Or both. But of course, you can’t say.”
“That’s right.” Scott rubbed the side of his nose with one finger. “But don’t feel left out. I can’t tell Aunt Lydia or Mom and Dad either.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if they, like you, suspect anything, but can we continue to pretend they don’t?”
“In other words, you don’t want me discussing it with them.”
“In those very words, no, I don’t.” Scott flashed me a smile. “I won’t tell you not to talk with Richard, as I would hate to create secrets between you. It’s too rare to see people who really seem to trust one another for me to mess that up. But I hope you’ll keep your suspicions to yourself otherwise.”
“I promise,” I said, before tapping my lips with two fingers. “Speaking of relationships, are you still in one? Last time I saw you, you mentioned some guy named Sean.”
“Alas, Sean is long gone. Like all the rest. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have your ability to find the right person.”
“Don’t give up hope. It took me a while,” I said dryly. “Besides, I have a feeling that your job isn’t very kind to long-term relationships. All that jetting off here and there.”
“It’s true. And despite your clumsy attempt to catch me off guard, I’m not going to tell you anything more.” Scott offered another smile before strolling past me to reach the main path. “You coming, or do I have to make excuses for you as well to Aunt Lydia and the parents?”
“I’m coming,” I said, following him. “And as for excuses, who was the one who always came up with the best ones? The ones that saved us from being sent to our rooms?’
“That was me,” Scott called back over his shoulder.
Since he was right, I didn’t bother to reply.
Chapter Four
The next morning we accompanied Aunt Lydia to church, which resulted in too many questions from curious parishioners, not just about my family, who rarely visited Taylorsford, but also about the tragic outcome of Kurt’s party. After fielding the fifteenth inquiry into Oscar Selvaggio’s sudden death, I was happy to spend the afternoon concentrating on an entirely unrelated activity.
Right after we returned home, Richard had left for Clarion University, where he planned to coach a few of his choreography students on their graduation projects. “He’s a dedicated teacher,” I’d told my family, who, being equally committed to their jobs, understood. Hugh had also headed out, claiming he had to meet up with a friend.
When Dad, who always grew restless if unoccupied for too long, suggested a hike, I’d asked my mom to stay behind with me. It was clear that Scott and Dad were eager to spend the rest of the day outside. Which meant I had to recruit my mother as a cake taster.
“They’re off being healthy, and here I am, stuffing my face,” Mom said, in an indulgent tone that told me she wasn’t actually upset over this turn of events.
I cut a thin slice of caramel-frosted spice cake and slid it onto a paper plate. “One more piece to try.”
My mom groaned. “Really? I think I’ve reached my limit.”
Aunt Lydia pointed a silver-plated cake server at Mom. “Now, Debbie, when you agreed to help test options for the wedding reception, I warned you I was making several varieties.”
“I know, and they’re all delicious. It’s just a lot more cake than I’m used to.” Mom tapped her temple with two fingers. “My head is spinning from the sugar rush.”
“This really is the last one.” I carried two slices over to the table. “We do need to narrow it down to three or four options. I think anything more would feel overwhelming.”
“Agreed,” Mom said, as I sat down across from her.
The center of the table was filled with other plates holding cake slices—some half-eaten and some untouched. Mom had already dug into the various selections, as had I, but Aunt Lydia, who’d been occupied with cutting the samples, had yet to taste anything.
I grabbed a piece of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. “Like I mentioned earlier, Mom, we’re going to have a local bakery make a small decorated cake that we’ll cut for the photos and so on, but we didn’t want one of those giant, inedible concoctions that would only please a few guests.” I paused to take a bite of my cake. “This way,” I said, after licking the frosting from my fork, “people will have several flavor combinations to choose from.”
“And Lydia’s cakes are amazing, so there’s that,” Mom said, casting her sister a smile.
“Thanks.” Aunt Lydia sat down beside me. “I just thought it was something I could do that would save Richard and Amy some money, as well as offer the guests a choice.”
I pushed the red velvet slice aside and reached for a rich chocolate with mocha icing. “We’re going to use one of Aunt Lydia’s special serving trays. It has several tiers, which will allow us to arrange the slices decoratively. I thought it could be used to create a centerpiece in place of the traditional multitiered wedding cake.”
“You know your dad and I would help out with the wedding expenses if you asked,” Mom said.
I waved my fork through the air. “I know you would, and I also understand it’s tradition for the bride’s parents to foot the bill, but it isn’t necessary. I mean, I’m thirty-five and Richard is thirty-seven. I think we’re old enough to pay our own way.”
“I’m going to pay for your dress, though,” Mom said firmly.
I smiled. “That I will accept. Fortunately, the one I’ve chosen isn’t going to break the bank.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Mom said. “When’s that fitting again?”
“This coming Saturday. Oh, by the way, Karla will be joining us. She needs to pick out something for herself.”
Mom grinned. “Fiona won’t be tagging along, I hope.”
“I’m not a masochist,” I said. “Besides, she’s still bent out of shape over the fact that Richard is having a best woman rather than a best man.”
“Don’t I know it. When she cornered me at yesterday’s party, she was quite eloquent in expressing her dissatisfaction with that plan.” Mom laid down her fork and pushed her chair back from the table. “I simply told her I thought it was a charming idea, which sent her off, grumbling.”
“Fiona does have very strong opinions about any number of subjects,” Aunt Lydia said, her expression thoughtful. “But I suspect she’s less hard-nosed than she appears.”
I side-eyed my aunt. “What makes you say that?”
“Her face when she caught sight of you and Richard standing together. Her expression softened, and she made some offhand remark about being pleased that her son seemed so happy.” Aunt Lydia tapped my thigh with her finger. “I think she really wants a closer relationship with Richard. It’s just that dreadful husband of hers, with all his bluster and biases, standing in the way.”
“You think he runs her life?” my mom asked, with a lift of her dark eyebrows.
“It appears so. To me, anyway.” Aunt Lydia shrugged. “I admit she comes off as very opinionated, but I wonder if all those opinions are her own.”
I considered this nugget of information as I sampled the chocolate cake. My future mother-in-law, who always seemed so formal and detached in her relationship with her only child, had taken to Aunt Lydia in a surprisingly friendly fashion. Perhaps she’d actually let her guard down around my aunt. It was something worth considering, anyway. Although I doubted I could ever win over Richard’s dad, I still hoped to eventually establish a rapport with his mother. Or at least, something more than the polite frostiness that constituted our current relationship.
“Jim Muir does come across as a bully,” Mom said. “It amazes me that Richard emerged from that situation as kind and affectionate as he is.”
“That constantly astounds me too.” I laid my fork across the edge of the plate. “Okay, ready to vote?”
“I don’t know how to choose. They’re all so delicious,” Mom said.
Aunt Lydia toyed with her fork, stirring a few crumbs on her plate. “What would offer the best variety?”
“I think you need the chocolate, because there are always chocolate lovers,” Mom said.
“And the vanilla cake with the icing that has that touch of almond flavor.” I looked over the selections. “The red velvet for a different color and texture.”
“How about one more?” Aunt Lydia tapped the side of her plate with her fork. “The spice cake, perhaps?”
“I think that would round out the flavor options,” Mom said as the front door opened.
All three of us turned toward the thump of hard-soled shoes resounding against the wood plank hall floor.
It couldn’t be Dad and Scott, I thought, remembering that they’d been wearing sneakers. But it has to be someone with a key …
“What’s this?” Hugh strolled into the kitchen, followed by a younger man I’d never seen before. “Serving up cake without me?”
“You said you’d be out all day, dear.” Aunt Lydia rose to her feet to greet Hugh with a peck on the cheek. “Anyway, you aren’t that fond of sweets.”
“That’s true, although you should know I might make an exception for anything you bake.” Hugh leaned in and kissed my aunt on the lips before turning to his companion. “Sorry, Fred, I don’t mean to leave you just standing there.”
The stranger’s chestnut-brown eyes swept over Aunt Lydia. “I can see why you’d get distracted,” he said, before offering her his hand. “Frederick Nash, but you can call me Fred.”
“Lydia Talbot,” she replied, grasping his fingers with a firmness that seemed to surprise him. “I suppose you’re the friend that Hugh was meeting with today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A Deadly Edition Page 4
