Love in a Nutshell

by Janet Evanovich

  She smiled. “So I see. You might want to grab a towel for yourself now, too.”

  “I’ve smelled like beer before,” he said, but wiped his hands just the same. After he tossed the towel back to the counter, he gestured at the floor. “Sorry about this.”

  Kate gestured toward the vandalized mirror. “The note is what’s really freaked me out. Is this the first time the saboteur’s ever targeted you personally?”

  Matt shrugged. “Yeah. This is sort of new.”

  “Well, personally, I can’t wait to have a chat with the jerk who did this,” Kate said. “But right now, I’m wet and gross-smelling. I’d like to go home and change before we start my training.”

  “No training today,” Matt said. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to lose a day over a bruised butt. How about if I go home and get cleaned up? I’ll come back at lunchtime and observe for the afternoon. It’s not going to do me or you any good to have me sit home.”

  “True,” he said. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yes. I’ll take some extra towels so I don’t soak my seat.”

  Once he had Kate safely to her Jeep and on her way, Matt pulled out his cell phone and called in the law. Ten minutes later, just as he’d finished mopping the spilled beer, Lizzie arrived.

  Lizzie surveyed the taproom. “Someone sure was busy.”

  She set her clipboard down and pulled a digital camera from her uniform pocket. “I’m going to take a few pics.”

  “No problem.”

  “So, tell me what you know,” she said between shots.

  Matt looked at the messed-up room and felt his frustration surge.

  “Kate and I were going to meet here at seven-thirty. She got here first, found the front door unlocked, and the mess inside. Beer was free-pouring in here. She went behind the bar to catch the taps and fell. The mats were still rolled from the floor mopping last night, and the back of the bar had standing beer.”

  Lizzie pocketed the camera and picked up her clipboard. “The front door is usually locked, right?”

  “Yes, unless someone screws up in a major way.”

  “Who has keys?”

  Matt righted a café table. “Jerry, Bart, Laila, and I. No one else that I’m aware of. I closed last night, and I know for sure I locked that door, which means someone else has a copy.”

  “Or Jerry, Bart, or Laila were here just a little while ago,” she said as she jotted notes.

  “Laila’s down with an ankle sprain from Friday night, so she’s out. You can check with Bart and Jerry, but neither of them had reason to be here. Though Jerry isn’t exactly up for employee of the month at the moment.”

  “What’s up with Jerry?”

  Matt picked up a chair. “I’ve been told that he’s been leaving work when I’m not around. It could mean something, or it could mean nothing at all.”

  “Told by who?” Lizzie asked.

  “Kate. She’ll be back here at lunchtime if you want to talk to her. She’s pretty sharp. I trust her observations.”

  “Okay, but why didn’t someone else on staff tell you about Jerry before this?”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but most everyone has been around for a long time. This place is family, and just like we did when we were kids, these guys tend to cover for one another. Which is why I don’t want to believe that Jerry would sabotage the bar. We’ve been friends for too long.”

  “You don’t have any real enemies, Matt,” Lizzie said. “No matter who did this, it’s going to be bad news, once we find out.”

  All the same, Matt wanted it done.

  * * *

  LUNCH RUSH had arrived, and Kate was settled in at the taproom bar. She was one in a long line of females, most of whom were watching Matt pour beer as though he were making gold from lead.

  Really, what was the big deal with beer pouring? And how had the jungle drums gotten word out so quickly that Matt was behind the bar? Kate figured they must have a calling tree or something.

  “Just water for me, Matt, and a veggie quesadilla. Do you think you could make that with whole wheat tortillas and goat cheese?” asked a dark-haired female three women down.

  “How about organic carrot juice?” asked the girl next to her. “Do you have any of that, Matt?”

  He answered each of their questions in the negative, but with a style Kate envied. The next time around the rebirth wheel (if the reincarnationists were right), she hoped for a dollop of that charm. If she’d had to tell those women no, they’d be howling for the manager. Or Matt. Because he was all they wanted, anyway.

  Kate took a sip of her iced tea and paged through the microbrewery’s training manual. The chart of which glass to use with which beer was proving a little complex for her current attention span. She never would have thought that beer and a snifter could go together, but that weird combo was the least of her issues.

  Kate’s tailbone had begun to ache, and her pride still stung. Before she’d showered and returned to work, she’d retrieved the crumpled white cocktail napkin and the short bit of thin, braided string she’d picked up from the floor and stuck into her pocket. Those two items were the only clues she had. Until she was sure they wouldn’t trigger some sort of aha! moment, they would rest in her dresser’s top drawer.

  “Kate, right?” said a voice from behind her.

  Kate looked over her shoulder.

  “I’m Liz Culhane, but everyone calls me Lizzie,” the woman said. “I’m also Matt’s sister.”

  Kate smiled. “Right. I saw you talking to Matt the night of the karaoke contest.”

  “I was a little more casually dressed then.” Lizzie nodded to her police officer’s uniform. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Lizzie took the stool next to Kate. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Finally?”

  “My brother mentioned you the other night at dinner.”

  “Really?” Kate had tried to sound cool. She wasn’t so sure she’d pulled it off.

  “Yeah, in a Matt sort of way. Not with a whole lot of detail.”

  “Oh.” Kate glanced at Matt. Though he was pouring a pitcher of beer, she could tell he was listening.

  “And I also know you took a spill this morning,” Lizzie said.

  “I did, but I’m okay.” Kate noted the other woman’s clipboard. “I take it we’re talking officially rather than personally?”

  Lizzie smiled. “A little of both, I think.”

  Matt greeted his sister and set a glass of ice water on a coaster in front of her, then moved on to suggest items actually on the menu to the dark-haired woman, whose name was apparently Lana.

  “On the official front, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” Lizzie said to Kate.

  “No problem.”

  “Matt said you got here before him. Was there anybody else around or leaving the Depot area when you arrived?”

  “The last person I saw was Junior Greinwold walking down Keene Avenue with Harley Bagger. Otherwise, no one, which I’m coming to understand is pretty common this time of year.”

  Lizzie nodded. “It’s quiet, which makes something like what’s happened around here really stand out. And what frustrates me is that this building is like fingerprint soup. Even though it’s the cleanest restaurant I’ve ever seen, it’s still a public place. People are in and out all day long. Lifting prints would be pointless.”

  Kate nodded in agreement. “You know it’s been more than the Dumpster fire and the vandalism, right?”

  “Matt told me about some other events … flat tires, stolen supplies, and the open walk-in cooler.”

  “Plus the iffy Depot beer at Bagger’s, though I have no idea if that was actually related. It’s how I landed here, though. Harley fired me, and Matt hired me.”

  “Really? I thought he’d hired you because you two are involved.”

  A redhead one seat down from Lizzie aimed a surprised
look Kate’s way. Kate ignored it and focused on Matt’s multitasking skills.

  “How does he do that?” Kate asked Lizzie.

  “ADD,” she replied. “Mom always said Matt was either going to spend his life with a million tasks half done or learn to run the world.” Her smile, so similar to her brother’s, held a ton of pride. “It looks like he’s taken the world-running route.”

  And he looked damn fine while doing it, too.

  “Okay,” Lizzie said. “One last official question for you. I know it’s unlikely, since you haven’t been back in Keene’s Harbor very long, but is there anyone here who could have a grudge against you? Is it possible that yesterday’s incident wasn’t aimed at Matt at all?”

  “From what Matt has told me, no one other than Jerry knew that Matt and I were going to be in early. I’m not tops on Jerry’s list, but he wouldn’t endanger his job to get rid of me. Beyond that, I’ve kind of been on the fringes of things since I came to town. Nobody much knows me. I don’t think I’ve even had the opportunity to tick anyone off besides Deena Bowen, and I get the sense that it’s not personal in her case. She’s angry at the world.”

  “You’ve got that one half right. She might be ticked off at the world, but she saves a lot of her ammo for Matt. I think after Friday night, you could have moved into target range.”

  “Do you mean by singing in the karaoke competition? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does. I saw the way Matt was looking at you while you sang,” Lizzie said. “And if I saw it from the side of the stage, guaranteed Deena saw it from backstage.”

  Kate glanced down the bar, where Lana was stroking the bar’s laminated surface while talking to Matt.

  She rolled her eyes at Lizzie. “Paging Captain Oblivious.”

  Lizzie followed Kate’s line of vision. “It’s always been like that for him. The less he pays attention, the more blatant they become. Growing up with him in the house and the high school versions of Lana at the door was weirdly entertaining. If nothing else, it gave me a good perspective on how I didn’t want to be around boys.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Hey,” Lizzie said. “This is kind of spur of the moment, but would you like to come have dinner at my parents’ with me tomorrow? It’s Spaghetti Tuesday, which means it’s a family tradition that we drag along friends. My mom makes a salad and a huge pot of spaghetti. If it all gets eaten, great. If not, my sisters and I have leftovers to take home.”

  “What about Matt?” Kate asked, and just as she did, he came to stand in front of them.

  “Matt’s our backwoods recluse when he’s not at work. He never comes to Spaghetti Tuesday.”

  Matt looked at Kate. “Contrary to what my sister says, I’m not a hermit. I’d actually been planning on spaghetti night. How about if I pick you up?”

  Kate put her hand on the smooth bar surface and quickly pulled it back. “Sure.”

  “Great. I’ll be there at six.”

  “See?” Lizzie said to him. “You’re dating!”

  A gasp rose along the girls’ all-star admiration line, then all eyes turned to scrutinize Kate. In the space of thirty seconds, she’d gone from being unknown to notorious. But for spaghetti, family, and time with Matt Culhane, she’d deal. And happily, too.

  * * *

  JUST BEFORE five that evening, Kate walked into the post office. She smiled at the sweeping stairway to nowhere, created when the building’s second floor had been roped off due to declining town population. Despite the passage of time, the interior of the ornate sandstone and yellow brick building was like a trip back to the early 1900s. Or maybe just to high school, considering the way Deena Bowen was giving Kate the stink-eye as she approached.

  Deena stepped away from the wall of brass and glass–fronted post office boxes.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Kate had never heard that one syllable delivered with more crankiness.

  “I hear you’re going out with Matt,” Deena said.

  Kate wasn’t going to get into the technical aspects of whether a family spaghetti dinner qualified as a date. She worked up what she hoped was a noncommittal shrug and moved on to her mailbox.

  “He’ll dump you. Just wait and see,” Deena called after her.

  Kate didn’t plan to get to the dating point, let alone the dumping point. She let the comment roll off and turned her attention to the accumulation of mail in The Nutshell’s box.

  “Junk, bill … more junk,” she said as she pulled items from the tight space. “And … trouble.”

  Her mother’s custom periwinkle linen stationery was unmistakable, as was her perfect cursive script—written with a black ink fountain pen, of course. So long as the letter wasn’t directed to her, Kate found it cool that her mom kept up the dying art of handwritten correspondence. But when Ms. Katherine Appleton appeared on the address line, the envelope was often stuffed with ego-crushers. Not that Kate thought her mom meant to do that, but the end result remained the same.

  Kate closed the box and took her load to the counter behind her for sorting. She dropped the catalogues filled with goods she couldn’t afford into the recycling bin, tucked the electric bill into her purse, and opened her mom’s letter. In the past, many of Mom’s messages were like bikini waxes: best finished quickly.

  The first few lines were about the weather and her mother’s golf game. Then Mom offered a little chitchat about Kate’s brother and sister and their respective brilliant toddler offspring, which led into the true purpose of the letter.

  As I dream of Ivy League educations for my grandchildren, her mother wrote, I can’t help but feel a moment’s sorrow that you didn’t follow a more financially secure path. A business degree would have allowed for far more stability than a degree in the arts. It’s a different world than when I was your age, Kate.

  “Doing what? Accounting?” Kate said to herself. She was fine with basic addition and subtracting, especially if she had a calculator. Start placing numbers in labeled columns, though, and she was a lost cause.

  Kate had chosen the small liberal arts college her mom had attended, and it had been a good fit. She figured the love of history and art was something in her genes, something that she had inherited from her mother, but her mother might be right about changing times. Kate admitted to herself that she was struggling career-wise.

  Ella joined Kate at the counter. “I’ve come to offer you safe passage.” She hitched her thumb at Deena. “She seems to be lurking.”

  “No biggie. I’m getting pretty good with the end run when it comes to Deena, but I’m still not so good with this stuff.”

  Ella smiled and tapped the letter, which lay on the counter, just begging to be read to the very end. “Pretty handwriting, but I’m guessing it’s not from a great-aunt leaving you a fortune?”

  “It’s from my mother, offering her perspective on where I went wrong. It seems I should have gotten a business degree in college.”

  Ella shook her head. “But you hate numbers.”

  “You know that, and I know that, but Mom considers it a trifle in the Appleton scheme for world domination.”

  “And yet you read on.”

  “Yes. Because my mom is probably right.”

  Ella pulled the letter from the counter.

  Kate made a grab for it. “Hey!”

  Ella held the letter in the air above Kate’s shorter grasp.

  “Seriously,” Ella said. “I’m taking custody of this. I’ve known you since we were kids. That means I also know how good you are at beating yourself up whenever your mother makes a comment, no matter how well intended. What constructive thing would come from finishing this letter right now?”

  “I could learn something.”

  Ella handed her the letter. “Learn something later. Put off reading the rest of the letter and come with me for loaded nachos at Bagger’s. It’ll be just like the old days. We can pig out, then go home and sleep.”

  Kate stuck the letter in her purse
. “So long as I get extra sour cream and guacamole, it’s a deal,” Kate said.

  ELEVEN

  Matt wasn’t wholly anti-tradition. For example, he got a real kick out of Christmas, especially now that Maura had given him twin nieces to spoil and had another baby on the way. Thanksgiving was a winner, too, since his dad and he had a turkey hunting contest each year. Spaghetti Tuesdays, however, had to die.

  The rite had started in junior high, and he’d always been on the losing side. Even when he was backed up by half the football team, they were no match for his sharp-witted sisters. Over the years, Matt had developed empathy for those poor, wild Thanksgiving birds looking down the barrel of a shotgun. It had been a while since he’d attended Spaghetti Tuesday, but he had no delusions. His sisters would cut him no slack. And heaven help Kate if she wasn’t on her toes. His sisters weren’t mean, but they were mercilessly honest.

  “Let me know the second you start feeling tired, and I’ll get you out of here,” he said to Kate as they approached the house.

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but we’re not even inside yet.”

  “The offer still stands.”

  She laughed. “Come on, Matt. How bad can it be?”

  “It all depends on whether you’re the diner or the main course.”

  They reached the porch, and Matt held the door open for Kate. The sounds of laughter and conversation rolled from the back of the house, along with the scents of garlic and spices from his mom’s amazing spaghetti sauce.

  Kate ran a hand over the oak banister that had been scratched and worn by generations of tough Culhane kids. “This house is awesome,” Kate said.

  “It is.” Matt ushered her past the entry, through the living room and into the dining room, where everyone always tended to gather.

  All eyes turned their way. Matt could feel Kate hesitate. He didn’t blame her. His sisters were quite the crew.

  “Everyone, this is Kate. Kate, this is … everyone.”

  His mother laughed and approached them. “Matthew. Have you lost all your manners?”

  Matt gave his mom a hug. “I just didn’t want Kate to feel like there’s a quiz at the end of the introductions.”