Death on a Platter (18 page)

“What can I do?” Josie asked.

“Pour us some coffee. I put out the Rose Point china in the breakfast nook.”

Josie admired the old-fashioned white china with the raised roses twining along the edges. Real white roses with pink centers filled a Rose Point vase. A pink tablecloth and napkins provided the backdrop.

“The roses are gorgeous,” Josie said. “They smell good, too.”

“Jake gave me those for our anniversary.” A rosy blush painted her fair skin. “This, too.” Her wrist sparkled in the breakfast room sunlight.

“A diamond tennis bracelet,” Josie said. “You’re the best-dressed chef in Wood Winds.”

“Better try those pancakes before they get cold,” Alyce said.

Josie took a forkful without hesitation. Sampling this unfamiliar dish wasn’t as risky as trying pig ears and brains.

“Those caramelized apples are amazing,” Josie said.

“Do you want vanilla ice cream?”

“No, thanks. They’re perfect,” Josie said.

“So, what’s your problem with Ted, who’s also perfect?”

“That’s the problem,” Josie said. “He’s too perfect.”

“There’s no such thing,” Alyce said. “He’s a good man.”

“Of course he is. But I’ve never been married. I have some serious mistakes in my past.”

“Then you’re smart enough to know a good choice now,” Alyce said.

“How do I know we’ll be happy?”

“You won’t be, not all the time. Jake and I have had our problems—you know that. But we still like each other and we love each other. We have a beautiful son. I’m happy with my career and he’s happy with his. We have a good marriage. You will, too, with the right man.”

“But how do I know if he is?” Josie asked.

“My mother used to say you had to answer three questions: Do you love him, do you like him, and can you tolerate his faults?”

“He doesn’t have any faults, except he likes snakes.”

“He won’t keep them in the bedroom, will he?” Alyce asked.

“No, he quit keeping snakes at home after his last one died.”

“So what’s the problem, Josie? You’ve known Ted more than a year. Your mother likes him. Your daughter adores him. Even your cat is crazy about him.”

“I don’t know,” Josie said.

“I think you’re afraid,” Alyce said.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re afraid you’ll pick the wrong man again,” Alyce said.

“Nate was my first and biggest mistake,” Josie said.

“Nate wasn’t such a bad choice,” Alyce said. “You had a sizzling romance. You made a beautiful daughter.”

“I was going to tell him I was pregnant so we could marry, when I discovered he was a drug dealer.”

“You were blinded by love,” Alyce said. “When you saw who Nate really was, you left him. You’ve brought Amelia up right.”

“I’ve tried. I didn’t love anyone for ten years after Nate. Then I fell for a barista named Josh. He turned out to be selling something more addictive than caffeine. When I accidentally discovered that bag of coke in his closet, I refused to see him again. After that, I didn’t really didn’t trust men. I never intended to date Mike the plumber, but he coaxed me into loving him. I nearly had his engagement ring on my finger when I realized Mike had a psycho daughter and he would always side with her. I couldn’t give Amelia a mean, drunken half sister.”

“And you didn’t,” Alyce said. “Josh and Mike didn’t work out, but you were smart enough to walk away as soon as you realized that.”

“Ted is gentle and patient,” Josie said, then sighed. “I make him sound like an old man. He’s so sizzling, I want to tear off his clothes when we’re together. But I don’t. I can’t marry him. Not with my history of bad choices.”

“Josie, you’ve chosen well this time,” Alyce said. “Ted wouldn’t work for me. I don’t like big galumphing dogs or their hair. He couldn’t support me as a stay-at-home mom. But he’s right for you. Are you going to keep punishing yourself for what you see as your mistakes? Or are you going to forget the past and marry the man you love?”

“Where would we live?” Josie asked.

“He has a house,” Alyce said.

“Ted rents,” Josie said.

“Then buy a home of your own.”

“But what about my mother?”

“You’re thirty-one, Josie. It’s time you left home. Your mom could rent out your flat for what it’s actually worth. Jane could use the income. Maplewood has become a hot place to live. She’d have real money coming in every month. She’ll never raise your rent and you know it. Marry Ted and you’ll have a new life.”

“And a place of my own,” Josie said.

Possibilities were opening for Josie like the fragrant bouquet on the table. She and Ted could have a home that didn’t have garage sale furniture. Or a glowering Mrs. Mueller next door, watching every move.

Josie would live happily ever after with Ted. They would have a yard with a deck. And patio furniture. Maybe a table with a striped sun umbrella. They would barbecue after work. Ted’s dog and cat and Amelia’s cat would play together.

Josie and Ted would help Amelia grow into a young woman. Her daughter needed a father’s guidance. Ted had shown good judgment last night when Amelia asked him about her dog walking business.

Through the sweet sugar haze of pancakes and white roses, Josie could see Amelia, dressed for her prom. She would take pictures when her daughter’s date showed up, awkward in his first tux.

And Josie would have pictures of her own. Wedding pictures. She would no longer be an unmarried single mother, handling all the problems alone.

Josie saw herself happy and fulfilled, spending the rest of her life with Ted, Amelia, and a house full of hairy pets.

For a moment, her mind flashed back to another flower-filled scene, one that wasn’t so happy. Last night, a black-clad Lorena had been shamed and shunned at Clay’s wake. Desmond had escorted her out of the funeral home, but Josie didn’t think the developer’s scout would be by her side for life. He didn’t love her. Josie could see that by the way Desmond held her arm. He didn’t keep her close, the way Ted would. Poor Lorena.

Josie understood how Lorena felt, shut up in that dingy restaurant, unloved and unwanted, growing older and lonelier. A woman might kill to escape that fate.

“I can’t believe our luck,” Ted said. “I’ve never been seated at Tillie’s without at least a twenty-minute wait. Today we walked right in at noon and got a booth in the bar.”

“Good luck for us,” Josie said, “bad luck for Tillie.”

The life had gone out of Tillie’s Off the Hill. Tillie needed to be bustling behind the bar, laughing, joking, calling hello to her customers, threatening to eighty-six Clay.

Without its usual noonday hustle, the restaurant seemed old and dingy. Josie noticed the chips in the paint and the scuffs on the floor. Sounds echoed uncomfortably, constant reminders that the restaurant was nearly empty. Conversations shriveled in the silence.

Poor Tillie. She’d gotten her wish. Clay was gone for good. It looked like her business might be, too.

Clay’s regular seat at the bar was empty. No, it was filled, Josie thought. The dead man’s rage seemed to linger like black smoke, covering all the empty bar stools like a seething fog.

Only two other tables had lunchtime diners. A pair of gray-suited men sat near the door. One twirled spaghetti around his fork. The other had a napkin tucked under his chin to protect his white shirt and tie. Desmond Twinings sat at his usual table in the corner with a half-empty glass of soda in front of him.

Two plates of spaghetti and a soda couldn’t support the rambling restaurant. How long could Tillie’s stay open with this trickle of business? How would Tillie survive the scandal—and the looming court cases?

Josie and Ted studied their great slabs of red, white, and green menus. “I wore a tomato-colored shirt,” he said. “I plan to do some serious eating.”

“That red plaid should hide anything from Alfredo sauce to baked ziti,” Josie said.

“Matches my eyes, too,” Ted said, and waggled his eyebrows at her. “What are you getting?”

“Not toasted ravioli, that’s for sure,” Josie said. “The lasagna looks good.”

“Chicken parmigiana for me,” Ted said.

A shadow crossed their menus. Lorena appeared at their table, armed with an order pad and pen.

“Josie, how nice of you to be here,” Tillie’s daughter said. “And you brought a guest. I appreciate your support. Business is light today.”

The last time Josie had seen Lorena at the restaurant, she’d been so overworked, Josie had wanted her to sit down and rest. Her server’s uniform of a white blouse and black pants had showed signs of battle fatigue. She’d had a tired droop to her shoulders. Even her hair had seemed exhausted.

Today Lorena looked worried. The tiny frown lines in her pretty face seemed slightly deeper, but her blouse was fresh and white. She was wearing a new addition to her uniform: white cotton gloves.

“This is my friend Ted,” Josie said. “He’s been here before. You’ve changed your uniform. Now we’re getting white-glove service.”

Lorena lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Josie, your mom is a family friend, so I’ll tell you the real reason. I’ve got this weird rash on my hands. I have to keep it covered. The doctor gave me some cream, but I still hide it with white gloves. We can’t afford to lose any customers because people think I have a skin disease.”

Josie could see a red, blistered patch at Lorena’s wrist. “What is it?”

“I’m allergic to our new kitchen soap,” Lorena said. “Mom bought a case on sale. I spent every penny she saved on a dermatologist. He says it should go away shortly. It itches, but it’s not catching.”

“That’s a relief,” Josie said. “Why is your friend Desmond wearing gloves? Is he allergic, too?”

“No, he has eczema,” Lorena said. “Brought on by stress. Desmond is still trying to put together that land purchase and it’s taken a toll. Important people are pressuring him to close the deal. Mom is the last holdout. She won’t sell—not even after Clay died. She expects to get out of jail and go right back to work here.”

Josie felt a twinge of guilt. Desmond wasn’t the only one under pressure. Jane was pushing her to help free Tillie. She decided to chance an ugly question. She had Ted here if Lorena turned nasty.

“The pressure must have just started getting to him,” Josie said. “I saw him wearing gloves at Clay’s wake.”

“You were there?” Lorena gave a shrill laugh. “Was that a circus or what?”

“I admire the way you handled Henrietta,” Josie said. “You kept your dignity when she lost hers. You did the right thing, trying to pay your respects to his widow.”

“I’m lucky I had Desmond there to protect me,” Lorena said. “I’ll put your order in, hon. You must be starving and I’m standing here yakking.” She sprinted for the kitchen as if demons were chasing her.

Josie glanced over at Desmond, a glowering shadow brooding over his drink. One black-gloved pinkie sparkled in the dim light. He was wearing his gambler’s diamond. How much of a gambler was he? Was he still betting he could get Tillie’s property and close the casino land deal? Had he and Lorena helped turn the odds in his favor?

Desmond shifted in his seat. Josie, concerned that he might see her staring at him, turned her gaze to the window by their booth. The fall wind whipped through the vacant lot next door, and the weeds rustled and rapped against the window.

“What are you staring at, Josie?” Ted asked.

“Weeds,” Josie said. “I was thinking about what you said last night—that poison ivy was pretty. It’s taking over the lot next door.”

“Where?” Ted asked, watching the wind-whipped weeds. “I see yellow ragweed, white Queen Ann’s lace, and black-eyed Susans.”

“Back there.” Josie pointed with her fork. “By the kitchen door. There’s a fiery red patch of poison ivy surrounding the castor bean plants with the purple-black leaves. The castor beans are maybe five or six feet tall with leaves as big as dinner plates.”

“They’re pretty poison,” Ted asked. “Not all those plants are weeds anymore. I read that florists are using Queen Ann’s lace in fancy bouquets. Around here, the highway department mows them down with all the other weeds.”

“Landscape artists still use castor beans in their designs,” Josie said. “I can see why, but they’re too dangerous. What if kids get hold of them?”

“Not just kids,” Ted said. “They poison dogs, cats, even horses and cattle. They grow wild everywhere around here. I somehow doubt that poison ivy will brighten a bouquet, no matter how attractive it looks.”

“Who wants to smell a bouquet and wind up with a nose full of poison ivy?” Josie said. “That’s not how to say it with flowers.”

Ted looked around to make sure there was no sign of Lorena. “Do you have another toasted ravioli restaurant for your TAG Tour?” he asked.

“Yep, they want me to try Zia’s.”

“That’s on the Hill, right?”

“Since 1984,” Josie said. “The restaurant is almost as old as I am. Guess TAG wants a more traditional venue this time. It’s a shame about Tillie’s. I would have—”

Ted lightly kicked Josie’s shoe and she shut up. They were wrapped in a warm cloud of spicy tomato sauce.

“Lunch has arrived,” Lorena said. She set a steaming blue china platter in front of Josie. “Your lasagna,” she said.

“And your chicken parm,” she said to Ted. “Here’s more bread and extra butter.”

Lorena refilled their water glasses, then asked, “Anything else I can get you—another beer? Some coffee? Grated cheese?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Josie said.

“Me, too,” Ted said.

“Then
mangia
!” she said, giving the traditional Italian command.

Eat they did, feasting on the steaming Italian specialties.

“That was good,” Ted said. “Would you like dessert?”

“No, thanks,” Josie said. “I’m glad you’re driving. I’m about to go into a comfort-food coma.”