Evil In Carnations (4 page)

“Nikki broke the rule, too, don’t forget,” Lottie said. “She gave him her number.”

“Couldn’t he have looked up her number in the phone book anyway?” Grace asked, using her hand to sweep the crumbs off the counter into a waste can.

“No last names were given out,” I said. “That was a rule, too.”

“What if you see someone who isn’t on your list but you want to get to know him?” Lottie asked. Both women seemed to be stuck on the details, missing the big picture, which was my role in it.

“There’s a mixer afterward for just that purpose,” I said.

“What was the event organizer’s name?” Grace asked.

“Carmen Gold. Anyway—”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met her. Is she from around here?” Grace asked.

Trying not to lose patience, I replied, “The Cloud Nine franchise operates out of Chicago. So what happened—”

“I don’t understand who’d want to bring speed dating here,” Lottie said to Grace. “We’re not a big city. How many young people do we have?”

“It wasn’t held in New Chapel,” I said. “It was held in Maraville, near the interstate highway to make it easy for people from other counties to attend.”

“Speed dating, instant food, instant coffee, instant messaging . . .” Grace clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Why must everything be done in a hurry?”

Everything except getting to the point of this conversation, apparently.

“Whatever happened to church socials?” Lottie asked. “That was a great way for young people to meet.”

“Abby,” Grace said, “you still haven’t explained why you feel to blame for Nikki’s situation.”

The big picture at last! “I talked Nikki into attending the event. I even sweetened the deal by offering to go along to help her screen the guys. Because she didn’t trust her own judgment when it came to dates, that cinched the deal. And then, last night, the night Jonas was murdered, I wasn’t home to verify Nikki’s alibi.”

“Ah,” Grace said. “Now it becomes clear.”

“To be fair,” I countered, “if Nikki had listened to me, she wouldn’t have gone out with Jonas, but that’s water under the bridge now, because I was the one who set the ball in motion.”

“Abby, dear,” Grace said calmly, “you’re mixing metaphors. Put the ball down, come out from under the bridge, and tell us how this came about.”

I blew out my breath. Where to start? “I suppose I should go back to when Marco asked me to go to Key West.” I paused to gauge their reactions, but there weren’t any, so I continued. “That’s where I was this weekend—in Key West.”

Lottie and Grace glanced at each other but still said nothing.

“With Marco,” I added, in case they hadn’t gotten it. “We went together.”

“What are you trying to tell us?” Lottie asked. “Did you elope?”

“No! We’re not even engaged. We just wanted to reconnect.”

“They went to
reconnect
,” Lottie said, exchanging a look with Grace.

They both turned to study me. I braced myself.

Suddenly, Lottie began to whoop—“Woo-hoo!”—then threw her napkin into the air. Even Grace got into the spirit and clapped. Genteelly, of course.

“Well, dang it, sweetie,” Lottie cried, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me one of her big Kentucky squeezes, “it’s about time. Me and Gracie thought you two were never gonna get back to the way you were before. We were afraid you wouldn’t open your heart ever again.”

“I always applaud your cautious nature, dear,” Grace said, “on the rare occasion you exhibit it. However, in matters of the heart, sometimes one must throw caution to the wind.”

At that she rose and took hold of her sweater as though it had lapels, a sure sign she was about to share a quote. She seemed to have a never-ending supply of them. “As Bertram Russell once said, ‘Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.’ ”

I blinked at them, wondering if I were dreaming. “So you approve?”

“You’re an adult, dear,” Grace said as she refilled our cups. “What you decide to do is not subject to our approval.”

Okay, now I knew I was dreaming.

“Remember how reluctant you were to accept Marco’s first dinner invitation after your breakup?” Lottie asked. “Well, you wouldn’t be standing here with that smile on your face if you hadn’t taken our advice and gone out with him.”

“I know,” I said, “and I thank you both for encouraging me to take a risk.”

“In the words of J. C. Macaulay,” Grace said, “ ‘Keep your heart right, even when it is sorely wounded.’ ”

Two quotes in five minutes. Grace had set a new personal record.

“Please keep our trip a secret. Nikki is the only other person who knows. You can imagine what would happen if my parents found out. They’d want to know what it meant, whether we were planning to get married or move in together or what.” I shuddered, imagining the phone calls, the quizzing, the gossiping between my sisters-in-law, and I didn’t even want to consider what my cousin Jillian would do with the news of our little getaway. Put it on her MySpace page? Hire a pilot to fly a banner over New Chapel that says ABBY AND MARCO WENT TO KEY WEST—WHY?

“Sweetie, I’m not gonna pretend I wouldn’t like to see an engagement ring pop up on your finger,” Lottie said, “but I understand that you don’t need more pressure right now.”

“Remember how Mrs. Salvare took over Marco’s sister’s baby shower?” I asked. “I don’t even want to think what she’d do if she thought there were wedding plans in the air. And thanks for understanding, both of you. After I rushed into an engagement with Pryce, I vowed never to make that mistake again. ‘Slow and easy’ is my new motto.”

“As William Congreve pointed out,” Grace said, “ ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ ”

“And as my granny used to say,” Lottie added, “ ‘You have to summer and winter with a man before you know you’re compatible.’ ”

“So does that mean you’re okay with keeping my secret?”

“We shan’t breathe a word,” Grace said.

“I have to tell you, this was a tough decision for me,” I said, “but three weeks ago, Marco and I had a long talk about our going away together and came to an understanding. So I wasn’t actually throwing caution to the wind. Would you pass the sugar bowl, Grace?”

“You had a talk?” Lottie asked. “That’s all you’re gonna say about it?”

“A
long
talk,” I reminded her, dropping two sugar cubes into my cup.

“Now, looky here, sweetie,” Lottie said, shaking her index finger at me. “I know it wasn’t easy for you and Marco to get to this point, so I ain’t buyin’ that one little talk was all it took to cinch the deal.”

“
Long
talk,” I corrected again. Thinking about the conversation Marco and I had had brought a smile to my lips. “It
was
kind of romantic the way it happened.”

Lottie folded her arms and sat back. “Then stop grinning like Mona Lisa and start telling.”

“
H
i, Chris,” I called to the head bartender at Down the Hatch as I made my way to the last booth in the back, past thirsty customers standing at the long mahogany bar. Chris touched his hand to his forehead, then went back to serving up drinks.

The bar and grill dated back to the 1950s—and looked it, with walls covered in dark wood paneling, orange vinyl booths, and a corny fisherman theme, complete with a fake blue carp on the wall over the line of booths, and a huge net hanging from the ceiling over the bar. Marco had bought Down the Hatch over six months ago, but had yet to remodel it, fearing an uprising from its longtime patrons, none of whom were big fans of change.

Before I could slide into the booth where I was to join Marco for dinner, Gert, the gravelly-voiced waitress who had worked there since before I was born, said, “The boss wants you to meet him in his office.”

I walked up the short hallway and rapped on the door marked PRIVATE, then entered the sleek, ultramodern office done in silver, gray, and black. Marco rose from his desk to greet me, a vision of masculinity in his brown leather boots, snug blue jeans, and black T-shirt with the Down the Hatch name and logo on the front. His dark hair had that wavy casualness that begged to be tousled, and his chocolate brown eyes snapped with intelligence and vitality.

Seeing him always caused my heart to twang, but it was the tiny grin tugging on the right corner of his mouth that really intrigued me. “What’s up? I thought we were going to have something to eat.”

“We will.” He sauntered toward me. “I want to show you something first. Close your eyes.”

With a shiver of anticipation, I scrunched them shut. “Okay.”

I felt the air move around me and got a tantalizing whiff of Marco’s aftershave. He was very near when he said, “Now open them.”

I found myself staring at the front of a shiny pamphlet. “Key West?”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

Marco opened the brochure and pointed to some of the inset photos. “Snorkeling, parasailing, scuba diving, Jet Ski adventures, sunsets at the famous Mallory Square, and a very cool shop called 7 Artists that I probably shouldn’t even be mentioning because once you see it, I doubt whether I’ll be able to pry you out of it.

“But wait. The best part of the trip? Right now it’s seventy-four degrees there. I just checked. That’s fifty degrees higher than it is here. So, what do you think? Want to go?”

“With you?”

“No, with my mother.” He pulled me into his arms. “Yes, Sunshine, of course with me. I thought I’d make reservations at a cozy bed-and-breakfast inn for a long weekend. We can fly down early on a Friday morning, be there by one thirty or so, and take a red-eye flight home Sunday night. You’ll only have to miss one day of work. How does that grab you?”

Gazing up into his handsome face, I melted inside. How many times had I fantasized about Marco whisking me away to a romantic spot? If only I didn’t have to turn him down now.

“It’s a grabber, all right,” I answered with forced cheer-fulness, slipping out of Marco’s embrace. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. I’ve got some weddings coming up that are going to keep me really busy for a while, and I sure wouldn’t want to blow those moneymaking opportunities. Gotta pay those bills. Gotta put food on the table—”

“Abby, if you don’t want to go, just say so.”

I glanced at Marco and my heart ached with regret. Here he was, the man of my dreams, asking me to spend a romantic weekend with him, and I was making up excuses not to go. But after the debacle of having my identity stolen, and then Marco not believing me, although he’d apologized, I still found myself holding back, not completely trusting him. “It’s just that you kind of sprang it on me.”

“Not a problem. Think about it for a while. Let’s go eat.”

He tossed the brochure onto his desk and escorted me up the hallway to our booth. We ordered our usual sandwiches and beers, and I entertained him by describing some of the unusual customers I’d had that day. Yet I felt an underlying tension between us that kept me from enjoying his company.

After dinner, Marco walked me to my car in the public lot on the next street. The sky was black and the weather was lousy, with frigid temperatures and a bitter wind that whipped snow in our faces. Even with my knit scarf covering my neck and half of my face, and my thickest gloves on, I couldn’t stop shivering—or thinking about those seventy-degree temps in Key West.

For the entire walk, I warred with myself, part of me wanting passionately to say yes to Key West and the other part hiding in a corner, shaking like a leaf at the thought of putting my trust in him and having it broken all over again.

What a coward you are
, my conscience chided.

“Want me to drop you back at the bar?” I asked Marco.

“Sounds good. The wind has picked up since I was out earlier.”

He got in on the passenger side as I started the engine. It took a moment for the old Corvette to kick to life; then I let it idle while the engine warmed up. To fill the awkward silence I began to chat about the weather. “I hope we don’t get that snowstorm they’re predicting. All we need is more snow. How many feet have we had so far this winter?”

“Abby?”

At his serious tone, I turned to look at him. His face was visible only by the glow of streetlights, making his eyes seem darker, more intense, giving me a nervous flutter inside. “Yes?”

“Are you afraid to go with me to Key West?”

“Afraid?” I made a scoffing sound. “No way.”

“Then what’s holding you back?”

“Like I said, I’ve got some big jobs coming up . . .” I shrugged, knowing it sounded lame.

“We can work around your jobs.”

I let out a long breath. “I suppose.”

“What is it then?”

“I don’t know. . . . Maybe because Key West is so far away.” I was doing a terrible job of explaining my feelings, mostly because I wasn’t quite understanding them myself.

“How does distance matter?”

I stared at him, trying to come up with a reason.

“It’s only a weekend getaway,” he said.

Marco made it sound so uncomplicated, and that angered me. “Only a weekend getaway. Easy for you to say. You don’t have parents who are going to have expectations. I can hear my mom now. ‘You’re taking a trip together? What does that mean, Abigail?’ ”

“So it’s your parents’ expectations that are holding you back? That’s never stopped you before.”

Marco was right. It usually had the opposite effect.

“Just so you know,” he said, “asking you to go away this weekend wasn’t an easy decision.”

“Why not?” I asked, slightly miffed that there was any doubt at all on his end.

“I’ve never asked a woman to go with me anywhere.”

“Seriously?”

“I’d considered it a few times, but”—he paused, as though trying to find the right words—“it never felt right.”