Murder at Barclay Meadow (30 page)

“What do you mean?” I smoothed my hand over her cheek.

“I've been pretty selfish this week. I made it all about me.” She scratched her nose and tucked some hair behind an ear. “I understand that you didn't want this divorce any more than I did. And I know how hard you've tried to keep things good for me.”

“Wow,” I said. “Thanks for saying that. But I'm your mom. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“I know what you did with Daddy and I appreciate you trying.” She hitched the duffle higher on her shoulder. Doodle daisy, just like Megan's backpack. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I've decided to do what your dad suggested. I'll look for a place in Chevy Chase. Something small. An apartment maybe, but with two bedrooms. I'll live there this summer with you and I guess Tyler will hold down the fort here.” I glanced at the house. “I haven't really discussed it with him yet, though.”

“Are you sure you want to leave?”

I shrugged. “I haven't come up with any better ideas.”

“So, should I try and get my job back?”

“Go for it.” I pulled her into a bear hug. “I'm so sorry about Connor. Please take care of yourself.” I stepped back. “Say, Annie, if you're going to get a job, maybe you should change your Facebook page.”

“Good idea. I'll do some spring cleaning when I get back to school.”

As I watched Annie disappear through the cedars, I realized I would have to start over again—reinvent myself yet again. Summer. I had until summer.

 

F
ORTY
-
ONE

After dropping off a delivery of double chocolate muffins at Birdie's, I popped a stick of wintergreen gum in my mouth and started toward my car.

“Rosalie…”

I looked over my shoulder. Nick was standing by Birdie's storefront window. He was in jeans and a blazer, his wavy dark hair tousled about. “Nick?” I shielded my eyes and looked up at him.

“I thought I might find you here.”

I hugged my papers. “How did you know?”

“I've purchased a few of those muffins.” He stepped closer. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” My instinct was to back away from him, but I held my ground.

“That sail we've been talking about.” A gust of wind blew a tress of curls onto his forehead. “The weather is perfect these past few days.”

I forced a smile. “Do you have a day in mind?”

“I was thinking Friday evening. I can pick you up at your dock.”

“My dock?” I clutched my papers tighter, hoping to calm my trembling hands. How does he know I have a dock?

“I'll make us dinner. And I just got a delicious case of French muscadet. I'll bring a bottle.” He winked. “Or two.”

“Yes.” I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat. “That sounds lovely.”

“Excellent.” His fingers tiptoed up my arm and brushed my neck. “It's good you're ready to get on with your life. At some point, we all have to allow the ghosts to exit the stage.” He walked backward, still facing me. He was grinning hard. “Six o'clock,” he said. “Don't be late.” He turned and continued down the sidewalk.

I touched my neck. Was he trying to tell me something? I leaned back against my car to steady myself. Did he say “ghosts”?

That Friday evening I stood in the kitchen and sliced an asiago baguette I had seasoned with oregano and sea salt. I agonized over what to wear for my night with the professor. I had no idea what message I wanted to send. I just knew I wanted him to talk. I was glad he was bringing wine. Maybe a little lubrication would loosen his lips. I finally decided on a pair of jeans and a slightly snug black sweater. Absolutely no red this time.

Tyler moseyed into the kitchen. “It sure is quiet around here without Annie.”

“She enjoyed you, too, Tyler.”

He shook the carafe to see if it held any more coffee. “There aren't too many kids like her.”

“How's your finger?”

“This finger is a lot like your divorce. I don't welcome the attention nor the need to focus on myself.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“You weren't listening.”

I pressed my lips together, evening out the recently applied gloss, and checked my watch.

Tyler eyed me. “Where are you off to in that perfume?”

“Just a sail with a new acquaintance.” I looked away. The room was still warm and aromatic from the bread. “There's some leftovers in the fridge,” I said. “That lentil dish I made—”

“Rosalie,” Tyler interrupted. “I can fend for myself.”

I watched him go. Dickens uncharacteristically trotted after him. I stared at the spot where he had stood. The mug of coffee was cooling. I'd thought from the day Tyler strode down my lane that he could read my mind. I had no doubt he had done it again. I wanted to call after him—to tell him I wasn't interested in Nick. I wanted to blurt out the whole story about our investigation. I wanted to tell him how much I loved having him here, taking care of him …

Tyler's boots were heavy on the stairs, followed by the scritch-scratch of Dickens's nails. I would fix things with Tyler later. I needed to refocus. I had a mission. After looping the basket of bread over my arm, I grabbed a rain jacket and headed out the door.

Nick was already on my dock, tying a line around a piling. As I passed the spot where I found Megan, my stomach somersaulted and I had a massive urge to turn around and run back up the bank.

“Ahoy,” Nick said.

I squared my shoulders. “Permission to come aboard?”

“An eager sailor,” Nick said. “I like that.” He climbed in first, took the bread from my hands, and helped me onto the boat. “How are you?”

“A little nervous.” I sat on one of the cushions.

“Nervous?” He looked puzzled. “Why would that be?”

“I've only sailed once.” I gripped the side of the boat. “Shall we go?”

I nonchalantly looked around until I spotted Tony and Glenn. They were hunched over fishing poles fifty yards away. I was ridiculously relieved to see them.

“Those guys will never catch anything at this time of night,” Nick said as he busied himself around the boat. “Must be a couple of amateurs.”

“What guys?” I said.

“Those guys over there in that tiny boat.”

I thought briefly of what Tony's reaction would be if he heard Nick refer to his boat as “tiny.” I looked back at them. Glenn had noticed my arrival. He tapped Tony's arm.

As Nick untied the bow line, I said, “Can I ask you something?”

He looked over at me. “Anything.”

“Why did you invite me out tonight?”

“Seems to me, you were the one to ask.” He tossed the line into the boat. The bow drifted away from the dock.

“That's true.”

“You said you're ready to date. Am I your first?”

I avoided his eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you working?” He turned a key and the small motor puttered awake.

“Let's just say I have a preoccupation.”

“Intriguing.” He paused. “So, I have a lot to learn, then.”

“As do I.” Our eyes met.

Nick freed the stern line and unfurled a sail. It filled instantly. I was shocked at how fast we were already moving. I glanced over my shoulder. Tony was trying to jerk the outboard motor awake. Hurry up, I thought.

After a breezy sail up the river, the boat clipped around a bend. My hair was blasted against my skull. I hoped Nick didn't notice how many times I looked over my shoulder, but it was like a nervous tic I couldn't control. “Coming about,” Nick called. I almost slid off the seat when he made a sharp turn. He pulled in the sail and let the motor ferry us into a secluded cove.

There were no houses, no docks, no sign of civilization, just marsh grasses and the squawk of a blue heron flying overhead, annoyed at the invasion. “Where are we?”

“My oasis.”

“You've been here before?” I said.

“I love coming here.” Nick killed the motor and dropped anchor. “It's the perfect spot for a date.”

I glanced around. The water was motionless. The breeze had died. This place appeared utterly lifeless. “Did you bring wine?”

“Oui,” Nick said and trotted down into the galley. I listened for Tony and Glenn. There. A motor. Yes. It grew louder and then … oh, no. They kept going. I searched my pocket for my phone.

“Rosalie?”

I looked up. Nick held a sweating bottle of French muscadet in one hand, two glasses in the other. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“I do?” I tried to smile. “I had a text, is all.” I crossed my legs and smoothed my hair. “Parents never stop worrying, do we?”

Nick continued up the steps and sat next to me. “Is everything okay with your daughter?”

“I think so. Would you mind terribly if I texted her back? It will just take a second.” I typed with my thumbs.
You passed us. We're anchored in a cove on the left.
I clicked send and stuffed my phone back into my jacket.

He filled the wineglasses and held one out to me. “You sure everything is all right?”

“It is now.” I accepted the glass and started to sip.

“Slow down, mademoiselle. We need to toast.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He held it up to mine.
“L'chaim.”

“To life,” I said and took a long sip. Why did he just say
that
? I took another sip.

“Someone is thirsty.” He tucked his arm around my shoulders. “Is this all right?” He squeezed my shoulder. Chills rippled down my arms.

“Sure.” I finished my wine. “This is good wine.”

“I'm glad I brought more than one bottle.”

The sun hovered over the river shrouded in thin, wispy clouds. A cool breeze signaled the impending night. My nerves were completely frazzled. I needed to keep my wits about me, but I was losing focus. Why had I agreed to this? I held out my wineglass.

“So, tell me,” Nick said as he poured, “why were you willing to go out with me now? What's changed?”

“Time?” Another sip. “Some time has passed since the initial shock of my divorce.”

“There's more.” He studied me. “I want to know.”

Because I want to know if you are a murderer? I lowered my eyes. No. That won't work. I had to keep this real. I looked into his eyes and thought for a moment. “I had dinner with my husband a few weeks ago.” I took a deep breath. “I haven't really talked about this with anyone. But you see, all this time, I've been holding on to the fantasy that Ed and I would reunite. I think I was assuming this was just a phase, you know? That he would grow tired of his girlfriend and want our life back.”