Death Fricassee Page 6

  Strong, confident me was sulking about the whole deal, which only left mad and hurt me to skulk around the stand, picking up celery, onions and carrots. The citrus looked good, so I added some oranges and lemons to the basket over my arm. I absently squeezed a few eggplant and avocados before adding them, too. Damn him, he’d made me think about what was possible, when for so long, I’d been perfectly content to just exist.

  And if I were honest with myself, I had to admit that the age deal was part of the sting. I didn’t have hang-ups about being over thirty. I was cool with it. My twenties had been fraught with drama and angst and anxiety, trying to establish my career. Then had come the train wreck that was Will Harmon. Turning thirty and putting all of that behind me had been a relief. But while I thought I looked pretty damn good for my age, no way I could pull off young and dewy, if that was what Lucas was looking for in a woman.

  Mrs. Drummond smiled at me as I brought up my basket of veggies to pay. “Still dang hot, isn’t it? Doesn’t feel like fall.”

  I nodded. “True. No changing leaves, no frost on the pumpkins.”

  She frowned as she examined one of the eggplants I’d selected. “This one seems like it’s bruised. There’s some soft spots right here.” She pointed to one side of the purple flesh.

  I winced a little. Yeah, I might’ve gripped the veggies a little too tight while I raged around the stand. The poor defenseless eggplant had never hurt anyone.

  Mrs. Drummond set it aside. “Why don’t you go get another one?”

  I reached for the eggplant and put it back in my basket. “No, it’s okay. I like this one. The bruises won’t matter, because I’m making fricassee. I’ll just cut around them.” I pasted on a smile. “That’s the beauty of a fricassee. You can use veggies that aren’t perfect.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  After I paid and began to drive home, yesterday’s dialogue ran through my head on a loop.

  You’re funny and interesting, and of course you’re damned beautiful.

  I don’t think it’s safe to get you involved. . .

  But it was okay for Blondie to get involved. To get a hug. To be invited into his house. Maybe she was more damned beautiful than me and maybe she was younger than me, too. A thought struck me: he was a college professor. Was Blondie a student? Had they met when he taught her, and had they been together as more than teacher and pupil?

  I turned into Golden Rays, waved at Mrs. Nelson, who was sweeping her walk, and then at Mr. Sullivan, who was walking his mean-ass little yippy dog. I rounded the corner to my block and skidded into my driveway. The powder blue Thunderbird was still parked there on the curb where it’d been when I left. Seeing the car gave me another surge of irrational irritation and hurt.

  I threw the gearshift into park, undid my seat belt and twisted to the back seat. I snagged one of the canvas bags and yanked it up to my shoulder. Before any part of me could talk myself out of it, I got out of the car and strode to Lucas’s front door.

  The doorbell was under my finger before I stopped to think. I heard voices inside, muffled, and then footsteps approached. Lucas opened the door, frowning down at me in surprise.

  “Jackie. What’re you doing here?” There was strain in his voice and a modicum of impatience. He leaned against the door, the muscles in his arms tensed.

  “I. . .” All the adrenaline that had carried me over here evaporated. “I had to go to the farmers’ market this morning for ingredients. And they had oranges they’d just picked. So I thought you might want some.” I slid the bag off my shoulder. “Here. You could. . .well, you could juice them, if you have a juicer. Or even if not, you can squeeze them by hand. Or just eat them. They’re really sweet and juicy this season.”

  Lucas stared at the bag and then looked back at me. “Oranges?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. “You know. Florida oranges.”

  Heels clicked on the tile, and Blondie ducked under Lucas’s arm. Huge ice blue eyes swept down me and then rose to rest on my face. She didn’t smile or frown, only maintained a carefully neutral expression, watchful and cool.

  “Lucas. Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Her voice was low and even.

  His jaw clenched. “Cathryn, I don’t really think this is a good idea.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Those perfect lips curved into a smile. “Come in, won’t you? Did I hear you brought Lucas oranges? How nice of you. And you’re right, they’re especially good this year.”

  Lucas exhaled. “Fine.” He stood back, and I stepped into the house. The shutter blinds on the windows were all closed against the afternoon sunlight, so it almost appeared to be twilight. I’d expected boxes and chaos, but the furniture was arranged, and there were even a few pictures hung on the wall. I guessed I knew now how Lucas had been occupying his time.

  Cathryn sat down in an overstuffed wing chair, while Lucas and I both perched on the edge of the brown sofa. Lucas pointed at me. “Cathryn, this is Jackie O’Brien. She’s my next-door neighbor. Jackie, Cathryn Whitmore. She’s. . .” His voice trailed off. “An old friend.”

  One corner of Cathryn’s mouth quirked just slightly, which told me there was more to them than friends. “I’m glad to meet you, Jackie. Forgive me for being blunt, but aren’t you a little young for this neighborhood?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I bring down the average, I guess. I lived with my grandmother while she was ill, and she left me the house after. . .well, after.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Cathryn sounded genuinely regretful. “That’s something you and Lucas have in common. Did you know his aunt?”

  “I did. Ellen. . .she kept to herself, mostly. But when I did talk to her, she seemed like a lovely woman.”

  “She was very shy.” Lucas startled me, speaking up. “But she was kind. I didn’t know her very well, but I came down here to visit her a while back.”

  I cocked my head. “That must’ve been before I moved in with Nana. I don’t remember seeing you.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “It was. . .six years ago, I think. Your grandmother was a red-headed Irish lady? I met her. She was cool.” We looked at each other for a few minutes, as I absorbed that fact. He’d met Nana.

  With no little effort, I turned back to Cathryn. “Do you live around here, or are you just visiting?”

  She smiled. “I live about an hour or so northwest of here. I’m a Florida native, for several generations. I met Lucas this summer when we were both vacationing in Cape May, and he told me he was moving to my neck of the woods. I just came down. . .to visit.”

  Visit or booty call? The bitchy thought floated through my mind before I could squelch it. I caught a flicker of something in Cathryn’s eye. . .amusement? Discomfort? I knew I tended to show everything I thought on my face, and I concentrated on putting on a pleasant expression that was as blank as hers. I needed to get out, and now, before I blurted something I’d regret.

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt your, um, visit.” I stood up and scooted between Lucas and the coffee table, looking for the quickest route to the door. My flip-flop wedged beneath the bottom of his shoe, and before I could catch myself, I launched forward, landing on top of him, between his legs, with my hands on his shoulders.

  Lucas’s fingers went to my waist to keep me from falling further. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I ground out the word, frustrated and embarrassed. Why the hell couldn’t I manage to stay on my feet in front of this guy? The warmth of his hands seared through my shirt and shorts, making me acutely aware of how close I was to him. If I leaned just a fraction of an inch closer, my lips could be—

  Across the room, Cathryn cleared her throat. “Lucas, help her up. For heaven’s sake, don’t just sit there.”

  I pushed up against his shoulders and straightened. “I’m fine. Sorry about that.” I waved off their concern. “I just—well, have a good visit. Enjoy the oranges. I won’t bother you while you. . .catch up.” I made it to the door without stumbli
ng again, by the grace of whatever was holy. I heard Lucas calling me as I walked blindly across the yard, but I didn’t turn my head or stop until I reached the safety of my own house.

  Humiliation must have been exhausting, because once home, I crawled into my bed, buried my face in the pillow and fell asleep, escaping from the memory of how I’d just made a fool of myself again. . .and this time, in front of a whole new audience.

  It was early evening by the time I woke up. I blinked into the gray light filtering in through the blinds, feeling disoriented and trying to remember why I’d been so upset. As it all came back to me, I remembered that I’d left the vegetables from the farmers’ market in my car. My car, which was parked in the heat of the Florida sun. Groaning, I rolled over. This day had been a disaster.

  I got up, washed my face and ventured to peek out the blinds. Cathryn’s Thunderbird was gone, and there wasn’t any movement from Lucas’s direction. I snuck out to the car and retrieved my bags as fast and quietly as I could. To my relief, the produce wasn’t a total loss. I was able to save it, even if some of the leaves were a little wilted. I put the celery in water to revive it and stuck everything else in the fridge.

  Warmed coq au vin made me a decent dinner. I forced it down along with a glass of Pinot Grigio and washed the dishes in the silence broken only by the click of Makani’s nails against the tile as he searched for any bit of food I might’ve dropped on the floor. The temperature had gone down dramatically after sunset, and a lovely breeze rustled the leaves outside. I turned off my porch light to keep the bugs away and ventured out to sit in the dark with my second glass of wine, curled up in the rocking chair in the corner.

  Rocking gently, I lay my head against the wooden back of the chair and closed my eyes. My shoulders relaxed as I began to feel the effects of the wine wash away the lingering pain of the day. The wind stirred my hair over my face, and I didn’t move to brush it off.

  “It’s a beautiful night.”

  My heart jumped at the sound of Lucas’s voice just below me. I didn’t open my eyes or stop rocking as I swallowed down my surprise.

  “It is.” I didn’t trust myself to say much more.

  I heard the creak as he sank on to the step. For a few minutes, we were both silent. When Lucas spoke again, it was soft, almost part of the breeze itself.

  “Jackie, I’m sorry about everything. If I’ve been. . .odd. You’ve been kind to me, and I’m sure I’ve come off like a dick. At least, that’s what Cathryn says.”

  A chill fell over me at the mention of her name. “She’s very pretty.”

  “Yeah, she is.” He paused, and I heard him take a deep breath. “She’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. We stayed at the same bed and breakfast this summer, in Cape May, and we had a little adventure. I thought. . .for a while, I thought we might have something together. Something real. And I thought that she felt the same way.” He laughed a little, a short humorless cough. “I know what you’re thinking. She’s a lot younger than me. But Cathryn’s older than she looks. I mean, yeah, she’s twenty-five, but she’s an old soul.”

  “I knew it.” Satisfaction tinged my voice, and I let my eyes drift open a little to watch Lucas.

  “What did you know?” He shifted so his back was against the railing.

  “That she was twenty-five. I thought that when I saw her this morning.” I brought my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. “What happened? I mean, between the two of you. If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Lucas raised one eyebrow. “I wish I knew. She called me about two weeks before I moved, and she said it wasn’t going to work between us. I guess it turned out to be just a summer fling to her. She wants to be friends, which is cool. I called her as soon as I got down here.”

  “I’m sorry.” Disappointment flooded my heart. He was still in love with her. I’d been hoping he’d say the break-up had been his idea. But if Cathryn had broken his heart, he might still be pining for her. “That must be hard on you.”

  “Ah, well. . .I don’t know. Maybe we didn’t have much in common. We bonded over what happened to us, and it might’ve turned out that was all it was.”

  “Can I ask what the adventure was? Or is that private?”

  “I really shouldn’t. . .well, okay.” He looked at me, his eyes speculative. “You’ll probably think I’m insane, though.”

  When I stared back, my gaze steady, he laughed.

  “Too late, huh? Yeah, I guess so. May as well just spill it, then.” He leaned back, and the muscles in his arms stood out, making my mouth suddenly dry. His gray cotton shirt fit snugly over his abs. It had ridden up just a little so I could see the top of his jeans, which rode low on his hips. I was abruptly and almost painfully aware of the subtle strength of his body. With difficulty, I brought my attention back to what he was saying.

  “We both stayed at an old B and B right on the beach. It turned out that it was haunted. And our rooms were particularly affected. We worked together to help the spirits find rest.”

  My mouth fell open. When I could find my voice, it was hollow. “All you had to say was that it was private. You didn’t have to make something up.”

  Lucas laughed. “Yeah, I know. It sounds like a lie. But that’s really what happened. It’s how we met. I swear to you, I know it seems nuts, but that’s honestly the true story.” He gazed out into the night. “There’s more out there in the world than what anyone guesses.”

  I took a few minutes to absorb it. “What was wrong with the spirits? What did you have to do help them? Like. . .exorcism?”

  “Uh. . .” Lucas licked his lips and looked down at his hands. I sensed his embarrassment. “They were two young lovers. They had died violently, before their love was, um, consummated. And we helped them find peace.”

  A smile curved my lips. “Why, Lucas, are you blushing?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I just—it sounds so weird, saying it out loud to someone who didn’t experience it.”

  “It does, to be honest. But for some reason, I don’t doubt your sanity. You just said it so matter-of-factly, I believe you.”

  He grinned at me, and I could just make out his dimple in the moonlight. “Thanks. I think.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, with only the rhythmic creak of my rocking chair and the sound of cicadas surrounding us.

  “Lucas.” I spoke just above a whisper. “If you can tell me about your ghost story, why can’t you tell me what’s going on with you now? It can’t be any worse than that.”

  He dropped his head back against the post, closing his eyes. “I wish I could say you’re right. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. Believe me, I’m feeling very much alone in this. If it weren’t for Cathryn, I’d be stark raving mad.”

  I stopped rocking and slid from the chair, scooting until I sat on the step, too, just inches from Lucas. He watched me with trepidation.

  “You don’t know me. I get that. But I’m a good listener. I don’t judge and I don’t offer advice that isn’t wanted. So just know that I’d be happy to be a sounding board, if you need one.”

  “Thank you.” He reached across and covered my hand with his. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes. I gazed out into the night, hyper-aware of Lucas’s fingers over mine, the touch of his skin. I was afraid to speak or to move, lest I might break this spell.

  “You told Cathryn that you moved down here when your grandmother was ill. Where did you live before? And how long have you been writing your column?”

  I smiled. “So we’re talking about me now, is that it?”

  Lucas laughed. “I was hoping I’d made the transition smooth enough that you wouldn’t notice.”

  “Hard to get anything by me. But okay. I lived in New York. I was born and grew up in a small town on the Hudson River.” I closed my eyes, picturing home. “I went to school for journalism, but cooking was always my passion. I worked at the magazine r
ight out of college, and I’d just gotten the column assignment when Nana got sick. It was okay with my bosses for me to work from home, whether that was New York or Florida, so here I am.”

  He nodded. “Not a lot of people would give up their own lives to take care of a sick grandparent. What about your parents?”

  I shook my head. “My mom and dad would’ve dropped everything to come down, but I wanted to do it. Nana pretty much raised us—that’s my brothers and me, I mean. My parents are awesome, but they both have demanding jobs, so Nana was the one who packed my lunches, kissed my boo-boos and let me play hooky from school on the opening day of our favorite movies. It wasn’t even an option for me not to be there for her.”

  “What do your parents do?”

  “My mom owns a small regional newspaper. She’s transitioned it to a monthly with a daily e-copy, and that’s how it’s survived in the cyber age. My dad’s a chef, and he owns his own restaurant.”

  Lucas grinned. “So your mom writes and your dad cooks. And you. . .write a cooking column. There’s some kind of psychological thing there, right? Like you’re a blend of them both?”

  “Oh, you’ve figured me out.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy. But it’s in our blood. My brother Tim works for Mom’s paper, and Bret opened his own restaurant two years ago. Neither of them planned to do it—Tim went to law school—but here we are. Products of our upbringing.”

  “Do you like what you do?” Lucas still hadn’t let go of my hand, which made me very happy even though my arm was beginning to cramp from keeping it still.

  “Hmmm? Oh. . .mostly. I did when I started out, but by now, it’s getting a little old. I cook these recipes and think how much better I could do it.”

  He chuckled. “I bet. I felt the same way as a professor, giving my students reading assignments. So why don’t you quit and write your own cookbook?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve considered it, but I like my income from the magazine, and I’m not sure I’ve found my unique niche for a cookbook. I think it’s got to be something special. I don’t want to write another book about cooking on a budget or with whole foods. . .it’s been done.”