Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (14 page)

“I told them about Jolene and Sabrina. They didn’t ask about Carlton.” His anxious expression deepened, and his eye twitch returned with a vengeance. “Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” I headed for the front door.

“And you’ll think about coming to the dinner?”

I could feel myself stiffen. Slowly I turned and looked at him. “No,” I said, hoping my tone was kind, hoping more that I was finally getting the point across. “I am not coming to the dinner. Thanks for the information and, ah, the wine.”

This time I made it out the door and into the car. Irritation surged through me. What did it take to make Larry realize I wasn’t going to date him, go to dinner with him, or do anything else with him? But one good thing had come out of this afternoon. Oh, did I have a lot to tell Dan. As it turned out, he also had a few things to tell me.

Chapter Fifteen

Once again Mark and Sabrina would not be home for dinner. They would be at their new house unpacking boxes that they had stored in Aunt Mary’s garage. There were plenty more in mine, but one thing at a time. I knew this because Aunt Mary told me when I stopped by to pick up the lasagna. She said she was going to help them line cupboards, unpack books, and no doubt feed them as well.

“Why are you doing all this?” I’d asked, suspicious by the look on her face.

“Because Sabrina is my great niece and I want to help,” she’d answered, so innocent.

“Why are you really doing this?”

“Because you and Dan need an evening alone,” she’d said. “Really, Ellen, sometimes I wonder about you. You have a wedding in three months, and you haven’t even looked for a dress. The only thing that’s done is the church, and Dan arranged that. Tonight you can talk. Make decisions, discuss things like flowers, invitations, the rest of your lives.”

I left her house clutching my lasagna, feeling more torn than ever. I loved Dan a lot; I was more than willing to admit that, but I also liked my life the way it was. Finally. Divorcing Brian hadn’t initially been my idea, but it turned out to be one of the best ones that had ever landed on me. I liked my job, I liked this old house where I had grown up and now had made my own, I liked this town, growing pains and all. I especially liked my independence. Marriage to Brian had been a whole lot more like bondage. Would it be like that with Dan? Maybe not. Probably not. But this little feather of doubt kept tickling me. Would I, once again, be giving up all the things I’d worked so hard to accomplish? I sighed. I’d better get this straight in my head soon, because time was running out.

The screen door slammed, and there he was. “It’s nicer tonight. Fall’s trying to fool us, make us think it’s summer and it’s going on forever.”

I got a kiss before he got a beer. The top snapped open, and Dan took a long swallow. “What a day,” he said when he was able. He spotted the dip bowl, took a chip, and filled it with guacamole. “This is good. What did you put in it?”

I really didn’t think he wanted the recipe, so I ignored that and took a good look at him.

“You look tired.” His eyes had lines around them, the gray in his sandy hair seemed to show more than usual, and his usually tidy mustache needed a trim.

“I am. What do they say, when it rains it pours?”

“What do you mean? What else is happening?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood still in the middle of the kitchen, listening.

I listened too, but couldn’t hear a thing. “What? What are you listening to?”

“The quiet. Don’t you hear it?” He grinned at me, then set his beer can down on the table and reached for me. “There’s nobody here but us, is there?”

“There’s Jake,” I told him.

“Jake I can handle. Besides, he knows when to keep out of the way.”

I let him pull me into his arms, let his hands slide around my waist, let my face reach up to meet his, let his lips find mine. The kiss was long and very satisfying. Dan kept holding me, nuzzling my ear a little, running his hand up my back, through my hair. My hands did a little exploring of their own. The nuzzling dropped down toward my neck, and I heard a little sigh. It was me! Oh well, I thought. It may be a while before we get around to eating.

Then the doorbell rang. So did the phone.

“God damn it,” Dan hollered, right in my ear. “I might as well try to make love to you at the bus station.”

The doorbell rang again. So did the phone.

“Go answer the door,” I said. “I’ll get the phone.”

The call was for Dan. He came back into the kitchen carrying a large basket of flowers, slammed them down on the kitchen table, growled, “Who the hell is sending you flowers?” and picked up the phone.

“Yeah?” was his initial greeting, but his expression evened out and he started to look interested.

“Unhuh,” he said, then, “unhuh, you don’t say, okay, unhuh, got it. Thanks.”

“Who was that?” I asked. Cryptic conversations always make me curious.

“My office. With the results of some lab tests. Who sent you flowers?”

“What lab?”

“The fingerprint lab. Who sent you flowers?”

“I don’t know. What was so interesting about the fingerprints? What fingerprints? Where were they?”

“You’d know if you looked at the card.”

“What?” I asked. “How would I know—?”

“The flowers. Look at the card.”

“Oh.” I picked the card off the little spear and opened it. “Oh.”

“Who sent them?” Dan reached for the card, but I held it out of his reach.

“Larry Whittaker.”

“The school boy from Paris? Why is he sending you flowers?”

“Be kind. He’s been calling me all week. Wanted me to go to that dinner they’re doing next Saturday. That reminds me. He came by this morning and I wanted to talk to you about what he told me. He said…”

Dan took the card out of my hands and read it aloud. “The invitation to dinner still stands. I will call you tomorrow and we will plan when we can be together. Always, Larry.

“What the hell is that all about? He was here this morning? He’s been calling? Now he’s sending flowers?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. You could hardly think I’d be interested in Larry.”

“Actually, I don’t.” He grinned. “Not when you can have me.” His grin faded as he stared at the card. “But he seems to be making a nuisance of himself. Can’t you get rid of him?”

“I’m trying. And he was just trying to cheer me up, I’m sure. About this morning, Larry said that Jolene said that Sabrina…”

“Why do you need cheering up? If he wants to cheer up someone, have him send flowers to me. I could stand some. So could my whole staff. But not pink roses; bright red would be appropriate.” The refrigerator door opened, and Dan disappeared inside, reappearing with another beer and the lasagna. “We might as well cook this. If I try to kiss you one more time, city hall will probably blow up. I’d hate to be responsible.”

Frustration is not a strong enough word to describe how I felt. Dan disappeared into the backyard, not answering my questions about the phone call, not letting me ask him about Sabrina, and not willing, or ready, to start again what the phone and door had interrupted. I looked at the basket of pink roses, stuck my tongue out at it, put lasagna in the oven, opened the refrigerator myself and removed the bottle of chardonnay. I tucked it under my arm, picked up a glass and the platter of chips and guacamole, and went outside. I had a right to know about Sabrina; she was my niece, and city hall would not blow up if I got kissed again. At least, I didn’t think it would.

One look at Dan’s face told me I wasn’t the only one suffering from frustration. Work or me, it didn’t matter. This was not the time to push the issue. Any issue. So I set down the bowl where he could reach it easily and said, “Another beer?” He looked at me suspiciously before he replied. “Not right now. Want me to open that?”

I handed him the bottle and the opener; he poured me a glass, took several chips loaded with guacamole, and visibly relaxed. Jake appeared, the smell of cooking pasta drifted from the kitchen into the backyard, and we gradually started talking, laughing, getting back our comfortable relationship. Dan looked up and smiled, not a trace of the policeman in his eyes. “Jake is going to be one happy man when Paris leaves.” His laugh was a little too relieved to be for Jake alone. “So, Saturday’s the big day. I’ll bet Mark and Sabrina can hardly wait.”

That made four of them. Since he’d brought up Sabrina, maybe I could also. I walked over behind him and started rubbing his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you relax,” I murmured.

“I can think of another way, one that’s lots more fun.” He turned around, pulled me close with his free hand, and kissed me. We didn’t come up for air until I smelled burning pasta.

“Damn it,” he muttered, “every time I start to make love to you, something happens.”

“Well, city hall didn’t blow up. I’ll go get everything else, and we’ll eat.”

“And after dinner?” He looked at me with a wicked grin.

“Comes dessert,” I laughed.

I brought everything out, and we ate on the patio table, agreeing it might be the last time this season. We were almost finished, and both on our second glass of wine, before I broached the subject of murder. “Dan, I’m worried about Sabrina. Really worried.”

“Why?” I could see him stiffen a little bit.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I need to know. Do you think she killed Otto? Are you planning to arrest her? Sabrina is going crazy with worry, and I’m right behind her.”

“I don’t see why you’re so worried. You’re not her mother,” he said somewhat impatiently.

“I am her aunt. Remember? And Catherine is my sister. Remember?”

“Remember Catherine? No chance I’d forget. Okay, Ellie, a couple of facts. Then we’re going to talk about something else. I am not going to arrest Sabrina.”

“Thank God.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not still looking in her direction.”

“What?”

“You asked. Now I’m going to tell you. Policemen don’t run around suspecting people like they do in those mystery books you read. Policemen gather evidence, slowly and carefully, and eventually that evidence tells them something. Like who perpetrated a crime. In this case, most of the evidence we’ve collected has Sabrina’s name on it.”

I could feel myself get cold. He couldn’t mean this.

“What evidence?” My voice sounded small even to me.

“First, the fingerprints on the gate. Hers were the only ones. That was suggestive, but hardly conclusive. You know about the fight. Again, suggestive.”

“Everyone fought with Otto. You were there. You know.”

“Exactly. But that phone call tonight, one more suggestive thing. They’re adding up, Ellie.”

“What one more thing? Come on, Dan.”

“That was the fingerprint lab. They finished the tests on the champagne bottle. Even with all the gunk on it, there were traces of fingerprints. Yours, mine, a smudge of someone’s we haven’t identified, probably the waiter’s, and Sabrina’s.”

Hope built. So did confusion. “But Sabrina’s prints would be on the bottle. She was pouring from it.”

“Was she? I remember the waiter giving Mark a flute, refilling our glasses, and leaving that bottle on the table. We almost dumped it on the floor. You held it, I picked it up, but I don’t remember Sabrina having anything to do with it. Do you?”

“Couldn’t she have held it earlier, given it to the waiter, or something?” I asked, maybe a little desperately. Sabrina couldn’t have done it. But why were her fingerprints on that damned bottle? And where was the real bottle, the one that had been used to kill Otto? If she’d killed, where had she hidden that bottle? Now was the time to tell Dan about Carlton and find out if he’d considered Frank.

“Dan, listen.” I practically grabbed his shirtfront in my eagerness to tell him what I’d found out. “It’s not Sabrina. And I can prove it.”

He looked at me in complete surprise. “You have proof? What proof? And why haven’t you told me before this?”

“Because I just found out, that’s why. Now listen.”

He did. Only when I was finished, he shook his head. “Sounds like that kitchen had a revolving door, but none of it’s proof. It is enough for me to go back and take another look at our friend Carlton, ask Frank a few questions, and I might even talk to Jolene again, although I’m not sure she was in any condition to do it. But I don’t want to talk any more about Otto, Carlton, or murder. I want to have another glass of wine and enjoy you and the evening.”

The subject was closed, and I found I was glad. I also was enjoying this evening, at least I had been until we had interjected murder, and was glad to leave it alone. Stars were appearing, one by one, as if a heavenly lamplighter was wandering through the sky, turning them on. The smallest suggestion of a breeze had come up, saying autumn was close, enjoy this while you can. Good idea.

“Great dinner,” Dan said, leaning back in his chair. “That lasagna’s almost as good as Mary’s. Where did you learn to make that?”

“You should know by this time I can cook,” I replied, giving my blessed aunt no credit at all.

“I do. I do. You’re a great cook.” He smiled at me from under his mustache. It was the sexiest smile I’d ever seen. I wondered if he knew what it did to me. I hoped the smile I gave him was as inviting as the one he’d sent my way. It must have been. He moved over in his chair a little, set his wineglass on the grass, opened up his arms, and said, “Come here.” I did.

“My goodness,” I said a few minutes later, when I could breathe again. “You certainly do know how to—let’s go inside.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes.” I sat up, started to fasten the buttons on my shirt, then quit. Why bother?

“What about the dishes?” Dan asked, doing a little fastening up of his own.

“Tomorrow’s another day.” I headed for the kitchen door, Dan on my heels.

“What if Mark and Sabrina come home?” he asked, amusement in his voice.