Home of the Braised (5 page)

AT NINE THAT NIGHT I PUT DINNER AWAY. I’D
made a vegetarian lasagna, one of Gav’s favorites, along with a few side dishes. For dessert, I’d picked up lemon sorbet. Even though I’d sampled the entrée and accompaniments as I’d cooked, I’d held off eating because I’d been waiting for Gav.

As I cleared the table settings and put away the lasagna, I tried not to worry. I tried not to think about what might be keeping him from being here. He’d planned to come for dinner tonight and it wasn’t like Gav to leave me hanging without a word.

Every sound in my apartment kitchen seemed to echo the emptiness I felt. I hadn’t spoken with him since he’d dropped me off after our gruesome discovery on Ainsley Street. I needed to know more about what had happened there. But mostly I needed to know that he was safe.

He hadn’t called. His phone had gone straight to voice mail every time I’d tried calling him. Much as I wanted to, I realized there was no point in leaving multiple messages. So far, I’d left only one asking him to call me when he had the chance. If he had received it, he would have called. I knew him well enough to know that with certainty.

The only scenario that made sense was that he
couldn’t
call. The big unknown was why.

As I moved green beans from the stove to a glass storage bowl and covered it, I glanced up at my kitchen clock. The minute hand hadn’t moved. Not in the last fifteen times I’d checked, at least. I needed to get a grip. Gav knew me well enough to know I’d be worried out of my head. He would get in touch with me the moment he could. What was keeping him?

So distracted by his absence, I didn’t notice how close I was to the table with the green beans. I clipped the corner, sending the bowl tumbling out of my hands and crashing to the floor in an explosion of glass and skinny, slippery vegetables.

“Of course,” I said louder than I should have, frustration gripping me. “What else can go wrong?”

Muttering to myself about how these particular bowls were supposed to be shatterproof, I pulled my wastebasket out from under the sink and crouched, setting myself to the tedious task of cleaning up the big pieces without cutting myself. I would have to finish up with the broom, then the mop.

Less than ten seconds later, a knock at my door.

Smiling, I leaped to my feet, dumping the glass from my hands, and rushing to answer. This wouldn’t be the first time Gav made it to my apartment without James noticing. The elderly man had a tendency to snooze at the front desk.

I grasped the knob and threw the door wide.

When I saw them standing there, I fought to keep my face from falling. “Mrs. Wentworth.” I forced cheer into my voice. “Stan. How are you?”

“Is anything wrong, Ollie?” my nosy elderly neighbor asked. She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was trying to see behind me. “We heard a crash. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Disappointment collapsed over me like a giant wave, threatening to pull me under. “I dropped a bowl,” I said. “Green beans.”

Though I wasn’t lying about the noise, I wasn’t fine. Shrewd woman that she was, Mrs. Wentworth seized on that fact. I could see it in her narrowing eyes. “Where’s your young man?” she asked.

Stan tugged her arm. “Ollie’s got her hands full. Let’s let her be. Come on, honey.”

“Gav is . . .” I didn’t have an answer and there seemed no reason to fake a chipper mood any longer. I held up my hands. “Don’t know. Out on some assignment, I suppose.”

She nodded sagely, then switched subjects. “You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you? You haven’t returned your RSVP.”

That made me laugh, if only for a second. “You sent them last week. They aren’t due for another two.” At her frown, I added, “Yes, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Are you bringing the young man?”

“If . . .” Another wave of disappointment washed over me. “If he’s available, yes, of course.”

“Good.” Eyeing me, she backhanded Stan’s forearm. “Something’s wrong with our girl here,” she said. “Look at her.”

Ever polite, ever unassuming, Stan put an arm around his betrothed’s shoulders. “We should let Ollie get back to whatever she was doing.”

Mrs. Wentworth wasn’t finished. “When are the two of
you
going to get hitched?” she asked. “I want to come to your wedding and I’m getting up there, you know. Don’t make me wait too long.”

My heart ached, thinking about our trip to the marriage license bureau. All our plans. Since that blissful moment that Gav had asked me to marry him, nothing had gone right. I felt bereft. Emotion threatened to overtake me. I worked hard at maintaining my composure, always, but the dam had a crack in it today and I couldn’t stop myself from letting it all out in sharp, staccato sentences. “We’re engaged. Applied for the license. But we have to wait. There’s a backlog.”

Mrs. Wentworth’s mouth dropped open. Stan’s, too.

“When did this all happen?”

“Two days ago.”

“Then why aren’t you happy?” Mrs. Wentworth asked. All of a sudden, her concern for me was less nosy and intrusive. She took both my shoulders in her bony hands and waited for me to make eye contact. “What’s wrong?”

“I am happy,” I said. “That’s the truth. It’s just that we have a problem.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Not a relationship problem. A . . . situation.”

“Oh, my dear.” She shook her head. “Again?”

I sighed, thinking about the ridiculousness of it all. “It’ll be all right.”

When she smiled, I was moved by the kindness I saw in her face. “What did your mother say when you told her?”

“My mom!”

From the moment we’d found the bodies lying on the floor at Evan’s place, I hadn’t given another thought to sharing the good news with my family.

“You haven’t told her?”

I covered my mouth with my hand. “It slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind?” Mrs. Wentworth gave me a very motherly stare. “That had to be some situation you encountered.” She tapped Stan on the arm again. “Let’s go. Ollie, you call your mother. Right now, you understand?”

• • •

“I WANT TO BE THERE,” MOM SAID. SHE’D BURST
into snuffling tears of joy when I’d told her the news, then had rushed downstairs to bring Nana up so they could both talk to me at the same time. “Chicago is less than two hours by plane from D.C. As soon as you have a date, you let us know.”

Nana piped in. “I’ll get my ‘go’ bag ready right away. That’s what they call them on that criminal profiling show I watch. You never know when you need to grab it and run, and I plan to be ready when you holler.”

“We may not have a date for a while.” What had first seemed a mere inconvenience because the judges were booked up for weeks was now so much more than that. I wondered how these mysterious deaths and the investigation into who had committed them would affect Gav—and our plans. What if today was only the beginning of a long time apart? “Gav and I will talk more about it when I see him next.”

“When will that be?” Mom asked.

I gave my best theatric sigh, masking sadness with exaggeration. “You know how it is,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t hear from him for a week.”
Please
, I thought.
Don’t let it be that long. Not this time.

We talked for a while, both Mom and Nana expressing their happiness so many times that I couldn’t wait to get off the phone. They were the world’s most supportive people and I knew that if we talked much longer, I’d break down and tell them how worried I was for Gav tonight. As there was no way to do that without mentioning, or at least alluding to the massacre, I chatted as long as I could, then begged off.

“Early morning for me tomorrow,” I said, making myself smile so they’d hear happiness in my voice. “I’ll talk with you both soon.”

We hung up finally, and I returned to staring at the kitchen clock.

Where was he?

• • •

BUCKY AND CYAN BEAT ME TO WORK THE NEXT
morning, which surprised me. They both seemed to be in high spirits about this upcoming Durasi dinner and for that I was grateful. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and though I tried, it was difficult to put Gav’s absence out of my mind.

I reminded myself that it wasn’t like this sort of thing hadn’t happened before. He’d often been pulled away for long periods of time. And during those absences he hadn’t been able to communicate. The only difference was that in prior instances, he’d known ahead of time that he’d be gone and I’d known not to expect him.

Plus, none of his prior absences had resulted from his stumbling onto a crime scene the way we had—with five murder victims, one of whom was a friend who’d asked him for help. The fact that Gav didn’t care for the agent in charge didn’t bode well, either.

Yeah, this time everything was different. I didn’t like it.

In between dinner plans and menu decisions, Bucky and Cyan asked me for specifics about my personal plans, and wanted to know details about how and when Gav and I began seeing one another. We laughed a bit. It felt good to talk.

Bucky grinned and wagged a finger. “I’m telling you, from the first day he showed up here and you started sassing him, I knew the man was smitten.”

“You mean when he came here to teach the bomb courses?”

“Yep. He was crazy about you.”

“He was not,” I insisted. “He couldn’t stand me.”

“Uh-huh. Try to convince us. You got under his skin all right.” Bucky gave me a pointed look. “Just not the way you led us all to believe.”

“No, you have to understand,” I said, trying again. “He drove
me
crazy. I thought he was full of himself. Arrogant. Annoying.”

“And that’s why you’re marrying the guy, right? Because you can’t stand him and you’re hoping for a lifetime of aggravation?” Bucky laughed. “I’m telling you, I saw this one coming.”

I sighed, knowing it was useless to argue.

“I called my mom last night,” I said, wrapping up, “and she and Nana want to be here, too.”

“You sound surprised,” Cyan said. “Of course they want to be here for you.” She got a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, since you’re stuck having to wait for so many weeks, why not make some plans?”

“Plans?” I repeated. “Like . . . what?”

“Come on, Ollie, you can’t be that dense. You ought to start looking for a place to hold a reception.”

She must have reacted to the look on my face because she quickly added, “A small one, I mean.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “This isn’t about the wedding, this is about the marriage. I don’t need a reception or . . . or . . . any hoopla for that matter.”

Cyan wore an expression of exasperation, one that would be more at home on a woman my mom’s age than on my young assistant chef. Her eyes fairly glimmered with glee behind bright-blue contacts as she adopted a patient tone. She put her hands up, like a movie director framing a shot. “Really? Picture this. You and Gav get in front of the judge exactly the way you plan. Great. Keep in mind that your mom and grandmother are there in the courtroom with you. They’re sitting and smiling and incredibly happy for you.”

“Okay,” I said.

She continued gesturing animatedly. “What exactly do you think happens once you’ve said your vows? Do you leave your family there to chat with the deputies when the ceremony is over? Of course not. You’ll want to take your mom and nana out somewhere nice to celebrate, won’t you?”

I truly hadn’t thought that far ahead. Too much on my mind. “I suppose . . .”

“Yeah,” she said, with emphasis. “And what do you plan to wear?”

“Wear?” My head started to hurt. When Gav and I had set out for the courthouse, we’d been under the impression that we could be married within three days. With that short of a time span, there would be far less to fret about. Then our lead time turned into three
business
days, which turned into eight weeks, which could have been one week if Evan had . . .

Evan.

How could I worry about what to wear when there were five murdered men at the Ainsley Street Ministry and Gav had gone AWOL immediately afterward? “I don’t care what I wear,” I said to Cyan. “Really I don’t. Gav will marry me even if I show up in splattered chef’s whites.”

She gave me a look that was half amused, half sympathetic. “I’ll back off for now. Keep in mind, though, if you need any help, I’m here.”

Cyan meant well. And from the grin on Bucky’s face, I could tell he did, too. “I’ll remember,” I said. “Thanks.”

• • •

MY CELL PHONE TIMER WENT OFF A FEW MIN
utes before ten
A.M.
I dug the device out of my pocket and shut off the chimes. “Thank goodness I set that,” I said aloud. I’d been concentrating so hard on the guest list in front of me and working to keep my mind from worrying about Gav, that I’d lost all track of time.

Bucky watched me. “What’s the alarm for?”

“Sargeant’s promotion. He asked me to be there when the First Lady makes the announcement to the press.”

Across the kitchen, Virgil tossed vegetables into a sizzling skillet. He spoke over his shoulder. “What’s up with that? You and Sargeant have sure gotten lovey-dovey over the past few months.” He laughed. “You’d make a perfect couple.”