Love You to Death (10 page)

I
must have drifted off right in the middle of my fantasy about Ben, because the sun was now streaming into my room through the curtains. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—7:00 a.m. I stretched in the comfy bed—without a doubt the most comfy in Moose City (that I’d managed to sleep at all was a testament to that)—wondering what Ben was doing. He was right beyond the wall, maybe naked in bed. Or naked in the shower.

I wanted to see his face so badly that I popped out of bed, despite how tired I was. After a fast shower, a little too long with a blow-dryer and “natural” makeup and the most flattering of my superwarm clothes, I knocked on Ben’s door. It was just after eight.

“Looking for me?” he called.

I whirled around. He was sitting in the common room, reading
The Moose City Marveler,
a muffin and coffee on the side table next to him. He wore jeans and a dark green Shetland sweater, a hint of white T-shirt peeking out.

“I don’t need to try another to know this is the best,” he said. “Corn.”

“You should have saved your appetite,” I said, leaning against the wall. “Breakfast is on Finch. He likes all his Best Of columns to include scrambled eggs and bacon and coffee. I was planning to test out that greasy spoon across the street from where we ate dinner last night. Greasy spoons make the best breakfast.”

“I agree,” he said. “And I’m ravenous, actually,” he added, staring at me.

My mouth went dry. Is he flirting? Am I reading into everything he says and does because I am so attracted to him that I might burst into a million pieces if I don’t have him soon?

Ha. Like I would. Maybe I would burst into a million pieces just as I was being arrested. That would work just fine.

He grabbed his coat. “I’m ready if you are.”

“You know, I could probably complain to the authorities that I’m being harassed,” I pointed out, pulling on my gloves.

“I could trail you surreptitiously, if you prefer,” he said. He stood up and walked toward me. He was so tall. So…
hot
—even hotter than he’d been in high school.

Senior year, Jolie had been nuts over a tortured-poet type who walked around with the anarchy symbol in white spray paint on his black leather jacket. She’d been crazy about him for four years, but he mooned over tortured-artist type girls, and Jolie was the epitome of perky—a cheerleader with a perpetual smile. Anyway, a few years ago we ran into the guy at the mall. He was practically bald, except around the ears, had a beer belly and was wearing the same leather jacket. Jolie had been so disappointed that her fantasy was ruined forever. She’d held all other guys up to how she felt about James Cole, who’d never looked once at her.

With Ben, on the other hand, the reality was even better than the fantasy. Except about the suspecting me of murder part, of course. He’d taken complete control of my heart without saying a single word to me, something you could only get away with in high school. And now that he was saying many words to me, they were mostly very nice. He was as attractive inside as he was outside.

Demetria’s Diner was bustling with the snowboarding crowd. We had to wait ten minutes for a table, which was a good sign, since there were several other places to eat breakfast. My stomach started rumbling just as a waitress curled her finger at us and pointed at a booth in the back.

Ben ordered a Swiss cheese omelet and French toast. I went for the scrambled eggs and bacon. As we awaited our order, I took out my brochures.

“Hey, look at this—not one but two fortune-tellers here in Moose City. I’d love to get my fortune told.”

“Can I listen in?” he asked as the waitress delivered more plates than we had room for.

“So you put stock in five-dollar palm readers?” I asked him once she left and promised to come back with more coffee.

“I put stock in listening” was his answer.

“I get to listen to your reading, too, then,” I said. “That’s the deal.”

He laughed. “Fine with me.”

We dug in to our breakfast, declaring the eggs scrumptious, the home fries even better and the Swiss cheese omelet needing better Swiss. The coffee was so-so. I made my notes, and then we were off to Allegra’s House of Fortune, which, from the little picture on the brochure, was a storefront at the other end of the village.

It was actually the store
back
of Allegra’s Antiques, a small shop full of items I wanted. Like an old cherry secretary desk. A floor lamp that looked as if it had come from a twenties-era bordello. A very old snow globe of a long-ago Moose City. I turned it over and gave it a little shake, and it snowed over Moose City. A glance at the price tag on the bottom told me it was mine—just five bucks. And there was a gorgeous baby-blue cradle that Olivia would love. I turned over the price tag. Seventy dollars. With the tiny raise that went with my pseudo-promotion, I
could
buy it. Whether I could give it to her was another story. I had no idea if she’d let me near her.

“Can I help you?” asked a woman.

“We’re interested in having our fortunes told,” I said, holding up the brochure. “I’d also like to buy that snow globe,” I added, pointing. “And the blue cradle.”

Once I was all paid up at the cash register, the woman eyed me and Ben for a long moment. Then she clapped twice. “Sarah, come take over the store for a little while.” A young woman appeared from behind the cash register. “Follow me,” she said to us.

She led us through a doorway with a small sign: Allegra’s House Of Fortune. The room was all fortune-teller. Billowy white material was draped from the ceilings. Red velvet cushions lined a bench in front of a small square table draped with black lace.

“That will be fifteen dollars each,” she said, her hand out.

I paid her, and she gestured toward the bench. “Please, sit. Unless you would like separate fortunes. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She returned in a getup, which didn’t have the same effect once you’d already seen her in a fleece sweatshirt. Her short dark hair was now covered by a bright red turban. She wore a long multicolored robe. Each finger had a large-stoned ring. And her lipstick was as bright as her turban.

“I am Madame Allegra,” she said. “Welcome to the House of Fortune.” She sat down across from us. “I will read you first,” she said to me. She closed her eyes and held out her hands. I reached over, and she held my hands very gently, then squeezed. She took an exaggerated breath, then rolled her head on her shoulders the way we had to do during stretch time in high school gym class. She let go of my hands and opened her eyes. “You are conflicted,” she said. “Someone is judging you.”

I turned to Ben, eyes wide. This woman was good! “Is this person right to judge me?” I asked.

“That is not for me to say” was her nonanswer. She opened her eyes wide. “You are in danger. I cannot be sure if this danger is physical or emotional. You must proceed in all aspects of your life with caution.” Then she turned to Ben. She closed her eyes and reached out her hands, which he took. She said nothing for a few moments, then squeezed his hands, and slowly opened her eyes. She stared at him. “Someone close to you passed,” she said. “This person wants you to know he or she is at peace. I cannot tell if it is a male or female.”

I glanced at Ben; he held her gaze, but I couldn’t read him. As usual.

“Ah, you are not at peace,” she told him. “You do not need to be Madame Allegra to see that.”

“Thanks for your time,” Ben said, standing up.

Madame Allegra stood, too. “I have more to say, if you are interested.”

I
was interested. But Ben shook his head and ushered me out the back door.

“Ben, I—”

“What’s next on your list?” he asked.

“Wasn’t that uncanny?” I said. “The first thing she said was dead-on—that someone is judging me. So I assume the next thing was also—that I’m in danger.”

“Of course you’re in danger,” he said. “You’re a suspect in a homicide. That in itself is dangerous.”

“Did someone close to you die?” I asked, holding my breath.

He pulled on his black leather gloves. “What’s next on your agenda?”

I stared at him, wondering if he’d ever answer a question. Maybe not such a personal one. “I was just thinking that if it was true, then I’d know what she told me was true,” I said.

But I knew it was. Someone close to him
had
died. And it was enough to cut short the half hour with Madame Allegra.

“I mean, if my life is in danger,” I added, “I should take steps to protect myself.”

“Why do you think I’m here, Abby,” he said. Statement. Not a question.

Huh. I stopped walking and stared at him. “I thought you were here to investigate me. Follow me. See if I leave clues. See if I say anything incriminating. See if I kill anyone.”

He nodded. “All that—
and
to protect you, too. Because if it’s not you, Abby, then it
is
someone you know. Or someone who knows you.”

“I am looking directly into your eyes and telling you it’s not me.”

He smiled. “That doesn’t work on cops.”

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t,” I said. “Shall we continue on to Pammy Grunt, palm reader?”

“Pammy Grunt?” he repeated, smiling. “That doesn’t sound very fortune-tellery.”

I laughed. “She’s probably even more on the money than Madame Allegra.”

She wasn’t. Pammy Grunt looked all of nineteen. Her “shop” was one of the small round tables at the end of a delicious-smelling bakery owned by her parents. With the exchange of five dollars apiece—she was much cheaper than Madame Allegra—we sat down across from her. No change of dress. No jewelry.

“Okay, so can you give me something of yours?” Pammy asked. “I need to obtain your aura, then I’ll read your palm.”

I was about to hand her my new snow globe, then realized it wouldn’t really have my aura, and I didn’t want my reading mixed with a bunch of strangers who’d previously owned it. I handed her one of my gloves. She closed her eyes and squeezed the glove, then brought it up to her nose and inhaled. Good thing I hadn’t dropped it in the dog poop I’d sidestepped down the street. She took my hand and stared at it, then released it so fast I knocked my knuckles on the table.

“Someone on the other side is trying to connect,” she told me.

“Is it my mother?” Ben interrupted. “Julia Johnson?”

Pammy closed her eyes, then opened them slowly. “Yes! She said her name was Julia and that she loves you very much. There was no pain.”

Ben smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that. Well, we got our money’s worth,” he said, standing up. “Coming, dear?”

Huh? I followed him out. “Now can I ask questions?”

He rolled his eyes. “My mother is alive and well and named Gertrude.”

“So she’s not the best fortune-teller in Moose City,” I said.

“No, she’s definitely not. The other one isn’t too shabby, though. Perhaps I should go ask Madame Allegra if you left anyone off your boyfriend list. If you did, there could potentially be another victim out there.”

Aha. So someone close to him
had
died if he was putting stock in what Madame Allegra had said to me. I wanted to know who. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to hug him, feel those arms around me.

“Three victims are enough, thanks,” I said.

“Could you have left off anyone? Even a one-night stand? A date who never called again? Anyone who hurt you, no matter how insignificant the relationship or lack thereof?”

“Nope,” I said. “No one. Shall we move on to the best movie-theater popcorn in Moose City, even though there’s only one theater? Couldn’t you go for a movie? A little removal from reality for a couple of hours?”

He stared at me. “Abby, I know this is hard. But remember, if you didn’t kill Ted, it’s very likely that someone you know did. So I need to know if there could be anyone else that you might have forgotten to include. That someone could be a witness.”

“You mean a victim,” I said.

“A victim who’s now a witness,” he corrected.

I glanced up Moose City Boulevard, at the beautiful, white powdery snow on the rooftops, on the bare branches of the trees. What I wouldn’t give for that movie, to sit next to Ben and laugh at a romantic comedy for a couple of hours, to share popcorn, to feel for just a little while that I was away for a romantic weekend with the guy of my dreams.

“Abby?” he asked. “There is someone, isn’t there? Someone who hurt you?”

I took a deep breath. “There is one guy who broke my heart, unintentionally. I didn’t put him on the list because we never dated. Not once. I was more secretly enamored.”

He pulled out his little spiral notebook. “What’s his name?”

“Benjamin Orr.”

He glanced up and snapped the notebook closed. “Ah. I didn’t know.”

“If you hadn’t moved away at the end of junior year, I might have just thrown myself at you just so you’d know I was alive,” I said like an idiot. But that had been my big plan.

“Do you know why my family moved?” he asked as we continued walking.

I shrugged. “Your dad got a job in Massachusetts?”

He shook his head and gestured at Moose City Coffee and Cake, and I nodded. We headed in and sat down at a love seat by the window. Ben went up to the counter to order two coffees. At the condiments table, I noticed he added just the right of amount of milk and two Sweet’n Low. Just the way I liked it. He really did watch everything I did.

He sat down next to me and sipped his coffee. “I had a kid brother. He was killed by gunfire meant for one drug dealer from another. Low-level dealers. A turf war. My brother was caught in the crossfire. He was eleven years old. And a great kid.”

I had to bite my lip not to burst into tears. “Oh, God, Ben, I’m so sorry.”

He glanced down at his coffee. “I try not to talk about it or about him at all because it blindsides me. If I’m thinking about Joey, I can’t think at all.”

I wanted to touch him so badly, to just take his hand, but I couldn’t. “So that’s why the captain of everything isn’t a neurosurgeon or an investment banker. You became a cop because of your brother. Joey.”