On Thin Icing (22 page)

“Anything is possible, Jules.” Thomas took a sip of tea. “This is nice, thanks.”

I laughed. “That required the least amount of effort of anything I made today. You’re very welcome.”

“Hey, it’s a hot cup of tea. I’m not complaining.”

“Or you’re just way too easy to please.”

Thomas poked at the fire with a piece of kindling. “In answer to your question, though, yes, hunters have night vision devices, special headlamps—there’s all kinds of equipment on the market that allow people to hunt at night. The bigger issue for me is why was Dean shooting here in the resort? It’s illegal. Dean knows that. I could have given him a ticket. If someone wandered by, yikes.” Thomas frowned. “Any experienced gun user knows that.”

“Did you search the area where he was shooting? No one else is missing, are they?”

“Yes, and no. Everyone is accounted for, and I checked the area. There’s nothing there other than a few bullet holes in a couple trees.”

“Dean told me that he used to have shooting parties on his family land in the English countryside. That means he has to be very familiar with a gun.”

“Uh-huh, and?”

“Well, don’t you think that makes him even more of a suspect? Who else knows how to use a gun?”

“Probably quite a few people. We’re in the heart of hunting and fishing territory.” Thomas tossed the stick of kindling into the fire.

He had a point.

“Jules, everyone is a suspect. Everyone. We’re combing through every detail. The Professor is being extra cautious with this crime scene since we’re it right now. I just bagged bullets I found near the trees where Dean was shooting. I promise, we’re doing everything by the book.”

“I’m sure you are.” I sipped my tea. It had gone cold.

“Listen, I know this is a touchy subject for you.”

“Thomas, stop. I know what you’re going to say, and we’re not going to get anywhere on the subject. Maybe it would be better to table it.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“Jules.” He studied my face. “I’m doing my job. We both want the same thing. We want to figure out who killed Tony, right?”

“Right,” I said through a clenched jaw.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Close up on me.”

“I’m not closing up on you, Thomas. I’m frustrated.”

“Jules, I’m just doing my job.” His voice was pleading.

I sighed. “I guess I’m confused. Maybe I’m reading things wrong, but I get the vibe that you don’t like Carlos, and not because you think he’s a suspect. I get the sense you don’t like him because of me.” I let the words linger.

Thomas didn’t respond for a moment. He added another log to the fire.

I’d spent too much time hiding from my problems. I decided I might as well just say what I was thinking aloud.

“Thomas, I’m not trying to make things weird between us, but that’s the thing. They are weird between us. There’s been this underlying tension since you showed up. I don’t like it, so I’m saying so out loud. You’re a good friend, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

He closed the woodstove and turned to me. “I feel the same way, Jules, and as your friend I’m probably acting weird because I feel protective of you.”

I started to protest, but he cut me off. “Not like that. I know you can hold your own with just about anyone.” He laughed then met my eyes. “It’s Carlos. I don’t trust him.”

“Thomas, come on. We’ve been around and around about this. Carlos is not a killer.”

“I didn’t say he was. I don’t trust him because of you.”

“Me?” I took a sip of my tea.

He nodded. “Jules, it doesn’t matter what happened between you and Carlos. It’s none of my business.” Placing his tea on the woodstove, he sighed. “Here’s the thing, when you first came home to Ashland you were really sad. You’re not anymore. You’ve taken over at Torte and everyone in town knows that. Seeing you with Carlos, I don’t know, you’re different…”

Before he could continue there was a rap on the sliding glass door. Carlos smiled broadly and held a wine bottle in his hand.

Chapter Twenty-four

I waved Carlos in. He flinched when he saw Thomas, but quickly recovered and walked to the couch. He leaned down and kissed my cheek. His lips were cold. “Julieta, tonight I remembered the wine.”

“I’m surprised you’re upright. It looked like the board was enjoying the wine tasting—really enjoying it.”

“Sí, sí.”
Carlos grinned. “But you know that I take a small, small taste to describe the flavor.” He placed the bottle of wine on the coffee table. “This we drink tonight, unless you have other plans.” He stared at Thomas.

Thomas cleared his throat. “I need to be on my way.” He ignored Carlos and directed his attention to me. “The Professor and I have the cabin next door. If you need anything tonight—anything—I’m within earshot.”

“What did he mean by that?” Carlos asked after Thomas left.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. For some reason he has you pegged as a suspect in Tony’s murder, and dangerous.”

Carlos walked to the kitchen and began opening drawers. “For some reason? I think we know the reason. He is in love with you.”

“What?”

“He is in love with you, Julieta. It is obvious.” Digging through a drawer, he reached into the back and pulled out a corkscrew. “Ah. We will have wine tonight.”

“Thomas isn’t in love with me,” I protested.

Carlos poured wine into two stemless glasses. “Julieta, please do not pretend you don’t see it. The question is, do you return his feelings?”

“What?”

He handed me a glass and sat next to me on the couch. Our knees touched. I felt a jolt of energy run down my leg.

“Do you love him?”

“No! Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

Carlos swirled his glass. The flames from the candlelight flickered on its smooth edges. They reminded me of dancing fireflies. “Love is complicated, no?”

“I’m not in love with Thomas.” I held my glass firmly, and met his eyes. “And honestly, I don’t think he’s really in love with me.”

Carlos tilted his head to the side and laughed. “Julieta, it is obvious. You can see it, no? He is desperately in love with you. I understand his feelings.”

“He’s not. We’re old friends. That’s all.”

“Hmmm.” Carlos held his glass to the light, and took a slow sip.

“If Thomas is in love with me, that’s his problem. Not mine. He’s a good friend. That’s all.” I took a sip of the wine. It slid down my throat like velvet.

Carlos considered my words. He set his wine down and positioned his body so that his arm wrapped around my shoulder but he was facing me. “It is easy to fall in love with you.”

I held my breath.

He spoke in a throaty whisper. “Julieta, I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

One of the logs in the stove fell, sending sparks onto the hearth. We both started at the popping sound. I felt like sparks were flying between us.

I reached for my wine. “Carlos, I need to understand why you didn’t tell me about your son.”

Carlos watched me as I drank. The wine warmed my cheeks. It was a French Merlot. I could almost taste the sandy clay-limestone earth in the finish.

“You never gave me a chance to explain,
querida.
”

“We’re here now. I’m listening.” I leaned back against the couch and waited. My heart pumped. The wine gurgled in my stomach.

He removed his arm and sat so our eyes were level. “I never meant to lie to you. I should have told you when we first met. I don’t know why I didn’t. Then it never was the right time. We fell in love so fast. I couldn’t find the words to tell you. I knew you would be angry, not because of my son, but because I didn’t tell you.”

I massaged my temples. “So you decided to keep lying to me? I don’t understand.”

“It is complicated, Julieta.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

“I mean, I do not know where to start.”

Taking another sip of wine, I inhaled an oaky scent. “I’d say, how about if you start from the beginning. We were married for three years. Three years, Carlos, and in that time you failed to mention that you have a son. Tell me what I’m supposed to do with that information? How would you react if it was me?”

Carlos reached for my hand. I wanted to pull away, but his soft touch had a calming effect on me. “I did not know at first. Sophia, she did not tell me.”

Sophia was Carlos’s girlfriend before me. Carlos is ten years older than me, and I knew when we met that he’d had a number of lovers. It didn’t bother me. I had dated Thomas for years, and had a few minor flings on the ship. When Carlos and I met, though, it was different. The chemistry between us was undeniable. Everyone around us felt it. It was like our bodies were magnetized to each other. He and Sophia broke up when he took the job as head chef. She stayed behind in Spain. Maybe I was blinded by new love, but I believed him when he told me that she was nothing more than a distant memory.

She used to call every once in a while. I figured she still held a torch for him. It was understandable. His dark eyes drew in women at every port. I would chuckle when they batted their lashes and giggled when he walked past. Our connection was so intense that I never worried about him straying. I took it in stride. I used to tease him about being a Casanova.

He would kiss my forehead. “Julieta, you are the only love in my life.”

I felt like the only love in his life. Carlos was a consummate romantic. It wasn’t just our wedding day. He constantly tucked love notes under my pillow and sang me to sleep. We had something special. Something unique. Something that most people spend their entire lives searching for.

And then it ended.

I’ll never forget collapsing to my knees and feeling like someone had kicked me in the stomach the day I found the letters from Carlos’s son tucked into his sock drawer.

How could he have kept something so important from me? I didn’t breathe as I shoved my clothes into a bag. I had to get off the ship. Right then. Carlos was my world. His lie crushed me.

The rest of that day is etched in my memory. I remember Carlos returning to our cabin. His smile was bright as he danced into our room. It quickly faded when he saw the stack of letters flung on our bed.

“Julieta, I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you’ve been lying to me for years?” My eyes welled with tears. I pushed past him and walked out without another word. Mom knew something was wrong the moment she answered the phone, and I sobbed, “Is it okay if I come home?”

“Honey, that’s not even a question. You know you can always come home.”

“I mean for a while.”

“Okay,” she replied, waiting for more.

“I can’t talk about it right now. I’m catching the next flight.”

“Okay.” Mom repeated the word like she was trying to make sense of what I was saying. “I’ll be here. We’ll figure out whatever’s going on together. I love you, Juliet.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I gulped back tears. “I love you, too.”

I don’t remember the flight or even disembarking the ship. I just remember that the moment my feet hit the welcoming sidewalks of Ashland, I knew I’d made the right decision. The past six months had made me stronger, more confident. I felt whole again.

*   *   *

Now Carlos was so close that I could smell the musky scent on his skin and the faint sweetness of the evening’s wine. I’d been dreaming about and dreading this moment since I’d returned home. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what Carlos had to tell me.

Chapter Twenty-five

“Did you read my letters?” Carlos asked.

I shook my head. Carlos’s first letter arrived with a bouquet of roses. I’d tucked it away at home. I couldn’t bring myself to read his words. There was something about seeing it in print that seemed too hard to digest. After that, the letters kept coming. One every other week. They all sat unread in my sock drawer. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“I thought maybe you had not.” Carlos looked at me. “Are you hungry, Julieta? I brought something special for you.”

“Not really.”

He jumped to his feet anyway. I wondered if he was stalling. He strolled to the door and reached into his coat pocket. Returning to me, he offered a small package wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with twine. “You remember that chocolatier in Florence?”

I unwrapped the package. When we’d been docked in the small coastal town of Livorno, we rented a car and drove to Florence for the afternoon. It’s one of my favorite Italian cities, bursting with color, tourists, and art. We wandered into a chocolate boutique squeezed between two museums. I’d never tasted such exquisitely lush chocolate. We spent an hour sampling unique flavor combinations like dark chocolate with cherries and chilies and chocolate and ginger.

“When we docked last week, I went back and bought this for you.”

The chocolates had a gorgeous satin sheen. I chose a milk chocolate truffle.

“Yes, that should be good with the wine.” Carlos encouraged me to try it.

I bit into the silky chocolate. With one taste, I was back in the crowded streets of Florence, under the Tuscan sun. My mouth remembered the young musician busking in front of a gelato stand and the artistic ceilings in Florence’s many ancient churches.

That’s what I love about baking. It’s more than art or science. It’s memory.

The sweet memory vanished as I swallowed the chocolate and met Carlos’s eager stare.

“It is still, good, yes?”

“It’s amazing. Just like I remember it.” I washed the chocolate down with wine. “Maybe even better.”

“Like us, yes?”

“Carlos.” I sighed. “You broke my trust. You shattered everything I thought we had together.”

“We still have each other, no?” He placed his hand on my knee. “I still love you, Julieta, but you did run away, and you never read my letters, either? I tried to explain.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“Are you ready now?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. You broke my heart, Carlos.”

“Ah,
querida,
I am so sorry.” He caressed my cheek. His eyes were searching, pleading with me to believe him. “I did not know how to tell you. I did not want you to leave. I never wanted to hurt you, or break the heart that I love the most.”