Plum Deadly (9 page)

“He has to keep his distance and observe this situation as it unfolds around you. It’s likely the answers will involve you, but there’s no proof yet. It’s his job to be objective, Maggie.”

“Were you a cop or something?” Maggie asked. He sounded too aware of how a detective would feel. She didn’t really want to hear Frank’s point of view.

“No.” He smiled and picked up another bread stick. “I trained to be one but—”

“That’s when your father had the heart attack and he would’ve had to close the paper if you hadn’t stepped in,” Aunt Clara added. “I remember. Your father was a very good writer, although he used to get my husband, Fred, all riled up with his editorials.”

“You were planning to be a cop?” Maggie was amazed. “It must be a lot different working for a newspaper instead.”

“It’s different. I guess it was always in my blood anyway. I didn’t plan on doing this—never wanted to step into my father’s shoes—but it’s okay now. I enjoy it.”

“How’s your father doing these days?” Aunt Clara asked as she bit into a cannoli. “Is he enjoying his retirement?”

“He’s fine. Thanks for asking. He spends most of his time on the golf course. Once in a while, he comes into the office and I have to remind him that the doctor said he can’t do the job anymore. It’s hard for him. He’s not that old and he misses his former life. He likes to keep up with what’s going on.”

Maggie suspected from his tone that Ryan’s father
might like to be more involved with the paper than Ryan wanted.

“Poor man,” Aunt Clara said. “Remind me to send him a pie.”

“That’s sweet of you. I’m sure he’d appreciate it, Clara. We don’t get very much home cooking since neither one of us cooks.”

They didn’t really talk any more about Lou’s death or Frank’s investigation. Ryan talked about things that were going on in the community. Aunt Clara talked about the pie shop being closed.

Maggie thought about whoever had broken into the house and why they’d taken the laptop. It seemed a good bet that the guilty person, who’d really embezzled from the bank, had started this chain of events. This person knew Lou was about to clear her name and had acted violently to prevent that. Afterward, they were worried about Maggie figuring it out. They wanted to know what she knew.

It was a chilling thought that she and Aunt Clara could’ve been asleep when the thieves had come. The event could have been so much worse. Yet, even though nothing had happened to them, Maggie was nervous about going home again.

As they were getting ready to leave the restaurant, Maggie and Aunt Clara thanked Ryan for the delicious dinner.

“You’re very welcome.” He held the door for them. “Maggie, you’re also welcome to come and use the computers at the newspaper whenever you like until you get your laptop replaced. If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

Stuffed full of good food, Maggie thanked him profusely, almost ready to weep at his kindness and generosity. He was a good man. Aunt Clara had been right to point out his qualities to her earlier.

In the car, on the way back to the house, her aunt pushed it one step further. “You know, Ryan, I was surprised that your
wife
didn’t come with you this evening.”

How can she think of matchmaking at a time like this?
Maggie shook her head. She was almost too tired to care. Besides, she was already pretty sure he was single.

“I’ve come close to getting married a few times, Clara,” he said. “But I’ve never made it to the finish line. There was a girl in college. That was a long time ago. My mom and dad had been married fifty-two years when she passed. He keeps wondering when I’m going to settle down. I always tell him I’m looking for the right woman who’ll put up with me.”

Aunt Clara giggled. She had the answer she wanted.

Maggie knew what Aunt Clara was after. She’d seen her aunt staring at Ryan’s hands all evening. Not all married men wore wedding rings. She was making sure that he was marriage material.

That had been one aspect of living without family that she hadn’t minded. No one constantly pushed people into her path thinking she should get married. In fact, very few of her friends in New York were married. Some had moved in together. That was the extent of their commitment.

She didn’t feel like she had ever even come close, as Ryan had said. She had plenty of friends and acquaintances to visit museums, go to bars, and watch Broadway plays with. There had been a few men who were special.
Never anyone she was serious about. She was happy being single.

She still was, for that matter.

Ryan dropped them off at the house—after coming inside and making sure they were alone. Aunt Clara immediately went up to bed—with a wink at Maggie.

“I hope she’ll be okay.” Ryan watched her go. “Sometimes it’s hard to get over things like this.”

“I know. She’s very resilient. I think it might be from running the pie shop, first with my uncle, then alone.”

“I know what you mean. My mother and father started the newspaper together forty-six years ago. When you grow up as part of a working family business, it makes you more independent than most people. You have to be ready for anything.”

Maggie smiled and tentatively reached her hand toward him. “Thank you for a nice evening, Ryan. I really appreciate your help in all this. I feel kind of lost right now. I don’t really know what I’m doing. Maybe I should’ve worked more at the pie shop when I was growing up. Nothing I’ve ever done has prepared me for this.”

“I think you’re holding up pretty well, considering the circumstances. You’ll get through it. I can see you come from tough stock.”

They stood there looking at each other for a few seconds. She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but in the next instant, they were in each other’s arms, kissing.

M
aggie opened her
green eyes and looked into Ryan’s blue ones, their faces close together.

“Wow,” he said. “That was something.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Something.”

“Something good, right? I thought it was good.”

“Oh! Yes. Something good.” She grinned at him like a crazy person. Later she could blame her lack of cool on the fact that it had been a while. Now she wanted to make sure he understood that she’d liked it. “I wasn’t expecting you . . . it.”

“Me either. I’ve thought about it since I met you, though.”

“It was probably Aunt Clara throwing me at you.”

“I don’t think so. I think it was all you. I didn’t need any prompting.”

“Really?” She was pleased, but embarrassed that she couldn’t say the same thing. “I’m sorry. I was so caught up in Lou’s death and everything . . .” She trailed off, not sure what else to say.

“It’s okay.” He touched his finger to the side of her face. “Now that it’s happened, how about lunch tomorrow?”

“Since I’m on hiatus from the pie shop, that sounds great. Thanks again for offering to let me use one of your computers. It’ll save me a trip to the library.”

“Sure. You could come in tomorrow morning and then we could go out to lunch.”

“That sounds great. Thanks.”

“Well, I guess I should go.” There was a regretful tone to his voice. “Dinner was fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, Ryan.”

Maggie watched him walk to his car and get in before she closed the front door. She turned around with a big smile on her face then almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Aunt Clara standing there with pink cream smeared on her face.

“Well?” Aunt Clara smiled. “Was I right about the two of you?”

“It looks like it. Of course, it was only a kiss.”

A really nice kiss!

“He kissed you? Rats! I missed it. Come in the living room and tell me all about it.”

After making hot chocolate with little marshmallows,
they sat in the living room and talked about Ryan, his father, and the newspaper.

“I think he’s exactly what you need right now, Maggie,” Aunt Clara said. “Someone who can help out. Someone you can believe in.”

Maggie agreed. “He does seem really nice, and he’s a pretty good kisser too.”

Aunt Clara giggled. “Your Uncle Fred was the best kisser in Durham when we were dating. I dated a lot of boys—you should in order to know the right one when he comes along. I could never convince you of that. You were always so serious and intent on getting away from home by yourself. You weren’t interested in any of the boys who wanted to date you.”

“Like who?” Maggie couldn’t think of anyone who even seemed to like her when she was growing up.

“Like David Walker next door. The two of you were fine until you hit high school. Then you were all SATs and getting ready for college. He was right there and you never noticed. It was kind of pathetic, really. Puppy love, your Uncle Fred used to call it.”

“I don’t remember it that way. I never thought of David as boyfriend material.” Maggie sighed, thinking about those unhappy times. “I used to think it didn’t matter. I was alone, and the only way I could ever be happy was to get away and live another life. I was stupid back then.”

“Not stupid,” Aunt Clara said. “You experienced a terrible tragedy when you lost your parents. Uncle Fred and I tried to fill in for them. We could only do what you would let
us do. And you made it. You escaped. I’m sorry it didn’t have the happy ending you were looking for.”

Maggie got up and hugged her, then picked up their empty cups. “I was stupid and I love you for not agreeing with me, but I know better. I hope I’m smarter now. You and Uncle Fred were great. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you when I was younger. Your face cream is cracking. I think that means we should go to bed.”

Aunt Clara reached up and touched the pink cream that had been her nightly beauty ritual for at least fifty years. “You’re absolutely right. Good night, Maggie. Sweet dreams.”

Maggie went to bed that night thinking about Ryan instead of people breaking into the house.

His kiss had been so unexpected. It was like one minute, they were friends, and the next, they were kissing like lovers.

It was a great kiss too. She smiled as she put on her shorts and tank top to go to bed. It was just right—not too pushy, like some she’d had—not too wimpy either.

She was thrilled and excited. It felt like a light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel that she’d been moving through. She didn’t know him well enough to guess if they had a future together. She didn’t care. It was a good start in a new and promising direction.

Around midnight, Maggie got up again. She turned on the bedside lamp, careful not to make any noise. She didn’t want to frighten Aunt Clara. She’d heard an unusual noise downstairs, but when she looked she couldn’t find anything wrong. Probably the neighbor’s cats outside. Sometimes they got a little loud.

Her mother’s clothes and personal items beckoned to her when she got back to her bedroom. Without hesitation, she put the boxes and suitcases on the bed and sat, cross-legged, looking through them.

They were a treasure trove of dresses, shirts and pants, books, jewelry, and other intimate objects that people collect in their lives. It was hard to believe there was so much here that she’d never seen.

She’d heard stories about her parents from Aunt Clara and Uncle Fred her whole life. For a while, she’d resented her parents for dying and leaving her. She’d grown out of that phase pretty quickly. Uncle Fred had told her to change her attitude or she’d lose privileges she valued. Of the two of them, her uncle had been much stricter.

Still, she wondered why she’d never looked through her mother’s possessions before. She realized she’d never asked about them. Maybe Aunt Clara was worried that she wouldn’t appreciate them until now.

Some of the clothes were too old-fashioned to even think of wearing—a blue polyester jumpsuit and red sequined sunglasses—those weren’t things she’d ever wear. There were also disco outfits that looked like something out of a 1970s movie. Her mother had probably loved John Travolta.

Other clothes were timeless, very nice, and in good condition. Some of them would need to be dry-cleaned. Others needed washing. Between them, she could have a whole new wardrobe.

Everything there was from the time before her mother was married. She wondered why her mother hadn’t taken the items with her when she’d moved out. Maybe she always
meant to get them and never got around to it. As far as Maggie knew, Clara and her sister, Delia, had been very close.

Delia had moved away with her husband, Maggie’s father, John. Their family home had become the repository for all the things the sisters had grown up with. Maggie’s family had lived in this house for more than a hundred years.

There were no pictures of Maggie’s father or baby things from Maggie. Aunt Clara had given her those items as she’d grown up.

There were drawings of horses and the magnolia tree out front with her mother’s name scrawled across the back or the bottom. There were notes with boys’ phone numbers and school information, including some really bad algebra grades on tests.

There were also some pictures of her mother when she’d been in high school. There was even one at the pie shop where her mother was smiling and serving pie to her friends with Aunt Clara and Uncle Fred looking on.