Pudding Up With Murder Page 16

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  On Sunday morning I delivered a breakfast casserole to a new client. I had prepared a lovely egg dish flavored with dill, and the smell of it had made me hungry. I was trying to decide what to make for my own breakfast when I pulled up the long driveway and saw Terry in his garden, doing some more weeding. In the past Terry had paid landscapers to do this sort of thing; I wondered if he was using it as a sort of therapy. My parish priest, Father Schmidt, had once said that nothing was healthier than getting one’s hands in the ground.

  I parked the car and climbed out, walking back to Terry’s place so that I could greet him. He stood up eagerly, wiping the dirt off his hands with a rag. “Hey, Lilah! You’re up early today.”

  “You, too. I never noticed you gardening before.”

  He shrugged. “Britt says I need more fresh air. I tend to seal myself up in my office.”

  “I would, too, if I had an office as cool as yours.” Every part of Terry’s house was awesome. His office, located on the top floor, was bright and masculine, with one wall dominated by a giant window, and another made entirely of brick. Against this wall was his massive desk, and above it hung all sorts of Terry-like things: guitars, vintage travel posters from all over the world, license plates from cars that had belonged to his grandfather, a framed portrait of a much-loved and long-deceased dog. His computer equipment was state-of-the-art, and when my clunky little printer died, I often went over to Terry’s and begged to use his stuff.

  We stood there for a moment, smiling at each other with a certain degree of discomfort. There was a slight spring wind blowing; it smelled like Terry’s flowers and freshly turned earth. Terry finally tossed his rag aside and said, “Pretty crazy last night.”

  “Yeah. I’m still feeling weird about it.”

  His face was grave; this was an expression unusual to Terry. “I’m going to ask your friend Parker to give me some protection for Britt—maybe that woman who guarded you at Christmas. For all I know, some stalker is after her.”

  “Did Parker talk to you yet? Ask you any questions?”

  He looked surprised. “No. Do you think he will? I’m staying close to home today, anyway. In case Britt needs anything. She’s still upset—I made her stay in bed with some tea and a book.”

  “You’re a good boyfriend.”

  His expression went from grave to miserable. “Lilah, before things went crazy last night—did you have a chance to talk to Britt?”

  I cleared my throat. “Um—yeah, we talked a bit. It was pretty chaotic—you know. With what happened.” I felt reluctant to reveal any of what Britt had said. It was for her to share with Terry, not for me.

  “I know. I wish I had been there for her.” He looked down at his boots, then up at me. A loud car passed on Dickens Street, and he waited until it was gone. Then he said, “Does she want to leave me?”

  His face was so sad that I broke my own rule. “Oh no, Terry! God, no. Just the opposite.”

  He moved closer, his face eager. “What do you mean? What did she say?”

  “She said she loves you.”

  Now he was frustrated. “Then what is the problem? I can’t get her to say one word to me—”

  “Terry, listen.” I was stuck in the middle, and it didn’t feel good. “The fact is, Britt is worried about you leaving her.”

  “What?” His face was a picture of surprise.

  “She—the thing is, she—her feelings have changed. No, not about you, but about what she wants. And she loves what a free spirit you are, you know? So it’s hard for her. You need to just ask her directly.”

  “About what she wants?” he asked, his eyes wide. “You mean—from me? Do you mean, like, marriage and babies?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Britt wants that?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “That’s never been her style, man. I have trouble believing—although that would explain a few things. Oh man.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair.

  “This is none of my business. You need to talk to Britt.”

  He smiled at me, but he was clearly still processing the information. “Yeah, thanks, Lilah. I will do that.”

  I waved to him and walked back up the driveway, feeling nervous. What if Britt was angry that I had breached her confidence? What if she and Terry broke up? I couldn’t imagine living in my house without knowing that the two of them were happy in theirs. They were Britt and Terry—I truly couldn’t picture one without the other.

  I let myself in to my place and greeted Mick, who looked as though I had woken him up. He had a new textured pillow, and half of his face bore the imprint of the material. “Hey, groggy. Were you fast asleep? Sorry to wake you.” I patted his big head, and he closed his eyes. Then we walked down the little hall to the kitchen, where Mick got back in his basket and put his head back on his pillow. I laughed.

  My cell phone throbbed in my pocket. I took it out, hoping for a text from Parker, but it was from Serafina, saying she hoped we were still coming today for dinner. I texted back that I was planning on it but didn’t know if Jay could come because of a shooting the night before.

  The fact that Parker hadn’t texted or called made me angry, even though I knew he was working. Since our one beautiful night together, we had been at odds, and I wondered if we were drifting away from couplehood, as we had once before. Surely it couldn’t have just been a picture of Angelo that had made Parker not trust me? Was there something about me that was essentially untrustworthy?

  Moodily I went to my computer and turned it on. I flicked through my e-mail, read the important ones, and responded to them. I suddenly thought of what Britt said Prudence had told her the night before about Cash Cantwell and the mysterious Amber. On a whim, I went to Google. What had Cam said her last name was? Warfield. I searched “Amber Warfield, Loyola University.” Three things popped up, two of which had nothing to do with my search terms. The third was a Loyola Language Department web page, expounding on all of its student activities. Under one photo, the caption read, Freshman Amber Warfield asks questions about the study-abroad program.

  So this was Amber Warfield. She was what my grandfather might call “a slip of a girl,” small and thin with chestnut brown hair and a dusting of freckles on her nose. She was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. With a start, I realized that I had seen her before, at Marcus Cantwell’s birthday party. I must have just gotten a glimpse of her as a face in the crowd, but I recognized her freckles and her large eyes.

  I sat back and thought about this. What had Amber Warfield been doing at the party? Had she been visiting Cash? Helping out Wade Glenning, who said he was also her friend? But hadn’t Prudence told Britt that Cantwell didn’t want Amber around? So why would she have been at his birthday party? Did Jay know when he interviewed her that she had been at the party on the day Cantwell died? Should I call to tell him?

  My baser instincts took over, and I shook my head. If Parker wanted to talk to me, Parker could call me. Then I would tell him the information.

  I walked over to my counter, where Parker’s roses, while still beautiful, had lost some of their perfect firmness. Soon the petals would start to fall. In that moment I understood Terry’s fear that Britt would leave him. One could sense, after all, when a relationship was starting to wilt and die.

  • • •

  PARKER TEXTED ME at four o’clock to say that he hadn’t forgotten dinner and would pick me up at five. I wrote back tersely and went to get ready. As usual, I dressed in a way to make Parker eat his heart out. That was an expression from Grandma Drake, from an oft-told story about how she had won the heart of my grandfather. I decided that I needed to call them, since they had been continually in my thoughts.

  While I donned a lavender knit dress and the same necklace and earrings from the night before, I thought about my grandparents. Wh
en they retired (she from teaching, he from architecture), they had decided to pursue a lifelong dream to visit Alaska. They had loved it so much they’d relocated there. They came home once a year to visit everyone, and Cam had been there to visit them, but I had not. I imagined myself bringing Jay Parker to Alaska to meet my ever-youthful grandparents. I knew what Grandma Drake would say, when she pulled me aside: “Oh, honey, he is luscious.” That was her word for attractiveness, which she had picked up on a soap opera or something. This made me laugh, and I was in good spirits when I went downstairs to feed Mick and let him out.

  Parker arrived at five on the dot and escorted me to the car. We were both as stiff as people on a blind date, and I couldn’t think of one thing to say to him. He looked a bit tired, and I realized with a twinge of guilt that he had made time for me despite his ever-pressing job.

  Once we were on the road I said, “I looked up Amber Warfield. I realized that I saw her at Cantwell’s party. Did you know she was there?”

  Parker looked surprised. “How did you know I talked to Amber Warfield?”

  “Cam told me that you pulled her out of his class.”

  “Huh. Yeah, she told me she was at the party. She claims she was only there for a few minutes to see her friends Cash and Wade, and that she never went inside.”

  “Prudence Cantwell told Britt Blackwood that she had argued with Cash about Amber; apparently Cantwell was angry after a meeting he had with Amber and Cash, just a couple of days before he died.”

  Parker’s jaw tightened. “She did not mention that in our interview.”

  “Well, now you know.”

  I looked out the window and watched the scenery flash by. Soon enough I was looking at the beautiful tossing waves of Lake Michigan. Cam had a wonderful view of the lake from his apartment.

  Finally Parker let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “How long are you going to freeze me out, Lilah?”

  I turned to him. “Freeze you out? I’m just following your lead, Jay! Remember how you saw a photograph and overreacted and things have been weird between us ever since? That’s on you, not me. I was happy and in love.”

  “And what are you now?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” I said, turning back to the window.

  He found parking—amazingly—near Cam’s building, and we walked to the door together. Parker hadn’t even bothered to say that I looked nice, although I’d caught him studying me with some admiration when we had first left my house.

  We went through the lobby, passing Rosalie’s Salon, where I had once gotten my hair done and met a mobster, and walked onto the elevator. We rode it to the fourth floor and made our way to Cam’s apartment. I dreaded the whole visit now, when once I had been looking forward to it.

  Parker seemed to feel the same way, because he hesitated before he knocked. A moment later the door was flung open and there was Serafina, looking glorious as always with her tumbling brown curls and her red silk blouse and black silky pants. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I snapped. “Do you always have to look so amazing?”

  That bit of rudeness barely put a dent in her enthusiasm. She hugged both of us and then put her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Let them in, Fina,” Cam called from inside the apartment, his voice dry.

  Serafina let us walk past her, then took us both by the hand and led us into her pretty kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she asked again. “You have had a lovers’ quarrel?”

  There was no escaping her scrutiny—we both knew that. Serafina loved love, and she had worked hard to push Parker and me together. It was she who had provided the white dress that Parker remembered so fondly to Jenny Braidwell.

  I sighed and rolled my eyes at Cam, who came to join us. He flopped onto a stool and said, “Yeah, what’s going on?”

  I pointed at Parker. “Jay saw a picture of Angelo and me in the paper. Some woman took it on the sidewalk, where I was asking Angelo a question about the TV show. Parker saw it and assumed that I’m sleeping with Angelo, and now we hate each other.”

  Parker snorted. “We don’t hate each other. And you would have to see the picture.”

  “Where was this picture?” Serafina said.

  I bowed to the inevitable. “In Friday’s paper, in the Metro section. Go ahead and Google it the way Jenny did.”

  Serafina and Cam both did so, and Cam whistled.

  Parker looked triumphant. “You see?” he said.

  “It is nothing,” Serafina said, snapping her fingers. “She works for this man. She is posing for a picture with him. So what? I pose with men I work with, for holiday photos and things. Cameron does not become jealous.”

  Cam held up a finger. “I’m always a little jealous, Fina. But I wouldn’t ever leave you over it.” He looked at Parker, his eyes narrowed.

  Parker made an exasperated sound. “I don’t want to leave Lilah. I am in love with Lilah!”

  I stared at him, and Serafina clapped her hands. “Then what is the problem?” she asked.

  I felt myself weakening slightly at the look in Parker’s eyes, but I held out. “The problem is that Jay doesn’t trust me. He thinks that I might go sneaking off with Angelo when he’s not looking. Even though I told him I had no feelings for Angelo, and haven’t for a year.”

  Parker slumped onto one of the stools. “I have a problem with jealousy, okay? I admit it. I never did before, but I do now. There’s something about that guy—I don’t know. I’ve felt it from the beginning, before we were even going out. I can’t explain it.” He was at a loss, and Serafina lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Of course you are jealous! All passionate men are jealous, and you are passionate about Lilah! This is a good thing! It means your love is strong!”

  I started to say something sarcastic, but Serafina, her arms still around Parker, pushed me away with her toe and continued. “But, Jay, there is something you must know. Lilah’s face never lights up unless she is saying one name: Jay Parker.”

  Parker’s blue eyes met mine; there was a spark of something in them—amusement at Serafina, perhaps, who was still going on. “She comes alive for you alone,” Serafina said. “There is no other man for her, and we can all see this. I think that you see it, too.”

  Cam said, “Okay, Fina, let up on them now.”

  “No!” Serafina said, her voice magisterial. “Prove that you are passionate about Lilah, Jay. You kiss her right now.”

  Jay hated being put on the spot, but to my surprise he said, “All right.” He stood up and pulled me against him. I tried to resist at first, but then I tried less convincingly, and then I wasn’t trying at all. I lost track of all time while Jay and I kissed each other; I was vaguely aware of my brother saying, “Oh, for God’s sake,” and Serafina laughing and clapping and saying, “Look how much he loves her!”

  Eventually it was I who broke away; Jay looked ready to keep going. “Wow,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” Parker told me. “For what I said that day I saw the picture. I trust you; you know I do.”

  My eyes darted to Cam, who was watching with something between fascination and disgust. “We’ll talk later,” I said. “We’re grossing out my brother.”

  Serafina actually smacked Cam’s head. “He does not mind. Sometimes lovers need counseling, just like crazy people.”

  “Lovers are crazy people,” Cam said, rubbing his temple.

  Then Serafina was climbing all over him, apologizing for smacking him, kissing him on the sore spots he kept pointing to.

  I grinned at Parker, who was smiling, too. He put his mouth by my ear and said, “I love you,” so that only I could hear it, and my bones essentially melted inside my body.

  Through numb lips I said, “We could go to their bedroom.”

  Parker laughed. “Maybe we can wait until we get home.”
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br />   Serafina stopped kissing Cam. She had messed up his hair to a comical extent, and he sat there like a big, sloppy baby. “You are going home? But we have a lovely dinner!”

  “No, I just said we could talk more when we got home,” Parker improvised.

  “Yes—you can talk all night long,” Serafina said with a surprising innocence. “But first we will drink wine and eat this lovely pasta that Cameron has made, and we will discuss love and marriage and babies.”

  “Oh my,” I said, and Parker squeezed me against him.

  • • •

  DINNER WAS A hilarious affair; Parker and I were both so relieved to be back to normal that we fully encouraged all of Serafina’s antics, and she was in great humor because she had played matchmaker. She told us of the one fight she and Cam had gotten into, back before I had met her and they were just dating. Cam had promised to pick Serafina up after her class, but he got a flat tire and hadn’t remembered to bring his phone. She waited outside the science building for two hours, thinking that Cam had rejected her.

  By the time he got there, she was beyond fuming and unwilling to hear any excuses or apologies. I could only imagine what an angry Serafina would look like.

  “So how did he win you over?” Jay asked.

  Serafina smiled. “He decided to think like me and be very dramatic. He got out and lay down in front of the car. He told me to run him over.”

  I looked at my brother, shocked. “That was a stupid thing to do,” I said.

  Cam’s lip twisted, and he pointed at his wife. “She loved it.”

  “I did!” Serafina said, clapping her hands. “He was making a statement. A very bold statement. And so I forgave him.”

  “Did you do this in front of people?” I asked in disbelief.

  Cam started laughing. “We were in the city. On Michigan Avenue.”

  Then we were all laughing, and Parker was pouring me more wine, and things were good.

  I sighed and broke off a corner of my bread. “All I know is, love is exhausting.”