CHAPTER 18
Nestled into Tim’s arm on his couch, I sipped from the apple cidertini he’d made me. “Man, this is good. Did you invent it?” I savored the sweet cider mixed with vodka and another liquor. An apple slice garnished the edge of the glass, and he’d added a cinnamon stick for stirring, not that it needed it.
“I did, indeed. Zane sold me an apple brandy that was the perfect complement.” He sampled his own.
I sniffed the air. “What smells so good?”
“It’s only a lobster quiche.”
“Only?” How lucky was I? Who went around making lobster quiche on a Wednesday night? Tim, apparently. “It must be National Seafood Day. I had Tulia’s seafood noodle salad for lunch today. Also to die for.” I wrinkled my nose. “Not the best description for this week, is it?”
“No, but don’t worry about it. Is the Westham Sleuthing Club making any progress on Annette’s homicide?”
I elbowed him. “Hey. We’re a cozy mystery book group.”
“The members of which like to get involved in solving local mysteries. I bet they don’t seem as cozy when they happen in your own back yard.”
“They sure don’t.” I thought about my day. “Cokey did the sweetest thing for Kendall. She drew a picture of the two of them and signed her name. The kind of picture where it’s all head with arms and legs sticking straight out.”
“Who needs a torso or a neck, anyway?” He squeezed my shoulder.
“She insisted Derrick take it to their house. I was going out and dropped it off.”
“Where do the DiCiceros live?”
“Down the road from here, on Pebble Lane. It didn’t look like anyone was home, though.”
“What’s the number?” he asked.
“Ten. Why?”
Tim grew quiet.
“What?” I twisted to face him.
“I saw someone lurking around there on Monday night. I went to that talk in Falmouth on coastal preservation, remember? I drove home about nine, and I saw this homeless woman I know hurrying away from the house. I know it was number ten because they have extra large numbers on the mailbox, and they’re reflective.”
“I saw those numbers, too.” I thought quickly. According to Flo, Annette had left the library at eight. If she’d gone straight home, she would have been there by eight thirty. On the other hand, she could have run an errand or gone to see friends. I thought a little more. “Wait. Did you say a homeless woman you know?”
He nodded at the same time the timer dinged from the kitchen. “To be continued.” He stood.
In the kitchen, I sat at the small table. When he invited guests besides me over, he used the dining table in the next room, but I’d assured him long ago the kitchen table was fine for the two of us. Still, two candles were lit, and a cloth napkin lay under the forks. While the quiche was settling on a cooling rack, Tim threw together a mixed greens salad topped with late gold cherry tomatoes, small chunks of apple—which he said were all from the farmers’ market—and toasted walnuts. I finished my drink and admired the grace with which he moved his muscular body. I also admired his rear end. Mostly I wondered if the woman he’d seen was Nia. I’d started to ask, but he was a single-focus guy and had requested I wait.
After he dished up two plates of quiche and brought over the salad, he poured a chilled Chardonnay into stemmed glasses and sat.
“Here’s to you, darling Mac.”
I clinked my glass. “And to you.” We gazed at each other for a moment before sipping.
As we ate, we chatted about his bakery, about Belle’s latest new words—including “gotcha” and “sweetie”—and about the food market. Which brought me back to Nia.
“Will you tell me about the homeless woman you know?” I asked.
“Right. I was about to when the timer went off. I’ve passed the word around that on days when the free food market isn’t open, hungry people can come by the back door at two. I give out whatever baked goods didn’t sell during the day.”
I set my chin on my elbow and gazed at him. “Have I ever told you I love you?”
“Not in the last hour, you haven’t.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly.
“How come I didn’t know about your bread giveaway?”
“Come on, Mac, you know me. Do I like to toot my own horn?”
I shook my head. “You do not.” I savored a bite of the rich, smooth quiche, the dill a perfect seasoning, the mushrooms silky. “So, this woman you saw on Pebble Lane is a leftover bread regular?”
“She is. Her name is Nia.”
Bingo.
“I like to get to know the people who stop by,” he said. “You know, to try to understand how their lives went south, at least financially.”
“Do you know why Nia’s did?”
“No.” Tim frowned. “She keeps her history locked up inside, and I don’t pry. I feel bad for all of them, but especially for her, for some reason.”
“When you peer past the grime and scruff, she’s a natural beauty.”
He nodded. He’d noticed, too.
“Her last name is Rodrigues,” I went on. “She shops at Our Neighbors’ Table, and she came in today. But even though she’d already registered, she only reluctantly gave me her last name at check-in.” I ate my last bite of quiche. “This is superlative, you know. Really delicious.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He studied me. “I bet you wonder why Nia lurked around the DiCicero house on the night of Annette’s murder.”
“Well, duh. Don’t you?”
“Only casually. I’m not as keen on being an amateur detective as you are. I know you find this hard to believe. And you know what I’d rather be doing.” He gave me an odd smile.
Was it a wistful one or a wicked leer? I opted for the latter. “I brought my overnight kit.” I waggled my eyebrows.
He reached for my hand. “You know I’m glad.”
Ah. I’d guessed wrong.
“But you know how eager I am to start a family, Mac.” He gazed at my face with so much intensity I had to sit back. “Don’t you want to raise little ones together? We’d be good at it. I know we would.”
We’d discussed this many times and had almost split up over it. I was the reluctant member of our duo. I liked my neat, orderly life, disrupted only by the occasional murder. I knew how much living with Tim and having babies would disrupt that. It would be messy and scary and a challenge. But I’d turned thirty-seven in September and was older than him by four years, at least until he hit his next Capricorn birthday. And family meant the world to me. I didn’t want to lose this man or the chance to be a parent, to create a family with him. The wind pattered rain at the windows with an irregular beat. I took a deep breath and let it out.
“Shouldn’t we get married first?” I cocked my head and gave him a tentative smile.
Tim stared. His gorgeous face softened. He stood and scooped me off my chair into his arms. He hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. He pulled back, his hands on my shoulders, and looked at me with those big blue eyes full of water.
“Yes, Mackenzie Almeida. We should get married first.”
We never did get to the salad.