Kate worked late on Tuesday. The writing was going so well that she lost track of time completely and the hours slipped away. She vaguely noticed that the sun wasn’t shining as brightly as it had been earlier in the day. But then she figured out what poison the killer used. It needed to be something that would go undetected, yet slowly make the victim sicker overtime. A bit of anti-freeze slipped into orange juice did the trick.
She was so deep into the scene that she almost didn’t hear the knocking on the door until it got louder. Reluctant to tear herself away from her story world, she slowly got up, went into the kitchen and smiled when she saw who it was. She opened the door, and Jack walked in holding a big paper bag from Trattel’s Seafood. He handed it to her.
“Your lobster. A pound and a half. I shucked it myself.”
Kate had completely forgotten about the lobster. She hadn’t thought he was serious.
“Wow. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He grinned. “I have an ulterior motive. That quiche sounded good.”
She thought for a moment, taking a mental inventory of what she had on hand. Everything but cream. She’d have to run to the store for that.
“What time do you go to work in the morning? Or if you want to come by after work, we could have it for dinner?”
“Dinner sounds good to me. I don’t want to have to rush off to work.”
That sounded better to Kate too. She could run out in the morning and bake it in the afternoon so it would be just made when he came by.
“What time is good for you?” she asked.
“I’m usually home by six and will need to jump in the shower so I don’t stink of fish.”
Kate laughed. He didn’t smell like fish at all, though after working around it all day, she didn’t blame him for wanting a shower.
“Why don’t you just come by whenever you’re ready then. Anytime is fine.”
“All right. I’m off to hit the shower now. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again for the lobster.” Kate watched him go and then went to find her mother’s recipe. She’d emailed it to her after Kate had raved about the quiche.
Kate stopped working the next afternoon around four and set about making the lobster quiche. First she made the pie crust and then the custard filling. It really was a simple recipe. She just sauteed a little onion in butter, then added a splash of sherry and the chopped lobster. She let it cool then dumped it all into the pie shell and poured in the mixture of eggs and heavy cream. A sprinkling of grated swiss cheese over the top and it was ready to go into the oven.
A half hour later, her nose told her the quiche was done. When she checked, it was perfectly golden brown, and she set it on the counter to cool. When they were ready to eat, she would pop it back into the oven to warm up. She showered and made a simple tossed salad to go with the quiche.
She still had about an hour before Jack was due to arrive, so she opened her manuscript up again and dove back into the story. It was going much faster now as she knew where the story was going, and it was almost like a race to get it all down. The hour flew by and before she knew it, there was a knock on the door. She put her laptop away and went to let him in.
When she opened the door, she got a whiff of something nice. Jack had splashed on some aftershave, and it smelled great. He wore a hunter green button-down shirt and jeans, and his hair was still a little damp. He handed her a bottle chilled chardonnay.
“You didn’t have to bring anything! The lobster was more than enough.”
“My mother always said it was rude to show up empty-handed. I’m happy to open it if you feel like a glass?”
“Sure, that’d be great.” She handed him a wine opener and two glasses. While he was pouring the wine, she put the quiche in the oven to warm up.
Then she opened a can of roasted salted nuts and poured them into a dish. Jack handed her a glass of wine, and they sat at the island.
“The quiche won’t take long to heat up,” she said as she reached for a cashew.
“I’m in no hurry. How’d the writing go today?”
“Great actually. Did you know that anti-freeze used to have a sweet taste? They’ve changed it now so that it’s bitter, but my killer had access to an old jug that was stored in a garage. She added a little to the victim’s orange juice every morning until he got sick and died of natural causes. No one suspected a thing.”
“Should I be worried about that quiche?” Jack laughed. “Is that really true, about anti-freeze?”
“It is. There was a woman they discovered was a black widow—she killed two husbands with anti-freeze and then tried to frame her daughter for it.”
“You must have some interesting search histories on your browser.”
Kate laughed. “I know. It’s funny, I went to a writer’s conference with a friend a few years ago, and on the way to the airport we were brainstorming the best way to kill someone for her character. We got some looks from the other people in the shuttle van—until we told them we were writers.”
“You should write a mystery about a mystery writer who is also a murderer, they’d have the perfect cover…they could just say they were researching for a book.”
“Oh, that’s true. That could be fun, actually.” Jack seemed really interested in talking about her writing and shared that he was a bit of a mystery lover too.
“Who do you like to read?” she asked.
“There’s so many. Dennis Lehane is a favorite. My college roommate went to BC High with him, said he always got an A in English.”
“That makes sense. I love his books too. I actually lived in Charlestown, not far from where they filmed Mystic River.”
“Did you like living there?”
“I did. It’s so close to downtown Boston. I could walk to work or take the water shuttle across the harbor. I lived in the Navy Yard.”
“By Old Ironsides?” Jack mentioned the famous landmark. The USS Constitution was the world’s oldest commissioned Navy vessel, built in the late 1700s and lovingly maintained. It usually sat in dry dock, but occasionally was sailed around Boston harbor.
“Yes, right down the street. I walked by it most days on my way to the water shuttle.”
“That’s very cool, taking a boat to work. Do you miss it?”
Kate took a sip of wine and considered the question. “Yes and no. I loved living and working in Boston, but I love it here too, and it’s where my family is. I’d love to stay here, if I could. But there’s not a lot of demand for writers on Nantucket.”
“There’s a few famous writers that live here. Maybe you’ll be one of them.” Jack’s smile almost made her believe it was possible, someday.
“I don’t need to be famous, just make enough to support myself. I’ve picked up some freelance work though, from the magazine I used to work for, so that’s helping.” Amanda had emailed another assignment the day before, a round-up article on Nantucket’s ‘top ten’ restaurants. That would be a fun one to research. She told Jack about it as she took the quiche out of the oven and cut a big slice for each of them. She brought the plates and the bowl of salad to the island and they dug in.
“If you need any help researching those restaurants, you know, for quality control, I’d be happy to volunteer.”
Kate laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She took a bite of the quiche and sighed. It had turned out as good as her mothers. Creamy, silky custard and big chunks of lobster. Fresh lobster had a sweetness that wasn’t found in canned or frozen.
“This is amazing. Best lobster I’ve ever had, where did you get it?” He grinned as he took another big bite. “Seriously though, the quiche is awesome. Thank you.”
When he finished, Kate offered him a second piece which he eagerly accepted. They chatted easily for another hour or so, over a little more wine. Kate learned that they shared quite a few common interests besides their love of mysteries. Jack also appreciate art and had bought one of Kristen’s paintings at an art show a few years ago.
“It’s a small painting, but I saw it and had to have it. It’s classic Nantucket, stormy seas crashing into a lighthouse.”
“Kristen loves painting the ocean. Where did you put it?” Kate was curious to see the inside of his house.
“In my home office. It has a nice ocean view, so seemed like an appropriate spot.”
“Kristen has an art show this weekend, at the new gallery downtown. And I think she said it’s all ocean themed. You should go.”
“Maybe I will.” He grinned. “Want to go with me? We can check out one of the restaurants on your list before or after.”
Kate didn’t have any plans set in stone yet. She knew her mother would likely be going with either Rhett or Sue, and Abby had mentioned that Jeff was taking her out to dinner and they might stop by after.
“Sure, why not?”
Jack looked a little more serious as he asked, “Are you still dating Philippe? I don’t want to step on any toes. He is a friend.”
“We went out once. He’s a great guy. We just want different things. I recently ended an engagement. He cheated.” She told him about walking in on Dylan and Ellie.
He looked furious on her behalf and sympathetic. “Man, that’s rough. Cissie never cheated, that I was aware of, but we just stayed together too long. We wanted different things, and it was easier to stay together than to break up. But she started pushing for a huge wedding, and we weren’t even engaged. I think she just wanted to get married, not necessarily married to me, if that makes sense.”
Kate nodded. It did make sense. Nantucket was a small island and the pool of available men even smaller. Jack, with his family business and overall good looks, was considered a catch. He’d be a catch anywhere though, and he deserved someone who was madly in love with him.
They chatted a little while longer, but when Kate suddenly yawned, Jack jumped up and took it as his cue to leave.
“Thanks so much for dinner. I’ll call you on Saturday, and we can make a plan.”
“That sounds good. Oh, take some of this with you. I can’t eat all this quiche myself.”
“If you insist.” Kate packed up most of the leftover quiche, saving one big piece for herself and handed it to Jack.
“See you on Saturday.”