As quickly as my mother had opened the subject of wanting me to investigate Ilana’s murder, she closed it by serving the rest of our meal. We were too busy eating to say much besides how wonderful everything tasted. That is, my mother and I commented on each dish. Dylan remained silent. I knew it bothered him that my mother, who was supposed to care for and protect me, didn’t hesitate to put me in harm’s way.
But how could I not get involved? Regardless of what her lawyer had told her, my mother was a suspect in Ilana’s murder. I didn’t want to see her brought up on charges if she was innocent. And if I’d told Billy Harper I’d try to find out what I could regarding Daphne’s murder, how could I do less for my own mother? Besides, the two cases might very well be related.
Still, I couldn’t help wondering if she’d known all along that I’d investigated murders in the past and had arranged to stay with me so she could urge me to find Ilana’s killer. For once, I didn’t mind her scheming. I was eager to solve this case.
When we finished eating, I helped my mother clear the table. She loaded the dishwasher while I put on a pot of coffee and arranged the Italian pastries on a platter.
“Let’s have our dessert and coffee in the living room,” I said, “while you tell us everything you know about the people in the cast and crew and their relationship to Ilana,” I said.
I placed cutlery, napkins, mugs, and dishes on a tray and asked Dylan to set it down on the living room table. I followed behind, carrying a tray of milk, sugar, a fresh pot of coffee, and the pastries. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.”
“You better not,” he growled back. “As for her—it’s one thing for you to decide to look into a case; it’s another for a mother to deliberately put her daughter’s life in danger.”
We sat down on either side of the table—Dylan and me on the sofa, my mother in a chair—and I poured coffee into our mugs.
My mother bit into her cannoli, sipped her coffee, then said, “Tom was thrilled when he got a call from his agent that Dirk Franklin, who is based in New York, wanted him to try out for the role of Luke in his next indie film. Now that I look back, I can only wonder if Ilana asked Dirk to call him.”
“She’d worked with Dirk before?” Dylan asked. At last he was no longer pouting and was showing interest in the case.
My mother cocked her head. “They’d all worked with each other before—Serena, Charlie, Ilana, the crew.” She laughed. “The men had their own special connections with Ilana.”
“How exactly?” I asked.
“Interludes. Affairs. Whatever you want to call it. Tom said she’d been with Dirk and Charlie. Even Ronnie Rodriguez, the cameraman.”
“What about Serena Harris?” I asked.
“From what Tom told me, there was no love lost between the two women, though years ago, when Ilana first started in films, they were friends.”
“What was Ilana into—what did she like to do when she wasn’t working on a film?” Dylan asked.
My mother pursed her lips. “She liked to party and have a good time.”
“Was she on drugs?” I asked.
My mother shrugged. “I have no idea. She liked to gamble. Tom said she had him go with her to Las Vegas for three, four days at a time. He’d get bored and go back to the room while she stayed at the tables till the wee hours of the morning.”
“Ilana and Tom were engaged once. Do you think she was trying to get him back?”
“It sure looked that way, though now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not so sure.”
“So what do you think she was up to?” I asked.
My mother sipped her coffee. “Years ago Tom told me he doubted that Ilana was capable of love. He thought she’d learned to pretend to have feelings but never actually felt anything.”
“Then why was she making a play for Tom?” Dylan asked. “Was it a game for her? Out of malice?”
My mother finished off her cannoli. She appeared to be deep in thought as she chewed and swallowed. “Those are good questions. I’m sorry, but I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Did she need money?” I asked. “Maybe she thought that Tom was wealthy since he’d been in finance.”
My mother laughed. “He was—years ago. Sure, he still kept his hand in the stock market, but we’ve been living on what he earned in previous years. We manage to pay our bills and not much else.”
Dylan leaned forward. “I hate to ask you this, but do you think your husband killed Ilana?”
“I doubt it, though Tom was out when I woke up this morning. He claims he went for a walk, but the car felt warm when we got into it to drive to the precinct. I have no idea where he went or why he lied to me.”
“Had they argued?” I asked.
My mother shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What about Charlie Stanton and Dirk? Did they have any issues with Ilana that you know of?”
“I heard her arguing with Dirk yesterday afternoon, but I think it was about something in the script.” She shook her head. “Surely no director would kill off one of his actors because she had a complaint about her lines.”
“I would hope not.”
The landline phone rang. I headed to the kitchen to answer it.
“Hi honey,” my father greeted me. “What the hell’s going on in Clover Ridge? Two murders in two days! I sure hope you’re not trying to solve them.”
“Hi, Dad. It turns out I knew both victims. Mom was questioned about the second one. Ilana Reingold was in the movie playing opposite Tom. In fact, years ago Tom and Ilana were engaged to be married.”
My father whistled. “Some coincidence, eh? But why were they questioning your mother?” He sounded concerned.
I explained why, then added, “Mom’s pissed at Tom. She’s staying here with me.” I lowered my voice, though my mother couldn’t possibly hear me from where she was sitting in the living room chatting with Dylan. “I think that marriage is over. Kaput.”
“That’s too bad,” my father said, not sounding sad at all.
“Ilana kept coming on to Tom. I saw for myself how he was eating it up. Of course Mom was upset, but Tom didn’t seem to care. I can’t blame her for wanting at least some time apart.”
“But why did you invite her to stay with you? You and your mother have never gotten along.”
“She asked to stay with me. I suppose I felt sorry for her, so I said she could.”
“Caro, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too.”
For a minute, there was silence. “I’m worried about you—and your mother, strange as it may seem.”
“You are?”
My father exhaled a lungful of air. “I’m thinking Linda needs me there—for moral support.”
I felt my blood pressure rise. “I don’t think so, Dad. Bad idea.” Where is this coming from?
“It’s the right thing to do. Your mother’s really hopeless in a crisis.”
“But why do you care? And—and what about your girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you’ve been seeing? The one—never mind.”
My father laughed. “Now don’t you go concerning yourself with my love life. I’ll check out flights and get back to you, let you know when I’ll be arriving.”
“But Dad—you can’t stay here!”
“Of course not, honey. I’ll bunk down at Dylan’s house. Talk to you soon.”
As soon as I returned to the living room, Dylan knew I was upset about something.
“Um, Dylan, can I speak to you—in private?”
My mother shot me a questioning look. “Is it about Ilana’s murder?”
“No, something else.”
Dylan followed me into my bedroom. I closed the door and in whispers told him that my father was flying to Clover Ridge and planned to stay with him.
“Sounds like he still cares about your mother.”
I sat down on my bed and held my head in my hands. “That’s all we need! My mother’s married, remember?”
Dylan laughed. “Right! To Tom, who she’s thinking of leaving.”
“It isn’t funny. It’s as screwy a plot as the movie they’re making—if they ever finish it.”
Dylan took me in his arms. “We’ll straighten it all out. I’ll call your dad and try to head him off.”
“Meanwhile, let’s not say anything about this to my mother. She deserves a peaceful night’s sleep before Jim Singleton shows up.”
Dylan left, and after straightening up the kitchen, I told my mother I was off to bed. She said she’d stay up and watch some TV, then go to sleep.
The phone didn’t ring, so I had high hopes that Dylan had been successful. Then, just as I was drifting off, I heard a ping on my cell phone and read Dylan’s text.
Sorry only managed to delay his arrival one day. Sweet dreams, my love. Talk to you in the a.m.
I woke up the next morning and checked on my mother. She was in the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee with the Keurig machine, which I hardly used anymore.
“Morning, Mom. How did you sleep?”
“Fine. Where do you keep your paper towels?”
I pointed to the pantry. “In there. Have you seen Smoky Joe?”
“The cat? I let him out.”
“You what!”
“He was scratching at the front door, so I let him out. Why? What’s the problem?”
“Smoky Joe isn’t allowed outside.”
“Well, excuse me! How was I supposed to know?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I never got to mention it with everything going on.”
“When we had Jasper, he always went outside.”
“And got into cat fights and nearly got run over twice.”
“It’s so isolated here, there’s no danger of a car hitting him. Don’t worry, Carrie. He’ll be back soon.”
I dashed out the front door and looked around. Of course there was no sign of him. “Here, Smoky Joe! Come home!”
I circled the house, calling to him. “Come home, Smoky Joe. I’m going to feed you!”
He’d been longing to go outside ever since the weather had turned warm. I tried not to focus on the fact that I wouldn’t be searching for him now if my mother wasn’t staying with me. No point in dwelling on that. I was worried about my little kitty. Smoky Joe was probably hungry, unless my mother had failed to mention that she’d also fed him this morning. In which case, he could very well be gone for hours.
“No luck?” she asked when I came back inside.
“No.”
“He’ll come home when he’s good and ready.”
“It’s almost time for me to leave for work. I can’t have him wandering around outside until I get home!”
“I’ll try to entice him inside with some treats.”
The irritation I’d been suppressing finally escaped. “Who knows if that will work. Smoky Joe hardly knows you!” I made a face, the same face I used to make as a teenager when she did something that frustrated me.
“There’s that expression I remember so well!” she said. “I’m not totally useless, Carrie; really I’m not. I’m capable of luring your cat back into the house.”
Her cell phone rang before I could reply. She pursed her lips as she listened to the caller.
“Yes, Tom, I’m aware that you must be upset. You can only imagine how I’ve been feeling this past week.”
She stared at the ceiling as Tom replied. “No, I don’t want to talk to you this morning or anytime today, so don’t stop by Carrie’s cottage.” Another pause. Then, “I’ll be perfectly fine here enjoying the peace and solitude on my own after what I went through yesterday.”
Frowning, she listened for a minute. “Yes, I’ll call if I change my mind, but I won’t.” She ended the call.
“Will you be okay on your own?” I asked. “I could come home at lunchtime, if you like.”
“There’s no need, Carrie. I’ll be okay—I’ll watch some TV and think about my future.”
Just then I heard a loud meow coming from outside. I hurried to the front door and opened it. Smoky Joe tore into the house and headed for the kitchen.
My mother was grinning. “See, I told you he would be back when he was good and ready. I suppose he didn’t want to miss his day at the library.”
“Or his breakfast,” I said as I got a can of cat food from the pantry.
“I think we can take this as a sign that things are looking up,” my mother said. “The police will figure out who murdered Ilana, and I’ll come up with a plan for the rest of my life.”