Chapter 8

By six thirty, my plate was nearly as empty as Tim’s. I sat catty-corner from him at the kitchen table, where we often ate for casual meals. Belle, my African gray parrot, perched on the back of the chair opposite me. Her bedtime was near, and she’d been unusually quiet during our meal.

“That chicken salad was so good,” I popped a last piece of pecan into my mouth. The combination of shredded chicken, red grapes, toasted pecans, and crunchy celery atop a bed of baby lettuce had made a delicious dinner. A crusty baguette and a glass of chilled pinot gris rounded out the meal. “Simple and heavenly. What’s your secret?”

“I’m glad you liked it.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his wine. “I sneak curry powder and the smallest bit of Dijon mustard into the mayo, and scatter in capers for a bit of tang and bite.”

“It was yummy. Thank you.” I let out a breath. “And thanks for not asking about the murder while we ate.” After I got home, we’d briefly talked about what had happened that morning, but I’d asked for a reprieve during the meal.

“Thanks for not asking about the murder,” Belle muttered in an uncanny imitation of my voice. “Snacks, Mac?” She was suddenly wide awake.

Tim gave a low laugh. “Here are your grapes, Belle.” He’d brought a small bowl of additional grapes to the table and now set it on the floor.

“Hi, handsome.” She gave a wolf whistle, jumped down, and waddled over.

That bird, whom I’d had since high school, could always make me smile.

“That was sweet,” I said to Tim.

He reached out and covered my hand. “It must have been awful for you to have to see your former teacher dead like that.”

“It’s never any fun to encounter a homicide victim.” Which, unfortunately, I too often had in the last several years. “I couldn’t stand him as a teacher, but I hadn’t seen the man since I left Westham High. I felt bad for Yvonne, though.”

“Any thoughts about who might have done it?”

“Everything’s pretty murky so far. I’m worried about Lincoln coming to the shop today looking for Flo. He found her, and they had a private talk in my office. She didn’t look pleased when she left.”

“Our head librarian wouldn’t have murdered anyone,” he said. “Right?”

“Yes. She absolutely wouldn’t have. On the other hand, I thought something was up with Yvonne about Byrne. And I don’t know anything else.”

“That’s what your group is going to hash out.”

“We’re going to try.” I checked the time. “Speaking of that, I should probably get this kitchen cleaned up—and myself, too.” Leaving a mess made me itchy, especially in the kitchen. I wore my Neat Freak badge with pride, even though I knew certain others viewed me as the teensiest bit obsessed with my need for tidiness and order.

“What time are the book group members coming?” Tim asked.

“Seven.” I stood and took his plate. I paused when I took another glance at him. The skin around his eyes was strained, and his shoulders sagged from his normal excellent posture. I set down the plate and sat. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“It’s nothing.” He didn’t meet my gaze.

I waited. His sister Jamie on the West Coast had ongoing addiction issues even while trying to take care of her three children as a single mom. He might be worried about her. Or it could be his continually dashed hopes that we would conceive a baby. Tim and I had abandoned birth control since before our wedding, but nothing had happened yet. He so much wanted to start and raise a family.

I also loved children, and family was everything to me. But I would turn thirty-eight in two months. I wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were my eggs.

Or maybe my handsome husband had another matter going on I didn’t know about. I didn’t think he usually kept secrets from me. Except, one never really knows.

“You want to talk about it?” I finally asked.

“Not really. I’m pretty tired.”

“Was it something I said?” I knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t take offense lightly.

“No.” He squared his shoulders and gave me a sweet smile. “I mean, I just don’t want to talk right now. But I will.”

“Are you sure?” I lowered my chin and peered into his face.

“Positive. Now, let me do the cleanup. You go get ready.” He grabbed both our plates and rose.

“But you cooked.”

“You’ve done so much for me, Mac, honey. Let me do this.”

I reached up and pulled him in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

In my opinion, he did so much more for me than the reverse. But I’d let him have his little fantasy. I totally was the winner in this relationship.