| |
“ACCUSING YOU? OF COURSE not.” Gordon raised his hands in submission. “Your customers love to share news, and sometimes it can get ... distorted.”
Angie fisted her hands at her hips. “You know if someone’s got his mind made up there was a murder at the wedding reception, nothing anyone says will change it.”
Was she afraid for her business? Both her event catering and Daily Bread? This wasn’t the time to get into a supportive discussion—which meant she’d talk, he’d listen. Gordon shot Solomon a bail me out look.
“Hey, Angie, I can see where you’re coming from,” Solomon said. “Right now, Gordon and I have to get to the station.”
Thank you.
“We can talk tonight,” Gordon said. “I found a couple houses I want to discuss with you.”
Angie scrubbed her hands through her hair. “Sounds good.”
Her tone said it was far from good, but she wasn’t going to get into a squabble in front of Solomon. Gordon stepped closer and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “See you at home.”
She trudged away. Not angry, then. Gordon had to remember he was used to dealing with crime and its aftermath, minor as most Mapleton offenses tended to be. Angie always professed an interest in his work, often brought a new perspective when they discussed a case—within the confines of on-versus-off-the-record—but she didn’t live it. The closest they’d come was when they’d worked on the periphery of a case on their Caribbean cruise. Almost a year ago, now. Where had the time gone?
Maybe he’d order from Black Bear Chalet. Share a bottle of wine they’d received as a wedding gift and had set aside for special occasions. Yes. Put today behind them, look toward their future.
As he and Solomon drove to the station, Gordon turned his focus to the job. “Where’s your money, Ed? Murder or natural death?”
“Too soon to tell. While we wait on the coroner’s report, I’ll poke around, see what I can find out about Mrs. Volmer. Financials, beneficiaries. See who stands to gain. Try to get a preliminary motive so we’re not playing catch up if her death wasn’t natural.”
“What about the sister?” Gordon asked.
“According to McDermott, Frieda was genuinely grief-stricken at the news. She was aware that Catherine, her sister, drank a bit too much.”
“Putting it politely, or a chronic habit?” Gordon asked.
“McDermott didn’t press. We can’t judge the woman based on her behavior at her son’s wedding. Rejoicing? Drowning her sorrows? Impossible to say.”
“Did McDermott get any feelings as to how Frieda felt about Destiny joining the family?”
“None one way or the other. Noah left Lincoln years ago, and was never big on family gatherings. Always had reasons why he couldn’t get away. School, exams, work, no vacation time. McDermott did get the feeling Aunt Frieda was in don’t speak ill of the dead territory, but everyone was still in shock. I’ll compare all the reports while we wait for Asel to fill us in.”
Gordon knew Solomon would be grinding things through his brain, but the man was his lead investigator. Gordon had Chief Stuff to deal with. He’d already been away from the office far too long. He punched his admin Laurie’s number into his cell.
“Any fires to put out?” he asked when she answered.
“Consider this your lucky day, Chief. Nothing going on here that isn’t routine. Of course, that’s assuming you’re up to speed with your weekly report for the mayor.”
“Nothing I can’t put together in an hour.” He told her he’d be at the station shortly, then texted Angie that he’d be taking care of dinner tonight. He found the number for the Black Bear Chalet, phoned in an order. “Have it ready for pickup at six, please.”
“You got it, Chief. Did you want dessert with that? Chef’s got his black forest cake tonight.”
“You’ve twisted my arm,” Gordon said, then disconnected.
“Trouble at home?” Solomon asked. “Black Bear Chalet never fails at my house.”
“Being proactive,” he said. “Angie’s upset, and I’m not sure why. It’s more than Mrs. Volmer dying at her event.”
“Newlyweddedness wearing off? It’s par for the course.”
“I don’t know how much is from the death or how much is the reality of looking for a new place to live, which she’s been resisting. Either way, she deserves a night off from feeding me, and I’m not in the mood for wedding reception leftovers.”
“Be smart,” Solomon said. “Duck out early, pick up the food, then do the whole tablecloth, good dishes, candles and flowers thing. In fact, why not go home right away and get the table set? Open a bottle of wine. That way, if she goes upstairs before you get there, she won’t start cooking.”
“I told her dinner was on me,” Gordon said. “She’s cooking dinner service at Daily Bread tonight, so I doubt she’d have time to go upstairs before I get home.”
“Insurance.” Solomon swung his SUV into his slot at the department. “Better yet, give her a time.”
Since Mary Ellen and Ed had been married a good long while, Gordon accepted his advice, and sent Angie another text.
Dinner at seven. Black Bear. Not my cooking.
After making sure no fires had sprung to life since he’d checked in with Laurie, Gordon went to the apartment and found the pale blue tablecloth Angie used for non-holiday-but-special-occasions. Cloth napkins, too. Once everything was set, he left a note.
Get comfortable. Have a glass of wine. Tonight’s for the two of us.
One more look to see if he’d forgotten anything—nothing he could think of—he went to the station to work on his weekly report. He’d started turning them in before he left on Thursdays so the mayor would see them first thing Friday morning. Gordon didn’t want to give the mayor an excuse to call him out on being late.
Do something once, and it becomes expected.
His estimated hour to finish was extended, complicated by today’s death, primarily due to his struggle to find the right words. Words that wouldn’t trigger a premature reaction from the mayor, but words he wouldn’t have to take back after they got the medical report.
Solomon wandered in. “You still here, Chief?”
“You checking up on me? I’m almost done. And yes, the table’s set, wine’s out. Just need food and flowers.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll leave right now,” Solomon said. “It won’t be long before the news gets out, and I know you’d rather not deal with the mayor.”
Gordon massaged his temples. “Who will wonder why I haven’t already informed him instead of putting it into the report he’ll see tomorrow morning.”
“Go,” Solomon said. “Be with your wife. I’ll cover, since I’m here anyway. Laurie can forward pressing calls to me.”
Gordon was about to let Solomon know he didn’t want to waste a favor on something that wasn’t a true marital issue, but he figured things would be hitting the fan soon enough, so why not take advantage of an extra hour?
“Thanks, Ed.” After one last check-in with Laurie, relaying what Solomon had said, Gordon took off for the Black Bear Chalet. And the florist.
When he got home, flowers and dinner in hand—at six forty-two, no less—he found Angie on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, wine glass in hand. When she turned to face him, her tear-stained face stopped his heart.