A Murder in Mohair (27 page)

“And you didn't chase her, on your bike?” he asked, still in teasing mode. “Lucy, you slacker. What will your friends say?”

“They'll be much more interested and serious when I tell them the story, I'll tell you that. Honestly, I don't even know why I told you.”

She rarely pouted but decided this was the perfect moment.

Sitting back in her chair, with her arms crossed over her chest, she stared straight ahead, putting on her best mad face.

“Hey . . . you know I'm only teasing.” He sighed and tried to hold her hand but she kept tucking it into her folded arm. Matt tried to pry it out, but she softly batted him away.

“Stop. You're tickling.”

“Oh . . . sorry,” he said contritely. He sighed and watched her. He still looked amused, which she didn't appreciate when she was irritated with him.

“I just have one question.”

“Yes?” she asked curtly.

“Are you always going to run around on these . . . capers? I'd just like to know,” he added in a matter-of-fact tone. “For future reference.”

The word “future” did not fail to catch her attention.

“Future reference? As in . . . our future?” she asked in a pointed tone that surprised both of them.

Matt sat back, looking caught in his own snare. “Um . . . yes, our future. Who else would I be talking about?” he said lightly.

“That's interesting. Because lately, I haven't been completely sure that we have one. I mean, beyond all the sticky notes on the calendar inside.”

Oh dear, she had not meant to get into this tonight. And not at all in this way . . . or this tone. If this conversation blew up in her face, she'd blame Suzanne.

“Sticky notes? What do you mean? I'm not exactly sure.”

Matt didn't seem upset. But the lightness of his tone was gone, replaced by a nervous edge.

“I mean our future, Matt. Me and you. How do you see our relationship . . . evolving? Where do you see us going? Making a more serious commitment? . . . Getting married?”

He sighed and looked suddenly serious. “Married . . . well. That's a big jump from sticky notes. Give me a minute here to catch my breath.”

He smiled at her, his charming, wonderful smile that had hooked her from the start. But she felt her heart deflate like a leaky balloon. This was neither the attitude nor the reply of a man dying to declare his eternal, abiding love.

“Take all the time you like,” she said tartly. “Though I don't think that after living together for two years, it's a really difficult question.”

She didn't mean to sound hurt. And disappointed. But she was.

“Lucy . . . hey, I'm sorry. You just blindsided me here a little.” His nervous laugh dimmed her hopes further. “One minute we're talking about this dead woman's mysterious daughter and the next . . . it's well . . . a pretty heavy conversation.”

“Yeah, well. That's how it goes sometimes, you know?”

Lucy didn't know what else to say. She sighed and looked away.

Matt reached for her hand; this time she let him hold it. “I do want to talk about this, if you do. But it's sort of complicated.”

Lucy looked back at him. She was not encouraged. In her experience, it was never a good sign when anyone said “it's complicated. ” Especially when a man said it.

“Daddy? Something's wrong with the movie. The disk is stuck. Can you fix it?”

They both turned to see Dara in the doorway, her cute face pressed against the screen, a dog on either side, awaiting Matt's reply.

“In a minute, honey. I'll be right there.” He glanced at Dara, then turned back to Lucy.

“Okay,” Dara said patiently. She sighed and stood there, waiting.

Lucy had to smile. “You'd better fix it for her. It's okay. We can talk later . . . or some other time,” she said in a tone that was much lighter than she actually felt.

Matt sighed. He met her gaze with a serious look. “All right. But we will talk about this. Soon. I promise.”

He looked as if he wanted to kiss her cheek, but Lucy turned away. She stayed alone, in the dark. She couldn't help feeling off balance. He was taking the question seriously. But she had a feeling that when they finally did talk it out, she wasn't going to hear the answer she wanted. Or had expected.

*  *  *

Edie's Independence Day
soirée was in full swing when Lucy arrived with Matt and Dara. The day had passed, busy with their usual weekend activities, a visit to the beach, lawn work, playing with Dara. But a subtle tension lingered between her and Matt.

Lucy was eager to get past it. They would talk again at some point. She had never wanted to force the issue but despite herself had done just that. She wasn't going to do that ever again, she decided. Even if she lived with Matt for the next fifty years without a ring of any kind exchanged between them.

They had to park Matt's truck nearly a quarter mile down the road, well out of sight of the house . . . but not beyond the sound of lively music blasting over the neighborhood and the smoky scent of Edie's famous ribs and other grilled treats luring them forward.

It was already half past six, but the sun was still high on the horizon and it promised to be a perfect summer evening. A perfect night for an outdoor party and fireworks display.

When they finally found their way into the yard, the sight was a bit intimidating. Edie had said half the town would be there. Lucy didn't realize she'd meant that literally.

Dara clung to her hand, looking a little awed by the crowd and noise. Lucy smiled and leaned down to talk to her. “I see some kids here that you know. Over by that climbing thing.”

Lucy pointed to a huge wooden play structure, with tunnels, tubes, several slides, and monkey bars. It was covered with children of various ages. Many were kids Dara knew from school.

Dara watched the action from a safe distance, definitely interested. “Want me to walk you over there?” Matt said.

“I can go by myself . . . can I?” she added, remembering to ask permission.

Matt and Lucy laughed. “Absolutely,” her father said. He stood next to Lucy as Dara ran off.

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Dara instantly jump into the mix. “I can't believe how big she got. She's not a baby anymore.”

“No, she's not,” Lucy agreed wistfully.

But if you want a baby, I'd be happy to help out, she nearly said aloud. Biting down her lower lip, she turned and smiled back at him.

“Should I grab some beers?” she said instead.

“I'll go.” He touched her arm. “Be right back.”

Matt headed off to the nearest keg to pump out two plastic cups of beer. There were several keg stations around, Lucy noticed.

Under a tent near the house were long tables covered with the traditional red and white checked cloths, bent beneath the weight of every imaginable type of barbecue and picnic food—bowls of chips and dips, a hundred varieties of salads and slaws, baked beans, and an impressive array of pickles. Trays of buns and rolls were arranged in artful pyramids and there was a separate table entirely for toppings and condiments. When Edie put out a barbecue, she covered all bases.

Bunches of red, white, and blue balloons were tied to chairs and poles. Patriotic-looking bunting and crepe paper was draped everywhere as well.

If Edie and her family were trying to show the world that they hadn't the least worry or doubt about Nora's innocence, they were doing a very convincing job.

“Edie knows how to throw a party, doesn't she?” Suzanne stood beside her, balancing a plate piled with grilled delights. “These ribs are awesome. You'd better grab some before they disappear. Edie should bottle this sauce. She'd make a million.”

The ribs did look good. Lucy was suddenly feeling hungry.

“I think I will get something to eat. When Matt gets back,” she added.

She glanced around and spotted the Gordons, standing near the buffet—Nora, Richard, and Dale, talking to Edie's daughter Amy.

“The Gordons are here. I want to say hello to them later.”

“I'm surprised. I wasn't sure they'd show up,” Suzanne said quietly. “Good for them. But I guess they sort of had to. All things considered.”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.

Suzanne shrugged, a plastic fork loaded with baked beans hovering above her plate. “I think Edie wants to keep up appearances. Show everyone it's business as usual for the Steibers. She wasn't going to cancel this party, unless Nora was actually behind bars. Which, thank goodness, did not happen,” she quickly added in a hushed tone.

“Sorry that took so long, you must be dying of thirst.” Matt appeared, balancing two plastic cups of beer. He handed Lucy one and sipped foam off the other.

“Hey, Suzanne. Where's Kevin?” Matt scanned the crowd for Suzanne's husband.

“He disappeared a while ago on a beer mission, too. He must be waiting at a different keg.”

“There are plenty of them,” Matt said, taking another gulp.

“Go get your food. I'll save this spot for us,” Suzanne offered, setting her plate on a small table nearby.

Lucy and Matt headed to the buffet and found themselves in line behind the Gordons.

Lucy greeted Nora first. “Good to see you, Nora,” she said quickly. “I can't believe this party. Your aunt sure goes all out, doesn't she?”

When in doubt, talk about the menu; she'd often found the ploy worked well to smooth over awkward social moments.

Nora smiled, happy to take Lucy's cue, as if to say “Let's both pretend that you never saw me dragged off by the police.”

“Aunt Edie's always been that way, since I was a little girl. My mom used to say, ‘Overboard is Edie's middle name.' ”

Lucy laughed. Nora seemed glad to make “happy talk.” She even looked more animated and upbeat, her skin brighter, her hair freshly washed, bouncing in loose waves around her thin face. She wore a pink cotton sundress with white stripes, and a white sweater slung over her shoulders.

Richard looked better, too. His yellow polo shirt and khaki shorts looked crisp and neat. His clean shave and smoothly combed hair said visit to the barbershop. Far different from the rumpled, exhausted man who had bared his soul to her among the rows of dark wooden antiques.

Perhaps the worst was past and they really were celebrating tonight. Lucy hoped so.

Dale was the only one who didn't look at ease, Lucy noticed, standing behind his father, hands dug into the front pockets of his jeans. He wore a plain white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and looked as if he'd made a special effort to “clean up” for the party, with a fresh shave and his hair combed neatly. Still, he didn't look at all happy to be there. Perhaps encouraged—ordered?—by his parents, who knew the family would be the focus of much attention.

Maybe that's what had put him out of sorts, a dour, distracted expression on his face as he stared down at the lawn, looking as if he was wishing very hard that aliens would airlift him up to their spacecraft immediately.

Lucy noticed a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Maybe he just wanted a smoke and felt awkward about excusing himself.

As if reading her mind, he leaned toward his father. “I'm going for a smoke. See you later.”

“Sure, son . . . go find some friends. I'm sure there's someone here you know. You don't have to stay with the old people all night,” Richard joked. He glanced at Lucy as Dale stalked away toward the back of the property.

“Adolescent angst. Par for the course.” He shrugged. “You can't take their moods at that age too seriously.”

“I guess not.” What did she know? She didn't have any children. Yet. She did remember being moody at that age, though.

Richard did seem to be making light of all his son had gone through lately—watching his mother be the focus of a murder investigation. And all he had gone through the last two years, for that matter, in the wake of his brother Kyle's death. Dale Gordon's moods were definitely not the usual teenage blues, that was for sure.

Armed with full plates and more beer, Lucy and Matt made their way back to the little table Suzanne had staked out. She was no longer there, but they did find Maggie, Charles, Dana, and Jack. Matt and Lucy took two empty seats as greetings were exchanged.

“Quite the scene, isn't it?” Maggie said after a while.

“Even bigger than I remembered from last time,” Lucy said.

Her dish was so full, the food was falling off as she tried to slice a bite of grilled chicken with a plastic knife.

Some of the selections on her plate were meant for Dara. She'd picked up an extra dish and moved Dara's dinner over.

“I'm just going to get Dara. She must be hungry by now,” she told Matt.

He nodded, looking grateful, his mouth too full to speak.

It was starting to get dark; not dark enough for the fireworks, but hazy enough to make it hard to spot Dara on the play structure. As Lucy made her way across the lawn, huge spotlights flashed on, startling her. She bumped into someone and nearly spilled her beer.

She looked up to find Richard, staring at her.

“Oh . . . sorry. The way the lights just went on . . . it surprised me. Someone must have pulled the main switch.”

He laughed, a flash of annoyance in his eyes quickly melting. “It's a timer. I set it up for Aunt Edie. We have them all over the house. Don't you?”

Lucy shook her head. Though she aspired to being a do-it-yourself type and sometimes painted rooms, or rewired a lamp, that was about the extent of her repertoire. Matt was pathetically unmechanical and happy to hire professionals.

“You should get some. Scares away the burglars if you're out,” he added.

“We have dogs. That's their job,” she said.

He shrugged. “Oh sure. Dogs work, too.”