Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (6 page)

EIGHT

Darling?

Had I heard that correctly? A woman called him Nicky darling?

I would not turn around.

I would not.

I never suspected he was seeing anyone, not for a moment. This was off the radar. The kiss in his office, that little bone-melting show of affection that turned my knees to jelly and sent my senses spinning had been the kiss of a cheater, like my cheater ex-fiancé back in New York.

Nick and I were not really dating, definitely not engaged, so he could see anyone he wished. It’s just that I never imagined myself in the roll of the other woman. I honestly thought he wasn’t seeing anyone.

I’m usually perceptive about people. Why that ability vanishes completely when it comes to men I’m attracted to, I have no idea, but there it was. I’m a foolish woman where men are concerned. I intend to work on that. Be stronger, less gullible.

I was foolish enough
to get engaged to a man who kept another woman on the side. I thought Nick was different, he was … I caught myself. I thought what? That there was a future for us?

There was no future for Nick and me. None. I knew that and so did Nick. He’d been engaged to a woman who left him for another life, and I’d told him I was returning to
New York. No romantic relationship for us. We were friends, the kind who kissed now and again. Passionately.

“Are you following me? Why are you here?” I asked, suddenly adopting my business persona, the first step in getting stronger.

That he didn’t like being put on the spot showed on his face and in his posture. At least I was savvy enough to pick that up. Progress. No one was going to walk all over me again. Ever.

He hesitated for long moments.

Finally, he said, “I could hear the racket from Buster’s place. I was over there picking up his computer.” He paused, studying me intently, like I was evidence under a magnifying glass. Sherlock.

I stared right back at him, careful to keep my face as blank as possible, pushing aside thoughts of the woman in his SUV as skillfully as I pushed aside visions of that woman with my ex-fiancé. Without conscious thought I thumbed the back of the ring finger on my left hand. I stopped abruptly when I realized what I was doing. I remembered when I took
that ring off. How easily it slipped from my finger, as if it never belonged in the first place.

“I thought there was a massive attack of some kind going on over here. I was about ready to call for backup.”

He was trying to make me smile. I would not smile at him. To keep my strong odor in his space I stepped toward him, downwind. Or was this called upwind? Who could keep these things straight?

“Did Vivian talk to you yet? Tell you what happened?” I asked, my heart breaking a little as I stood in front of him, this man I found so appealing on so many levels.

“Ay-uh. I heard her side of it when her lawyer came. Don’t know why she didn’t tell me immediately.”

“She’s cautious, a quality to be commended.”

He tipped his head and stared at me.

“You believe her, don’t you?” I asked, making no attempt to disguise the coolness in my voice.

“Haven’t made up my mind,” he said so slowly I thought he was thinking about something else, maybe talking about something else.

“She didn’t murder him,” I declared, as if I carried positive proof in the pocket of the moth-eaten jacket I wore. “Tell me about the poison.”

He hesitated, I’m not sure why, but for some reason I didn’t think it had anything to do with reluctance to share information.

“The
digitalis poison was from foxglove. I told you we found trace evidence of that. We expect the toxicology reports from the autopsy to confirm this.”

“Foxglove?”

“Yes and the cup matched a set in Vivian’s cabinet.”

“Her cup.
Of course. How convenient, and such a great choice on the part of the cretin who planted it. Did that get your cop antenna vibrating?”

“I have to consider all the angles, Nora. I can’t dismiss the charges against her.”

“Foxglove. That sounds like an animal product from fox skins or something? I don’t think Vivian the animal lover collects fox skins. Besides, I thought you said it was from a flower?”

He almost grinned and I knew I’d made another nature error, something Maine folks knew and I didn’t. So what.

“You surprise me sometimes. You’re smart in so many ways. Actually brilliant once in a while, but you turned your back on nature along the way.”

I tilted my head and smirked at him. “All right, Mister Flora and Fauna Expert. What is foxglove?”

“A flower. The plant has a spike with rows of beautiful bell-shaped flowers.”

“Oh, wait a minute. I bet I know the rest of this. My brilliant side just kicked in. The flowers grow on Vivian’s property, right?

His brows shot up.

“My goodness,” I said. “Another coincidence.”

“I know it looks….”

“Suspicious? Contrived? Either of those words fit?” I
bit my bottom lip and scrunched my eyes as if I were concentrating extra hard.

“Nicky,” the woman trilled again.

We both looked over. I couldn’t see her clearly through two rows of chain link fence. I was glad I was leaving Silver Stream. Whoever she was I didn’t want to run into her ever again.

“Your date’s getting impatient,” I said, unable to keep quiet a second longer. To my credit I did an admirable job of keeping emotion from my voice. “You’d better go.”

His brows shot up and I thought I detected a quirk in his mouth.

“I said something funny?” I snapped, spinning and heading toward the house.

He followed me.

I added food to the cats’ dishes and fresh water to their bowls. No cats were in sight. In spite of that, I sneezed four times in a row.

Nick, bless his black heart, cleaned the litter box.

When I finished with the cat food, I grabbed a fistful of paper towels and began to brush the crud off my jeans and the WAC jacket.

“Let me run through this,” I said as I worked and gagged. “Vivian picks her foxglove, makes a poison tea, tromps through the woods with the delicate cup, knocks on Buster’s door—perhaps she also has a bagel with cream cheese?—hands the cup to an unsuspecting Buster, a man she hates and hasn’t seen or talked to in how long? And he willingly sips it and says thank you so much, you’re really a wonderful, thoughtful woman, how could I not have noticed all these years, what was I thinking?”

Garbage bag in hand, Nick replied, “Probably not quite that way.”

“No. Not quite. She didn’t kill him.”

Instead of replying, he headed out.

Ignoring the clap of the front door, I attacked the mess on my jeans with added gusto.

Minutes later, he returned with a pair of patched jeans
and a well-worn blouse.

“Probably not your size, but they’re clean,” he said, holding them out to me.

“Where did you get these?” I asked, washing my hands, guessing I already knew the answer to that one.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course not.” Liar, liar, liar.

I headed for Vivian’s bathroom, and in record time stripped off the filthy clothes, washed up, and stepped into clean clothes, a little large, but a huge improvement. I picked up the dirty ones with two fingers and headed out.

“Much better,” he said as he handed me a bag for the dirty jeans. “Good enough to kiss.”

I wanted to smack him. I really did. Instead, I said pleasantly, “The woman waiting for you in your police vehicle might object.”

Suddenly, without so much as a would-you-like-to, he grabbed my hand and led me outside to the SUV. The urge to pull back was strong, but the desire to meet the woman trumped that. What is wrong with me, anyway? Nora Lassiter, masochist.

“Mom, this is Nora Lassiter.”

Mom? As in Nick’s mother? As in Mrs. Renzo? Relief should play absolutely no part in this.

“Nora, my mother, Arianna Renzo.”

I seldom feel awkward. But here I was meeting Nick’s mother for the first time, probably wearing her old clothes, and a pair of crud-encrusted clunky boots that belonged to some long dead relative. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover the situation. I am a woman who prides herself on dressing to suit the occasion in a carefully planned outfit. I almost always follow my color palette. Naturally I make exceptions. I’m not a slave to my palette. The color specialist classified me as a summer and told me I should wear warm colors. Most of the time, I do. Those complement my blond hair and blue eyes.

Nick thought this was funny. I could feel it, even
though he didn’t smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Renzo. I’m happy to meet you.” Big fat lie. Huge. I smiled. I am a polite person.

“Arianna,” she corrected, her voice sweet and gentle as she smiled at me. “And I’m happy to meet you, Nora.”

City Girl meets Earth Mother. Based on appearances, I’d have to say that Nick’s mother was my exact opposite. If I had to guess, I’d say she was not acquainted with my friends Revlon and Almay, and considered L’Oreal an abomination.

Arianna flicked a few errant gray strands that escaped her waist-length braid. Dressed in well-worn jeans and an orange wool sweater that she probably knitted herself, after spinning the yarn, that is, she struck me as a woman at home in this rustic environment, definitely determined to leave a small footprint on the planet. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she churned her own butter.

“You sure had a time of it with those dogs. It’s fortunate we came along when we did.” She laughed lightly.

“I’m not an animal person.”

With that announcement, I yanked the red bra out of my pocket, an action I regretted immediately, and will definitely examine in a saner moment. “Because I’m allergic to most of them,” I explained quickly. “I couldn’t find a filtering mask, so I grabbed this.”

Both gray brows shot up, laddering her semi-smooth forehead. “How resourceful.”

Was resourceful her euphemism for stupid? The woman must be glad I was not a permanent resident, not able to get involved with her son. Possibly procreate in her family tree.

I stuffed the bra back in my pocket, correction, her pocket. “Nick gave me these clothes. Are they yours?”

“Some old things I’m donating to the clothing drive at church. You’re welcome to them.”

“Thank you. They came in handy.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Nora. First, from women in my weaving group, then in the local paper when you helped nab that killer. In the short time you’ve been in Silver
Stream, you’ve made your presence felt. You’ve got quite a reputation as a detective.”

She put no emphasis on the last word, which made me wonder whether she knew the truth about my detective status. Maybe not. I was wise enough not to ask.

“Thank you. Just luck,” I said modestly.

“I doubt that. You were the talk of the town for weeks.” She glanced at my hand. “Your finger is healing well, the one you broke apprehending that awful woman?”

Even though I had no reason I could name, I had the feeling she didn’t like me. She spoke kindly and she smiled what seemed like a sincere smile. I guess I’m a rush-to-judgment kind of woman. For certain, I’d never make a good juror.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you. It was a clean break.” I shifted the clothes bag and wiggled my finger.

Then I noticed a computer in the back seat.

“Nick, is that Buster’s computer?”

At his nod, I opened the back door, braced my knee on the seat, and reached over. “I need to see this.”

In a quick, spare move, he opened the opposite door, leaned in and pressed a proprietary hand on the small tower. “No. It’ll be locked in the evidence room until a tech guy comes to check it out.”

“Forget him. I’ll check it out now.” I reached over.

He leaned in farther, eye level with me. “Thanks for the offer, but no can do.”

My hand landed next to his. “That guy will look at it days from now. I could crack this computer today and maybe find something that might lead us to the killer.”

Us?
he mouthed, grinning, his brows shooting beneath the unruly wave of dark hair that angled across his handsome forehead.

“It’s all about the chain of evidence,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “If not for that, you’d be the first person I’d call.”

I sensed Arianna stiffen, or maybe she just shifted slightly while continuing to face forward and maintain her fake neutrality pose. I allowed myself a quick look. Nothing. Nick seemed to pay no attention to her. Instead, he looked down at our hands, eased his over mine, and looked back at me with such intensity that my entire body flooded with warmth, as if he had touched me intimately.