Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

Drapes on both windows were drawn. The light spilling from the lamp reflected off the pink walls I’d favored since childhood. But the closet door hung open from when I’d stepped out of my wedding finery. I walked over and swung the door shut. I reveled in an orderly room.

The recent shower hadn’t completely renewed my good humor. But at least I no longer wanted to murder dear old Dad. Speaking of the fellow, his voice now called out from the hallway below. “Someone named Josh Devon phoned while you were cleaning up. He wants you to ring him back.”

Dad provided a number, and I committed the digits to memory. Gently, I closed the bedroom door and snatched up the cell phone from the dresser. As I punched in the number, my mind played back the exchange between Josh and Ginger in the church basement. I’d been a bit jealous then. Now I found myself grinning. Josh had elected to call me. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey," he said. "Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

I listened and smiled. He had a deep, baritone voice that I found wonderfully reassuring. I smoothed a wisp of hair back from my face. “No problem. But how on earth did you find me?” We were listed in the phone book under my father’s name only.

“One of the benefits of small towns, I guess,” Josh responded. “I asked the woman at the front desk about you. And here I am."

Intimate knowledge of our surroundings was a two-way street. I knew the local bed and breakfast Josh was calling from promoted itself as a weekend retreat for lovelorn couples. The inn promised to put a little romance back in the lives of visitors. And to that end, the wallpaper in all the rooms dripped with rosebuds. Also, every pillow in the place was edged in six-inch wide lace. I couldn’t think the inn would be terribly comfortable for a serious-minded accountant.

As if he’d read my mind, Josh asked, “Would you consider taking part in a jail break with me? My treat?”

"Maybe, how far do you want to run, and how long will we be gone?”

“I thought we could grab a bite to eat somewhere local.”

My thoughts turned to Father in the kitchen prepping another of his glorious meals, and I experienced a wish to get a little of my own back. "That sounds perfect," I said, smiling.

“Good. Gary's best man, Tony Stepich, is coming with us. We hung out in the church basement for a while after you left.”

If I said I wasn’t a little disappointed at the inclusion of Stepich in our little outing, I’d be lying. But I rallied. After all, men hadn’t exactly been a hot item in my life recently, nor was I looking to make them one. I didn't want to put myself back in a place to be hurt all over  again.

This wasn’t a date, I reminded myself, just a friendly outing. “Inviting Stepich along is a good idea. He might be able to fill us in on Gary's final hours.”

“I’m hoping he can tell me a few more facts about my cousin. Getting to know Gary and our family history was one of the reasons I came to the wedding. And I guess, it's still a pretty important part of my trip here. Even if Gary is gone.”

“That's understandable," I said. "And commendable, too.”

For my part, my motivation wasn't half so noble. Besides looking forward to spending more time with Josh, I couldn't help being curious about Gary’s murder. And now that I'd been pulled off the news story, I felt completely cut out of the information loop. Maybe spending time with Stepich tonight would give me access to facts as yet unknown. He’d been very close to Gary.

After disconnecting, I jumped into a pair of jeans and slipped into a bangled T-shirt. It was warm enough outside that I decided to don sandals for the first time this spring. After using the dryer on my hair, I piled it on top of my head. I also spent a couple of extra minutes slipping in a surplus of bobby pins. I wanted to protect against the entire concoction tumbling down during dinner. I’d appeared disheveled enough in the church parking lot this afternoon. I didn’t want to repeat that trick tonight.

Back downstairs, I found Father camped out in the living room in his favorite chair. The scent of a home-cooked meal wafted around us. I raised my chin and informed Dad I would be dining out with Josh. He didn't look terribly pleased.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t decided yet.”

His brow furrowed. “Melanie, what do you actually know about this fellow?”

“Josh? He’s good. He helped me through a difficult time today. I don’t know how I would have recovered from the sight of Gary’s body if Josh hadn’t come along when he did.”

“So he just turned up while you were standing in the parking lot?”

“Yes. That’s about the size of it.” I decided to omit the part about his scooping me into his arms.

After badgering me with several more questions, Dad, who was apparently enjoying his new role as drill sergeant, still didn’t look happy.

Fair enough, I thought. I wasn’t pleased, either. I tossed him a smile and slithered out the front door.

Just as my foot hit the porch, Josh pulled his car to the curb. Joining him, I found Tony Stepich seated in the front passenger seat. I clambered up into the back. As I reached out to close the car door behind me, I was surprised to see Dad watching us from the living room window.

How odd, I thought. He hadn't overseen my departure like that since I was in high school. I raised a hand and waved farewell. With a somber face, he returned the gesture.

"So where to," Josh asked, pulling my attention back to the here and now.

"We went to Bella's Place for Gary's bachelor party," Stepich said. "The food was great."

Josh caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. "Is that okay with you?"

"It's fine,” I said. “If you turn left at the corner ahead and stay on Lafayette Street, the road will take you straight to the restaurant."

Josh nodded and hit the gas. We shot off into the darkening night.

A bank of clouds loomed off to our west. Lightning flickered in their upper reaches. Muted rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. We’d suffered a dry spring so far. I knew farmers would be eager for the rain. I only hoped the system would deliver a mild storm, not the kind that roars in with strong winds and damaging hail.

As Josh drove, I watched the town flit past the car window. Mostly filled with old homes, Cloverton’s population hovered just under twenty thousand. Clapboard houses were the norm, most of them built around the turn of the last century. An outbreak of brick ranch houses had arisen during the fifties and sixties. But today’s recent McMansions had bypassed us completely.

We were a quiet, gentle community where the biggest sport revolved around sticking our noses into each other’s business.

Returning my attention to inside the car, I discovered Josh and Tony in the front seat swapping life stories. "You know, I grew up in New York City," Stepich announced. "I couldn't imagine living in an isolated spot like this one." He twisted his head sideways to get a better look at me. "No offense meant."

"None taken,” I answered, barely managing to curb my wish to respond in kind. I’m sure I could have come up with a few well-chosen words about his home town, too. I sighed. “I know Cloverton's easier to put up with if you are raised here."

Living in Cloverton had been the biggest bone of contention between my college heartthrob and me. He’d informed me on breaking up that he’d find life in Cloverton to be like living in a snow globe
—
all shut off from the world and surrounded by drifting soap flakes. I would have laughed off his comment, except I understood the earnestness of his words.

"Anyway,” Stepich rushed on, “my family runs an import-export business." He chuckled. "After college, I sort of moved right in."

"Do you like the work?" Josh asked.

"Yeah. The job's interesting. The operation isn’t the kind of thing that would ever go over in this burg, though."

Somewhat offended on Cloverton’s behalf, I struggled to keep my tone neutral. "Well, of course we’re not exactly sitting next door to an ocean. That makes a difference, you must admit.”

"You're not next door to nothing," Stepich answered. He turned toward Josh. "How about you? Do you think you could live in a small town like this?"

"Actually, my mom was a Cloverton native," Josh said. "And I was already planning to stay on for a few days to get to know the area. Mother never talked much about the town she grew up in."

"The sooner I’m back to New York, the better. I was planning to fly home tomorrow. But now with Gary’s murder, I’ll be staying for the funeral."

"That's nice of you," I said.

"It’s not all my choice," Stepich replied. "That old goat of a cop pretty much made it clear he expects me to hang around. That is until he says it’s okay to leave. Can you imagine? He actually delivered that dreaded ‘don’t leave town’ speech to me."

"I'm sure Gary's parents will appreciate your staying on."

“Yeah,  that's probably true. But you don’t know my dad. He expects me back home, pronto.”

“No, I don’t,” I replied, although I thought his father was probably no more demanding than mine. Not considering the new version of Dad I’d dealt with tonight.

Moving beyond Cloverton proper, we came to corn fields and the aging two-lane highway that carried traffic from the Interstate to town. Then, we rounded a curve and the bright lights of the popular restaurant came into view.

"Guess we’re here?" Josh asked me, giving his head a nod toward a glowing neon sign signaling Bella's Place.

“Yup. Well done. You’ve struck the target.”

Part truck stop, part upscale restaurant, Bella’s Place was hardly ever without customers. On this Saturday night its densely-packed parking lot was stuffed full of semis, SUVs, vans, passenger cars, and subcompacts. Bella’s Place drew an interesting mix of locals, tourists, and truckers. The food was good, the ambiance upbeat.

"And just wait till you meet Bella," Stepich said.

I
n a conservative, rural area like this one, people usually try to blend in with their surroundings,  but Bella Gravits failed to view life that way.  Her bright red hair came straight out of a bottle. Her nails were long enough to make a Chinese emperor swoon. And her clothes recalled a more dramatic age. Bella was, in short, a widely recognized county landmark, who would remain so whether she owned this singular restaurant or not.

She was also the fourth generation member of the Gioratelli family to run the business. The place had  begun life as a speakeasy during Prohibition. Local matrons had protested its operation then. One even went so far as to chain herself to a nearby tree. But the restaurant flourished anyway and moved on to become the popular eatery it was today.

Go figure
.

"Well Melanie," Bella said as she studied my two companions, "Aren't you going to introduce us?" She hiked a sagging shawl onto her bony shoulder and gave my companions a welcoming grin.

I did the honors. Bella in turn offered each man a hand. Her gaze fell on Stepich. She gave him an exaggerated wink. "I remember you from the bachelor party. That was some performance, my friend."

His face flushed a vivid shade of red.

Meanwhile, I wondered what kind of behavior had triggered that reaction?

She turned to face Devon, her gaze giving him an intense once over. “I don’t remember seeing you around here before.”

He laughed. “That’s probably because it’s my first visit to your fair eatery.”

“Our treat then. Make sure you come again.”

Bella raised a hand heavy with jewels and summoned her son to escort us to a table.

Lots of people said Jimmy Gravits was a mirror image of the restaurant’s famous founder. Even at somewhere around forty, his barrel-chested build,  dark, curly hair, and strong facial features were all said to link him directly to his gin-running and liquor swilling great–great grandfather —  or so the old-timers said.

“Good evening,” He crooned.. “Delighted you would join us for dinner.”

With his dark looks and bad-boy attitude, I could almost picture this man making nice with a mobster or two. Not that there were any of those around 
—
not here. Guys like that, I suspected, had mostly transformed themselves into respectable businessmen. And I supposed they now looked much like this man.

Our escort turned and led us us through the crowded  restaurant.  The place sported rustic decor with wooden tables and chairs and aged Chianti bottles stuffed with candles. The decorations managed to suggest the restaurant’s roadhouse origin. Still, the room’s ambiance was warm, the scents from the kitchen heady, and around us cutlery clinked comfortingly against china plates.

Devon’s glance flitted across the room. “Where are all the truckers?”

Not wanting to offend our host, I leaned in close. “They have a separate dining room behind this one. From what I hear, they prefer it that way. Keeps them away from the riff-raff like us. Plus, their orders take preference over ours.”

Truckers were a boon to Bella’s business, and it was said she spared no effort to express her gratitude for their patronage.