microwave dinged. She took out the soup just as her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Violet,” Mrs. Beabots said, “don’t think about eating that sodium-laden canned soup. Come downstairs for dinner. I have pasta and chicken in a pesto sauce. Homemade.”
Violet narrowed her eyes. She’d known Mrs. Beabots since she was a child, and the woman always made her think she had eyes in the back of her head. “How did you know what I’m having for supper?”
“I’m a detective.”
“You saw the cans in my trash bag.”
“That, too. Now come down here for dinner. Sarah and Maddie are coming over. And Liz is bringing wine. Oh! I hear Liz’s truck now. She really does need to get that muffler fixed.”
“See you in a sec.” Violet looked down at her skinny jeans, sky blue high-top sneakers and powder blue turtleneck cotton shirt. She was comfortable and had planned to go for a walk after dinner. Now that it was May, the evenings had finally warmed to a brisk fifty degrees, and she loved the flowering Bradford pear trees and forsythia. Having grown up in the country, she’d never appreciated town living, but after six months living on Maple Boulevard, she’d found it had innumerable charms.
Violet tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and walked down the long staircase to the main floor landing. She heard voices and laughter, and she could smell the aroma of garlic and basil coming from under the door. Her stomach growled. “Guess I do need more than soup.” She knocked on the back kitchen door.
“Come on in, honey,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Door’s always open.”
Violet entered the kitchen to find Sarah Bosworth, the next-door neighbor, architect and mother to Luke Bosworth’s children Annie and Timmy. Sarah and Luke’s toddler, Charlotte, looked just like blonde, cornflower blue–eyed Sarah.
Sarah hugged Violet. “It’s great to see you. Where’re the kids?”
“Luke got pizza and a movie. Need I say more?”
“Nope.”
Next to Sarah was Maddie Barzonni, owner of Cupcakes and Coffee Café, and married to Dr. Nate Barzonni. Maddie was breaking up romaine lettuce leaves into a huge wooden salad bowl and giggling with Liz Barzonni, owner of Crenshaw Vineyards. Liz was removing a cork from a bottle of wine.
“Hi, Maddie.” The women hugged. “Hi, Liz. That a new wine?”
Liz held up the bottle. “Very special pinot noir.”
“Special?” Violet asked.
Mrs. Beabots winked. “Violet. You’re just in time for our toast.”
“Oh? What are we toasting?”
Sarah beamed. “I just beat out the rock star of all Chicago design firms for a new medical complex on the east side of town.”
“I never doubted your design abilities, Sarah,” Maddie said as she took a glass of wine from Liz.
“I know and I love you for it, but there were days...” Sarah looked across the kitchen to the window that looked out on the adjoining yard to her house.
“Hey,” Liz said. “That was after your mother died. Before Luke. Before the kids. You got your juice back.”
“And then some,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet a glass.
They clinked their rims and said, “To Sarah!”
“Congratulations, Sarah,” Violet said. “I know the relief and satisfaction that comes from winning those contracts. Whenever my mother would win a design bid, she’d make us all a nice dinner just like this.” She smiled at them all. “You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Violet,” Sarah said.
Maddie lowered her glass. “Gosh, Violet. Your mom wasn’t one of the other bidders, was she? Connie is so talented, I’d feel terrible if she lost.” Her eyes tracked to Sarah.
“No. She’s working on a high-rise residential tower in Indianapolis.”
“Oh.” Maddie’s relief was audible.
Violet stared at the wine. Indianapolis. Where Josh Stevens lived.
Where had that thought come from and why would she be making that connection? “Um, can I help with any of these preparations? I always made the herbed butter for the bread.”
“Sure,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet the bread knife. “I set the table earlier. This was supposed to be a think-tank dinner and a meeting for the fund-raiser for a new foster child care center I want to spearhead.”
“Really?” Violet unwrapped the silver paper around the Italian bread. “Tell me about it.”
“I want a privately funded and operated family center. No government funds or grants. That way we don’t fall under their jurisdiction, though we will comply with all state and federal regulations. But in the end, our arms will be open to whatever needs there are. Drop-in day care. Possibly a temporary shelter until a family gets back on their feet. I envision job-placement service. Even job training.”
“That’s...an enormous undertaking,” Violet replied, knowing the massive amount of organization and money it would take to create such a center. But it had been done before. The Star of Hope in Houston had been doing it for over a hundred years.
“I’ll need help, of course, getting it off the ground.”
“Did you call Isabelle? Since she and Scott have adopted Bella and Michael, I would think she’d be all over this.”
Smiling, Mrs. Beabots answered, “She was my first call. She’s my committee chair. But little Michael was showing signs of the flu, and she didn’t want to leave him.”
“That flu can be bad,” Sarah said.
“Especially for a toddler,” Liz, the mother of two-and-a-half-year-old Zeke, said. “I hope he’s okay.”
“I didn’t talk to Isabelle today,” Violet said. “I was on a stakeout.”
Sarah stopped grating Parmesan cheese. “Seriously? A stakeout? Isn’t that dangerous?”
To Violet, not apprehending a criminal was dangerous to the entire community, and that motivated her more than any harm she would encounter. Her exemplary training would see her through. She would count on her skills. Bank on her instincts.
She winced.
Except for today.
She could only imagine what Detective Davis was thinking about her performance today. In the morning she might have to face Chief Williams.
Violet slid the bread into the oven and set the timer.
Maddie helped with the angel-hair pasta, draining and rinsing it in a red plastic
