unintimidated at being caught redhanded, Jolene walked slowly, gracefully, to the shelf where she kept her watering can. She put it away and grabbed a handful of paper towels, returning to the scene of the inundation and mopping the puddle that had formed on the floor.
Mac pushed back his chair, rose and made for the rear door. His posture was rigid, his lips pursed. “See you tomorrow,” he muttered.
I watched the door close behind him. “He’s upset.”
“Wouldn’t you be if the police came to interview you?”
“The police have interviewed me lots of times.”
“Yeah,” Jo agreed, “but your name wasn’t tattooed on a murdered woman’s shoulder.”
SEVEN
By the time I walked from The News to Ferretti’s to meet Curt for dinner, I had regained most of my tattered self-esteem lost during the chase by Mrs. Wilson, eightysomething terrorist. After all, Mr. Henrey wanted me. And Curt wanted me.
I couldn’t wait to tell him about my job offer. He was always so supportive and encouraging, I knew he’d be delighted for me and would find the prospect of starting our marriage in Pittsburgh exciting. New horizons. New possibilities. The Steelers instead of the Eagles. The Pirates instead of the Phillies. The Penguins instead of the Flyers.
The Chronicle instead of The News.
And I’d be back in familiar territory again, no longer the outsider trying to find my place among the raised-in-Amhearst crowd. We could buy a house not too far from my parents. Curt could get to know my brother, Sam, a sophomore at Penn State. I could take Curt to my old church and show him off to all the people I’d known most of my life, especially to Jack, the old boyfriend. Of course, Jack already knew Curt, but still it would be sweet for everyone to realize I had chosen Curt over Jack. I could show Curt all my favorite places and take him to eat in all my favorite restaurants. We could ride the Duquesne Incline and I’d show him the sparkling city by night from the top of Mount Washington. I’d show him the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers as they formed the Ohio. I’d take him to the Carnegie and Andy Warhol museums. And the zoo. I loved the zoo.
When we had kids, they could go to the same schools I attended and I could still work because Curt would be home to watch them. Not that I expected him to be Mr. Mom, but after all, he was going to be there.
He’d already visited home with me several times. Mom and Dad really liked him as a person and as their son-in-law-to-be. We’d gone back two weekends ago and he’d had a great time playing golf Saturday afternoon with Dad and Sam while I was the guest of honor at a wedding shower thrown by all my old friends. Establishing ourselves would be quick and easy; our life would be built on a firm foundation of love, friendships and church. It didn’t get much better.
When Curt walked in the door, all tall, gorgeous and wonderful with his black curly hair and broad shoulders, I was feeling very, very good about our future. God was definitely smiling on us.
Curt leaned down and gave me a quick kiss before he slid into the booth across from me. When he reached for my hands, I gladly reached back.
When Astrid appeared to take our order, she looked at me with a mix of commiseration and curiosity. “Merry, you poor thing! I read about Martha Colby in the paper. It must have been so traumatic finding her.”
I knew Astrid was fishing—she was always fishing. She saw herself as Amhearst Central—but I liked her anyway because she was so here-I-am-people-take-it-or-leave-it. I, on the other hand, always felt like shouting, “Here I am. Please like me.”
“I’ve had better mornings,” I agreed.
“I’ll bet.” Astrid now oozed sympathy. “Any idea who did it?”
“Not a one.”
“Huh.” Obviously disappointed, she pulled out her tablet. “What can I get you?”
We both asked for spaghetti with meatballs and parmesan peppercorn dressing on our salads, another sign of our similar outlooks on life. I gave Curt’s hand a little squeeze.
“So how come you’re serving?” Curt asked the brassy blonde who usually worked as hostess.
Astrid’s smile was sour, as far from her usual sunny expression as could be. “Since Annie quit. She’s leaving town to go to college and needs extra time to get ready, whatever that means. She gave us two days’ notice—two days! What is it with people today?—and we haven’t found a new server yet.”
I smiled at her. “Well, think of the tips you’ll be getting.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Ferretti’s is a hotbed of high rollers.” She turned to leave, then stopped in her tracks, staring at a thin woman with dark hair too long for her age and dark circles under her eyes. The woman was sliding into a booth, newspaper in hand. “Well, well, so it’s true. She’s back in town.”
The woman looked up, saw Astrid staring at her and gave a tight smile.
“What’s she doing here tonight?” Astrid frowned. “You’d think she’d be too cut up to go anywhere.”
I looked at the woman as she laid the menu aside, began to unfold her paper, a copy of today’s The News, then paused to pull a pair of glasses from her purse. “Who is she?”
Astrid leaned on our table with both hands and dished. “Esther Colby. Or used to be Colby. I don’t know what her name is now. She disappeared a long time ago, thirty years or something like that. Quite a scandal when she walked out on her family.”
Astrid shook her head as if she didn’t understand such behavior. “I always felt sorry for Steve Colby, who’s a nice guy, if you ask me. Left him with their little girl. Of course, he eventually married Nanette, and they have kids, too. But I don’t think he ever heard from Esther after she took off.” Astrid glanced surreptitiously at Esther. “And now that little girl is dead. Esther should just leave again and let Steve and Nanette grieve in peace.”
“Esther Colby?” I watched in fascinated horror as the woman began reading the paper. “As in Martha’s mother?”
“Yeah. Quite a homecoming present, huh?”
The dark-haired woman gave a sudden cry. She was staring at the front page of the paper and I knew exactly what she was reading because I had written it.
Her hand went to her mouth as her face became a mask of horrified disbelief. “Oh, no!”
Astrid paled. So, I’m sure, did I.
“She didn’t know,” Astrid said. “Now I feel terrible dissing her like that.”
I nodded as I watched Esther Colby grab her purse and bolt for the door, the paper fluttering to the floor forgotten. Of course the police hadn’t notified her. They probably didn’t even know she was in Amhearst. Maybe Steve Colby didn’t, either, or, if he did, didn’t know where to reach her.
Astrid shook her head. “I guess your daughter is still your daughter, even if you did abandon her.” Looking thoughtful, she wandered off toward the kitchen.
I
