Fillet of Murder (21 page)

“Thanks. He's been here seven months, and he's adjusted pretty well. I work in software design, so luckily I have flexible hours and can visit him when I want. Dad's always been somewhat of an insomniac, so when all the other residents are sound asleep he's usually up late watching something on PBS. So why are you here?” he asked, changing the subject. “I thought I heard from someone that you lived in the Boston area.”

Talia nodded. “I did, but then a lot of things changed for me all at once, so I'm back in Wrensdale, at least for a while. Right now I'm working at Lambert's Fish and Chips helping out my old friend Bea.”

“Oh heck, wait till I tell Dad that. He loves Lambert's! They've got a great chef here, but she's not big on fried food and Dad really misses his fried haddock. Would you like to meet him? Today's been one of his more lucid days. I think the play brought back memories of his days as a professor of English lit at the community college.”

“I'd love to meet him,” Talia said. She found Ryan's
chattiness endearing. He seemed so different from the reserved boy he'd been in high school. She followed him to the area near the window where several senior residents were seated.

Ryan leaned over a distinguished-looking man with thinning hair and faded gray eyes. “Dad,” he said softly, “I ran into an old friend here—Talia Marby. Talia, this is my dad, Arthur Collins.”

Talia moved a step closer. She reached down and took Arthur's hand in hers. “Professor Collins, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

At the word
professor
, Arthur's face lit up. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Dad, Talia works at Lambert's Fish and Chips with Bea,” Ryan said.

Arthur's expression turned pensive. “Lovely lady, Bea is.” He gave Talia a childlike smile. “I miss her cooking.”

Ryan looked at his dad through eyes that had suddenly grown damp. “One of these days, Dad, I'll drive you over there and we'll each get a giant order of fish and chips. How does that sound?”

Talia felt her heart twist at the pain in Ryan's voice. How sad it must be for him to watch his dad's mind deteriorate, especially at such an early age. If it had been her own dad . . . well, she couldn't even imagine how terrible she'd feel.

Arthur grinned. “That sounds splendid. Will you be there, too?” he asked Talia.

“You bet I will, Professor Collins.”

“Oh, please, my dear, you must call me Arthur.”

“Hey, Dad, I'll be right back, okay?” Ryan said. “I just remembered something I wanted to ask Talia.”

Arthur frowned at Talia. “Will you come back again to visit me?”

“Of course I will, Arthur. You can count on it. And I'll come back to say good-bye before I leave.”

“I hope you don't mind,” Ryan said to Talia. They walked over to an area right outside the dining room where they could talk quietly. “I just made the connection between you and the assistant director here. Natalie Marby's your mom, right?”

“She is,” Talia said warily. “Why do you ask?”

Ryan gave her a worried look. “My dad has started to misplace things, or lose things, I'm not sure which. Nothing terribly valuable, but when he suddenly notices they're missing he gets very agitated.”

“What kinds of things?” Talia asked him.

Ryan lowered his voice. “He had this souvenir letter opener from Shakespeare's birthplace that he bought on a visit there several years ago. My dad is sentimental, and it was quite special to him. He also had a photo of him and Mom when they got married. It was in an oval-shaped silver frame, and he kept it on his dresser. He told me that he woke up one morning and it was gone.”

“Did you report it?” Talia asked him.

“Not yet.” Ryan winced. “I wasn't sure what to do. I figured Dad had probably tucked them away somewhere, and just forgot where he put them.”

“He could have,” Talia said slowly. “Have you searched his room?”

Ryan nodded. “Every inch. The reason I'm asking you is . . . well, I wondered, has your mom mentioned any other residents reporting anything stolen?”

“No,” Talia said. “Not to me, anyway.” She touched his
arm lightly, and an unexpected little blip of electricity surged through her fingers. “Ryan, I think you should talk to her about it. She may have some suggestions or be able to help in some way.”

Ryan let out a sigh. “I guess I should.”

“I'll ask her about it, too,” Talia said. “Maybe together we can figure it out.”

Together?
What made her say that? What was she thinking?

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, but when she looked into Ryan's face he was smiling, his gray eyes glittering through his stylish rimless glasses.

A young aide wearing a perky gingham blouse maneuvered another cart into the room. This cart had a wheel that squealed loudly, and several people turned at the strident sound. “Sorry,” the aide murmured. She parked the cart near the dining room entrance and went about the task of collecting used cups and plates.

Ryan followed Talia back to where Arthur was seated. “Arthur,” Talia said, touching his shoulder lightly. “I wanted to say good-bye before I left, but I'll be sure—” She stopped midsentence, stunned. In the short time since they'd left Arthur, he'd shriveled into himself. His chin hugged his chest, and his eyes were squeezed closed. Both arms were tucked between his legs, as if he were preparing for an attack.

His brow creased, Ryan reached down and cupped his father's hand. “I'll be right back, Dad.” He touched Talia's elbow, and they moved a few yards away. “He's somewhere else now,” Ryan said quietly. “Sometimes he drifts away gradually, but occasionally it's a sudden drop-off from reality. I never know what triggers it.”

Talia felt tears poking at her eyelids. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Ryan smiled at her. “You have helped, more than you realize. Making new friends is important to him. He'll probably start asking me when's the next time you're coming to visit.”

Did his voice sound hopeful? Or was Talia only imagining that Ryan wanted to see her again? She tried to sound casual, but she felt her heart doing a tiny jitterbug in her chest. “Well, you promised him fish and chips, so I'm going to hold you to that.”

“You got it,” Ryan said, cocking a finger at her.

Talia excused herself and went in search of Rachel. She helped her pack up any props that the kids weren't going to take home, and they walked the boxes out to Rachel's Cherokee.

“Hey, listen, Tal,” Rachel said with a slight frown. “We have to talk soon, okay? I've got some things to tell you.”

“Sure thing. I'm off tomorrow, but I'm driving to Belmont to pick up the rest of my stuff. I don't expect to be back very late, though. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I'll let you know.”

“Are you okay?” Talia asked her.

Rachel laughed. “Lord, yes, I'm fine. I just need to update you on a few things.”

Relieved, Talia hugged her friend, and then went in search of her mom. If someone was stealing from Ryan's dad, she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“No,” Talia's mom said. She sat erect in her leather desk chair. “No one's reported anything missing. But I'm distressed to hear that Arthur's been having problems. I wish his son had come to me sooner. Was Ryan one of your pals in high school?”

Talia, sitting opposite her mom's desk, plunked her elbows on the edge of the blotter. “We weren't friends, exactly, but we knew and liked each other, at least I think he liked me.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I don't mean ‘like' the way the kids mean it, just that we were friendly acquaintances.”

Her mom gave out a soft laugh. “I know what you mean, dear. Ryan certainly is a caring young man.” She shook her dark-blond head. “As for Arthur, he has good days and bad. The next time he's having one of his better days, I'll speak
to him privately. But I'm also going to make an appointment with Ryan.”

“Mom, it was so heartbreaking,” Talia said. “One minute Arthur seemed relaxed and content, and the next he just . . . curled up inside himself.”

“I'll handle it, honey. Don't worry about it.”

Love radiated from her mom's green eyes, and Talia felt herself welling up. “Thanks, Mom,” she said hoarsely. “Truth is, I really like Arthur.”
Not to mention Ryan
.

Her mom winked at her, and Talia felt as transparent as plastic wrap.

Over a cup of piping hot tea, Talia related the events of her horrible week. She had to edit much of it so as not to alarm her mom, who would immediately tell her dad, who would immediately call out the National Guard to form a protective barrier around her.

“There's one last thing, but you're going to be shocked,” Talia said. “Bea and Howie want to retire, and they want me to buy out the restaurant. Take over the whole thing, kit and caboodle.”

“What?” Her mom's face lit up. “Oh my, that would be . . . well, I don't know. What do
you
think, honey?”

Talia shrugged. “I'm not sure. The idea intrigues me, and I love Lambert's, but is it right for me?”

“It's true, you've always been happy there,” her mom gently pointed out. “Back in the day, when dad and I were going through some tough times, it was your home away from home.”

“But I was a kid, Mom. I'm thirty-four now.”

“And an excellent businesswoman,
and
a quick learner.” Her mom tapped a manicured finger to the desk with each
point. “I have every faith that you'd make a success of it
. If
that's what you want,” she added, eagerness glowing in her eyes.

Talia gazed up at the ceiling. “Spoken like an unbiased mom.” She grinned. “You love the idea, don't you?”

“Well, of course it would be fabulous to have you living here permanently. But it's a decision you have to make on your own. Dad and I would help any way we can, of course. You only need to say the word.”

Talia let out a sigh. “I wonder what Nana would think of the idea.”

Her mom sat back in her chair, her rose-tinted lips curved into a satisfied smile. “I think you know the answer to that. Come on, I still have work to do so I'll walk you out.”

•   •   •

They ambled down the wide hallway, along which hung various framed art prints in peaceful, pastel shades. An elderly woman perched in a wheelchair outside her room brightened when she saw them. Talia smiled and nodded at her. “Hello. How are you?”

“Oh, I'm just peachy keen,” the woman said tartly. “My son was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.” She scowled. “Silly fool will be late for his own funeral.”

Talia touched the woman's arm lightly and said, “I'm sure he'll be here soon. Have a good visit.”

They continued on toward the front lobby. As they approached the entrance to the facility's kitchen, Talia stopped short and took a deep breath. “Ah, is that roast turkey I detect?”

Her mom laughed. “Yes, doesn't it smell luscious? We got a new chef about five months ago and she's been wonderful.
A bit messy and disorganized, but she performs magic with food. I think you know her—Tina Franchette?”

“You're kidding. Tina? Tina the Terrible?”

“I heard that,” roared a voice from the kitchen. Out popped a woman dressed in food-stained chef's whites, her frizzy, dishwater-blond hair tucked into a brown hairnet. Hands on her ample hips, she stood and glared at Talia until she couldn't hold the mad face any longer. She reached out and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “Look at you, you skinny thing. You haven't gained a pound since high school.”

“Tina. It's really you!” Talia squeaked. When she could no longer breathe, she extricated herself and put her hands on Tina's shoulders. “You look . . . fantastic! I had no idea you worked here.”

In their school days, Tina had always wanted to be a chef. Even more than she enjoyed food, she loved preparing it for others. During their senior year, she took it upon herself to raise some much-needed cash for the soup kitchen in Pittsfield. She haunted each and every classmate, as well as the teachers, until they dropped coins into her homemade donation can. No one escaped her demand, and with grudging affection she soon became known as Tina the Terrible.

“Yeah, I'm livin' the dream,” she said, grinning. “Hey, wanna try my stuffing? I've fine-tuned the recipe, and I think I got it perfect.”

“You go ahead, dear. I've got to run,” Talia's mom said. “But don't forget what I said about bunking with us for a while, okay? Dad and I would love to have you.” She dropped a quick kiss on her daughter's cheek, gave her a fast hug, and hustled back to her office.

“Mom's a worrier,” Talia said.

“But a terrific lady,” Tina added kindly. “When I first
started working here, some of the equipment was pretty outdated. Your mom put in a requisition for some new appliances and utensils, and it's made my job a whole heck of a lot easier.”

The kitchen was a marvel of stainless steel, with unwashed pots and pans covering nearly every surface. A mashed spinach leaf rested on the floor below the wide central work area. Another one was stuck to the bottom of Tina's shoe. On the table itself, a rectangular pan the size of a football field boasted a sea of parsley-dusted whipped potatoes. Next to that was a similar pan packed with fresh-from-the-oven stuffing.

Tina scooted over to a rack of professional-looking knives and whipped out one with a blue handle. She cut a neat square from one end of the pan, plated it, and gave it to Talia with a fork.

Talia carved out a corner and slid it into her mouth. The stuffing was plump and fragrant, with small bits of dried cranberries nestled within its depths. “Oh my gosh, Tina. This is pure ambrosia—the food of the gods.” She polished off the rest in record time, much to Tina's delight.

“I'm giving you some to take home,” Tina insisted. She pulled a plastic container off a shelf. “And then I'm going to toss your scrawny butt out of here because I've got folks to feed.”

Talia held up both hands in mock fear. “I'll go peacefully. Just give me stuffing.”

Tina slid a slab of stuffing into the container and sealed it. She gave Talia another bearlike hug. “Come and visit more often, okay?”

“I will,” Talia promised. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about cooking.”