No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 (17 page)

The large farmhouse sink
would fit just about any pot. The six-burner stove was a dream come
true. And the commercial refrigerator? It offered plenty of storage
for prepared foods in between camera shots. My mind raced ahead,
planning the different photos for the next volume. I could even
picture using the patio as a backdrop for a meal.

“I’ll do it!” With
enthusiasm I never expected to feel, I blurted out a commitment to
Mac. “I’ll look out for Mae.”

“Perfect.” A warm smile
crossed his face, reminding me of the boy I had known so long ago.
“I’m so glad, Kimmy. Mae will be thrilled.”

I wandered down the hall to
the vestibule as Mac made sure the house was locked up and the
alarm was activated. The house had a strange hold on me. There was
something about it that spoke to my soul. It was as if I was meant
to be here. Suddenly, I realized something shocking. My condo in
Tuscan Gardens was ordinary, just walls and paint, and as much as I
loved it, it could never match this place. There was love in every
corner of this house, and even now I was reluctant to leave it. I
could see myself here with Mae, but even more stunning, I could see
myself here with Mac. I banished that thought even as it came to
me. He was building a life with another woman. It was not to
be.

“The alarm code is
zero-five-one-two,” said Mac, as he punched in the numbers on the
touch pad by the door. “I’ll write it down for you when you move
in.”

“May the twelfth?” I
suddenly realized there would be no problem in remembering. “That’s
my birthday!”

“Is it?” Mac smiled at me.
“How convenient.”

Was it a sign from the
heavens, or just a coincidence? A little stirring of hope slipped
past my defenses as we walked to the car.

“When would you like to move
in?” Mac asked me, on the drive back to my mother’s
house.

“I have to arrange to get my
furniture out of storage. I might be able to ask my tenants to help
get it on a moving van. Give me a couple of days, Mac.”

He seemed to be on the verge
of saying something, but hesitated. I saw his jaw tighten briefly,
and then go slack. He seemed to force himself to change the
subject.

“Tell me honestly what you
like about the house,” his eyes on the road ahead of
him.

“Besides the kitchen?
Everything.” It was true. I was already in love with the house. My
only regret was that some other woman was going to eventually take
it as her own.

“Let’s try it a different
way,” Mac decided. “What are the negatives?”

That wasn’t easy, given all
the wonderful features of the property. I had to really push it to
come up with something.

“Well, it’s not on the
ocean, but it’s on the bay. That’s almost as good. Maybe the
biggest drawback is that it’s not within walking distance of
shops.”

“Actually, it is. If you go
down Acorn and take a left on Scarborough, you’ll get to Main
Street. There’s a fishmonger, a bakery, and a small family-run
market that’s pricey, but good.”

“Nice,” I grinned. I smiled,
pleased that I was going to have a great kitchen for cooking and
recipe-testing. I was feeling confident that this was a good
decision on my part, at least as far as the cookbooks were
concerned.

“There’s a local farmer’s
market in Jolly Bay on Tuesdays and Saturdays by the village green.
You can get just about everything, including artisan cheeses, eggs,
organic fruits and vegetables, and a lot of the farms bake their
own pies. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so. I’m
looking forward to spending some time with Mae. I do really miss my
mother,” I admitted.

“You two will have a nice
time together,” Mac said. “Your mom was Mae’s chum for so long,
she’s been at loose ends without Adelaide.”

“Me, too.” I looked down at
my hands. “I’m glad you asked me to do this, Mac. It gives me a
chance to get back into life. I was just planning to move back to
Belle Haven and take up where I left off. But this is a chance for
a new start. It’s a wonderful house.”

“That’s great,” Mac nodded.
“I’ve put a lot of money into this place as an investment for my
future. I needed a woman’s opinion on whether or not it was
worthy.”

“This is all about an
investment?” I raised an eyebrow in Mac’s direction and he
chuckled. “Why didn’t you just ask Mae?”

“She’s my biggest fan. She
never gives me an unbiased opinion. I was counting on you to be
straight with me. You don’t have any direct interest in the
outcome.”

“Oh,” I said. For a moment,
I found myself feeling very disappointed that Mac just wanted a
woman’s opinion. I actually wanted him to want mine.

As soon as that thought
popped into my head, I stopped myself. What was wrong with me
lately? Was I just coming out of mothballs, after the long years of
taking care of Adelaide, and I was using old, reliable Mac as my
romantic safety net for a harmless flirtation? If he was planning
to get married again and just wanted to make sure it was good
enough to offer his future bride, I was probably just a sounding
board for him. Why was I feeling so many confusing new emotions
about an old friend?

We spent the rest of the
drive engaged in light-hearted banter. By the time Mac dropped me
off at the gate of Adelaide’s little ranch, it was almost
three.

“I have to go make some
arrangements for my trip, and then I promised Mae I would drive up
and spend the night at Aunt Fiona’s,” he told me. He promised to
call me in the next day or two to firm up the plans.

Once inside the house, I got
to work on my end of things. I dialed my tenants’ land line,
intending to leave a message. Instead, Jim picked up.

“I have a huge favor to
ask,” I told him. “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Fire away. I’m all ears,”
Jim responded jovially. I explained what I needed and was
pleasantly surprised when he agreed.

“I’ll pay you for your
time,” I offered.

“I’m home for an unpaid work
furlough, due to state budget cuts. It will give me something
useful to do,” he decided. “I’ve already cleaned this place twice.
Wait a minute. Does this mean you’re not moving back?”

“That’s the other part of
what I have to ask you. Would you be interested in staying in the
condo for another year?”

“Honey, you’ve got to be
kidding!”

“Is that a yes or a no?” I
wondered.

“We’ve already seen six
different places and none of them felt like home. We loved Tuscan
Gardens,” he sighed. “Wait till I tell Barry. He’s going to
flip!”

I promised to make
arrangements to get Jim the necessary paperwork and keys, clear it
with the storage company, and update the rental
agreement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank
you!” he crowed cheerfully. “There is a God! You have no idea what
a relief this is! We were actually planning to call you if we
didn’t find a place by the weekend.”

With that settled, I sent
off a long email to my publisher, telling him about Bonnie Oaks and
outlining three ideas for new cookbooks. One was a seafood theme. I
wanted to research local favorites and reinvent them to save money
and calories, adding lots of photos of Jenkins Beach, Jolly Bay,
and the area coastline. The second was a volume on summer cooking
and entertaining al fresco, with make-ahead and quick meals using
fresh ingredients from the farmer’s market. I had plans for that
patio as a backdrop. The third volume was all about cooking for
two, with easy-to-make, time-friendly meals using fresh ingredients
and only one or two pots. The collection of colorful dishware would
lend itself to setting an attractive table. Mae would be my recipe
tester.

At six-thirty, I put on a
pot of water for pasta, opened a can of chopped clams in juice, and
got busy making my quick version of an old favorite. I sautéed
sweet onions and garlic until they were tender, and then I poured
clam juice into the pan, along with a splash of extra virgin olive
oil, a small pat of butter, and a good dollop of white wine. While
the sauce was simmering and the linguini was cooking, I toasted
some baguette rounds. I tore off a couple of basil leaves from my
potted plant on the window sill and chopped them before adding them
into my pan. As I waited for my linguini with clam sauce to be
ready, I ate a salad at the kitchen counter, while I watched the
evening news on Adelaide’s 9” under-the-counter TV. Already I was
imagining myself in the Bonnie Oaks kitchen, with its wall-mounted
flat screen model.

The aroma of garlic and
onions infusing their flavors with the other ingredients in my
sauté pan was stimulating my senses. I was eagerly anticipating
that first bite when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the
number, so I let curiosity get the better of me and picked
up.

“It’s me,” Tom said. “I
really need to see you.”

Chapter Five --

“Need is such a strong
word,” I replied. “And I thought I made it clear earlier that I
really am not interested.”

“Just give me a chance,” he
said, his voice low, almost humble. Not an easy task for a man like
the ever-confident Tom to achieve.

“I’ve moved on. You should,
too.”

“I want to make amends for
hurting you,” he insisted.

“It’s really not necessary,”
was my reply. By now, it was time to add my pasta to the sauce and
let the last few minutes of cooking absorb all those great flavors.
“I’ve got to go.”

“Just half an hour of your
time,” he called out, as I was pulling the phone away from my ear.
I pushed the “end” button and got back to what mattered most, my
linguini with white clam sauce.

Despite the delay of Tom’s
call, everything was delicious, and I sat there enjoying the
experience. I even decided to pour myself a glass of pino grigiot.
When the last remnants of the sauce were mopped up by the baguette
rounds, I flipped the channel to “Jeopardy” while I cleaned up the
kitchen.

As the final question popped
up on the screen, the doorbell rang. I looked through to the living
room and saw Tom’s rental car sitting in the driveway. Apparently,
he assumed “no” meant I was playing hard to get. It looked like he
was going to keep trying until he understood I really wasn’t
interested.

I crossed the short distance
to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside. I really didn’t
want to let Tom into the house. There was no guarantee I’d be able
to get him out. I felt uncomfortable having him there, looking
around at my new life and trying to figure out an angle that would
enable him to gain entry through the slightest of cracks. He had
always been an opportunist, playing all the cards he had to win. I
was annoyed at the current intrusion, physical and emotional. It
was so Tom-like, persistent, demanding, and even arrogant. He
greeted me with great expectation, fully utilizing that boyish
charm, so I cut him off in mid-sentence.

“As I’ve already explained,
Tom, I’m not interested,” I insisted. I wanted him to know there
was no wavering on my part, no weakness of the knees or the heart.
The bridge had been burned and it would not be rebuilt. “Please
don’t come back here.”

“You can’t mean that, Kimmy.
You’re just still angry with me for my selfish
behavior.”

“No,” I disagreed. “The
anger is long gone. It’s over. So is our relationship. We don’t
have any connection anymore. Let’s just say our final farewells,
before this turns ugly.”

“If I make you that angry,
you must still have feelings for me,” he smiled. He took a step
closer. I moved to the right as he tried to brush up against
me.

“You’re making me angry
because you’re not listening,” I warned him. “I’m telling you I
don’t want you in my life.”

“And I’m trying to tell you
that I made a huge mistake. I never should have let you go. You
were one of the best things that ever happened to me.” Now he was
pleading with me, trying to find a button to push that would get
him what he wanted.

“You know what?” I looked
him right in the eye. “I don’t think our relationship ever really
was all that terrific. I think you got what you wanted out of it, a
romantic tryst that gave you the freedom to come and go as you
please while you were going through your divorce. You weren’t
looking for a healthy meal. You were looking for dessert. I was the
cake with the icing, and when my mother was sick and needed me, you
found a bread pudding that looked tastier. It was never about
loving me. It was about your own pleasure.”

“How can you say that?” Tom
looked utterly shocked, and for a fleeting second, I almost fell
for it. But then he gave himself away. “I was in pain! I was
suffering! I gave you what I could, under the
circumstances!”

“Well, that wasn’t what I
needed and it’s still not, so let’s end this conversation here. I
really don’t want to see you again.” I turned to the door and
that’s when it happened. Tom’s left hand gripped my shoulder and
propelled me forward, while his right turned the door handle,
gaining access to my world. I felt myself stumbling as I crossed
the threshold.