Olive and Let Die (4 page)

FOUR

Twenty minutes later we had Melanie checked in at the hotel and were waiting for her in the bar while she freshened up. Jack ordered a local Riverbrew Beer, and I ordered a blackberry Margarita. Jack held my hand, rubbing my palm lightly with his thumb. “Maybe we should get a room too,” he suggested.

“Mmmm, tempting. But I have to get back to the house. Sophie doesn't like to stay alone at night. She's still not quite convinced we don't have a ghost over there.”

Our drinks arrived and I took a long pull. It was cold and fruity and quite delicious. My stomach growled, and I called the server back and ordered a plate of cheesy nachos.

“Are you sure you're all right?” The concern was evident in Jack's eyes, and I melted a little closer to him. “That's two bodies this summer.”

“I'm better now,” I said, and meant it.

Melanie sat down at the table, a blast of Chanel No. 5 settling over us like fragrant fog on a hot summer night. She seemed better and had touched up her makeup, presumably in case she was recognized. The crowd was thin here tonight, and we were tucked into a back corner, so there wasn't much chance of that.

“Do you want me to bring you a nightshirt to sleep in?” I asked, even though I didn't want to. Being solicitous was ingrained in me from years in the restaurant business.

“A . . . nightshirt? No, I always sleep in the raw.” She looked pointedly at Jack. “And I keep a fresh pair of undies in my purse.”

Ew, ew, ew. That was not the kind of thing a person wanted to hear from her mother, no matter how long estranged.

Jack jumped in smoothly, seemingly oblivious to the innuendo. “So. How do you two know each other?”

Melanie's face was making all sorts of inelastic movements.

“I don't keep secrets from Jack, especially when I don't know why a secret is necessary in the first place.” I turned to him. “Melanie is my mother. My
biological
mother,” I corrected.

She looked hurt, but I didn't care.

“My lips are sealed,” Jack said. If he was surprised, the expression on his lean, tanned face didn't betray him. He relaxed back into the seat and a lock of sun-bleached blond hair fell over one blue eye. “What brings you to town?”

“Yes, Melanie. What does bring you to town? Inquiring minds want to know.” I dug into the nachos with gusto, pulling up a crisp tortilla chip and scooping up the warm, stringy
cheese. I wondered if I could make nachos Greek-style and made a mental note to play with the recipe tomorrow.

Melanie lifted her vodka martini and took a sip. She wiped her lips delicately and set the napkin down, a smear of scarlet lipstick staining the paper like blood on new-fallen snow. Finally, her eyes met mine.

“I've made mistakes, Georgie.” Well, that was an understatement, and she'd said the same thing earlier tonight. As though she'd rehearsed it. Jack squeezed my hand under the table.

“I'm listening.”

“And I hope it's not too late for us to have . . . some kind of relationship.” She fished around in her glass and pulled out the stick full of olives, sucking one off.

I almost wanted to believe her. Almost. “Why now?”

She hesitated. “You're a grown woman. There are things I should have told you sooner. Things about . . . our family.”

Our family? Intellectually I knew at some time, somewhere, I had blood relations, but it had been so long, and no one had ever tried to contact me, I just assumed everyone was dead.

“My parents were very traditional,” Melanie said. “When I found out I was pregnant, unmarried, they told me not to come home again.” I felt a little twinge of sadness, both for the girl my mother had been, a girl who desperately needed the support of her parents, and for the girl I had been, growing up without a family network. I thought about my daughter, Cal, wondered what I would do if she came home and told me she was pregnant. But I didn't have to wonder. I knew. I'd support her in whatever way she wanted or needed.
Not that I was anxious to be a grandmother anytime soon, mind you. A fierce protectiveness welled up inside me.

Another thought struck, and I wondered if or when Melanie was going to bring it up. There was one pretty big meatball between us—she'd never told me the identity of my father. I'd asked a few times when I was a kid, but she would never say, and eventually I gave up.

“They're dead.” I said.

Her blue eyes swam with unshed tears. “Yes. They died within a year of each other and left the farm to Doreen. She was living there.”

“Did Doreen have anyone we should notify? A husband or kids maybe?”

“As far as I know, she never married or had any children. We're all that's left, Georgie. You, me, and Callista.” She drained her martini and signaled the server for another.

Poor Doreen. As small as my family unit was, I was still better off than she. Jack shifted a little closer to me.

Flash. A bright white light went off somewhere in my peripheral vision. I turned toward it. “Well, crap. This day just gets better and better.” A second light flashed and I raised my hand instinctively to cover my face, but it was too late and I knew it. Melanie seemed to recover herself and smiled, showing a really spectacular set of dazzling capped teeth as a third flash went off.

Melanie's second martini arrived at the table at the same time as Spencer Kane, the one and only reporter/photographer employed by the village's newspaper, the
Bonaparte Bay Blurb
.

Spencer pulled up an unused chair from a nearby table and
sat himself down. He set his bottle of Genesee Beer on the table and pulled a handheld digital recorder out of a pocket in his frayed and faded khaki shorts. “You've been holding out on me, Georgie,” he admonished, smiling a crooked grin. “Where should I start? Let's see.” He rubbed his stubbled chin dramatically. “One, you've found another body. Two, you're sitting here having drinksies with a famous actress and you didn't call me.” He shook his head. “And three, it's late and you're in a hotel bar, not at home with your mother-in-law.” He looked from Jack to me and then raised his eyebrows. “Let me just send a quick e-mail to Joyce. She'll love this!”

Jack reached across the table, lightning fast, and snatched the cell phone out of Spencer's hand. “Hey!” Spencer squeaked out.

Jack deftly deleted the pictures and took the battery out of the phone. “These ladies have had a difficult time tonight and you're not going to exploit that. And I've read Joyce's gossip column. You're definitely not giving her any material.” His voice was edgy and commanding, probably honed by his years as an officer in the Coast Guard. Spencer didn't argue, just sat there with his mouth open like a muskellunge fresh out of the St. Lawrence River.

Jack handed the phone battery to a passing server. “Give this back to Spencer here after we leave, will you? He tossed a five on her tray and she smiled at him, dimpling. “Melanie, Georgie, I think it's time we all called it a night.”

Melanie looked from Jack to me and nodded, clearly impressed. She tossed back the rest of her drink and stood up, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. Her considerable cleavage was about six inches from
Spencer's face, and he seemed mesmerized. She put the pad of one finger under his chin and lifted. Her long, glossy-red fingernail dug into the soft flesh just a little, but he didn't seem to notice as his eyes met hers.

“Listen to me . . . Spencer, is it?” Her voice was low but forceful, with an unmistakable hint of take-me-to-bed. “We don't want our pictures taken tonight, understand? But I'll be staying at the Valentine Island Spa for a few days, and if you give me your number, I'll have my assistant call you when we're back on the mainland. We can do as many photos as you want and I'll give you an exclusive interview. But let's leave Georgie out of it. Okay?” It came out as a question but she clearly was not looking for a response. Spencer nodded dumbly and handed her a business card.

Jack and I took that as our cue to leave and stood up as well. The three of us headed toward the front desk. We passed a mirror with an ornate gold frame on one wall. Something flashed on the silver surface and I looked back. Spencer was holding out his cell phone and wearing a smug smile. “I always keep an extra battery in my pocket. Wouldn't want to miss any photo ops!”

Jack made to go back to Spencer. I was tempted to let him, just to see what would happen, but I put my hand on his arm. “Forget it,” I said. “He didn't get our faces.” I felt a little pang of fear as I pictured my round backside on the front cover of Thursday's
Blurb.
“Let's just get out of here.”

We walked Melanie to her door. “Are you sure I can't get you anything? They probably have toothbrushes at the front desk.” What was I doing? I didn't want to be nice to her. She still had a lot of explaining to do, and she'd given me no
reason to trust her. In fact, her whole reappearance smelled like a spoiled fish in yesterday's catch.

Melanie turned the key in the lock. “Well, tomorrow won't be the first time I've woken up in a hotel room with nothing but the clothes I was wearing the night before.” She cut her eyes at Jack.

“I've got tomorrow off from the station,” he said. “How about if Georgie and I pick you up in the morning and we'll get you over to the Spa?” He looked at me for confirmation, his eyes twinkling. Oh yes, the sooner we got Melanie out of Bonaparte Bay and trapped—I mean settled—on the island, the better. My best friend Liza would keep her occupied with facials, hot stone massages, herbal detoxification elixirs, meditation sessions, and yoga routines until she'd be so relaxed maybe she'd finally spit out the reason she'd come back.

“We'll be here at nine o'clock. Liza can give you breakfast when you get to the Spa.”

The corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly. “Make it ten.”

“Make it nine. I've got things to do tomorrow. Just because you've decided to show up now doesn't mean I can drop everything to be at your beck and call. I have my own life, and I'll continue to live it.” I took a deep breath. That felt good.

Melanie rolled her eyes, but her tight eyelids barely moved. “Oh, all right,” she huffed and shut the door. I heard the sound of the chain being slid into position, then the faint metallic click of the lock.

Jack took my arm and steered me toward the exit. “Do you really have things to do tomorrow? Because I was hoping we could spend at least part of the day together.” He
gave my arm a light rub, and a tingle ran through me as we walked toward his Jeep. He held the door open for me and I climbed in.

“Not really. Now that we're past Labor Day, the restaurant's only open Friday through Sunday, so tomorrow I'm off. Sophie and Marina are going shopping in Watertown, assuming they can get Dolly to drive. I thought I'd get a haircut maybe.”

“Come with me tomorrow then,” he said. “There's someone I'd like you to meet.”

A little stab of panic hit my gut. “It's not . . . your mother, is it?” I'd had about all the mothering I could take at any given time. And I definitely wasn't ready for that.

Jack laughed and gave me a little hug.

“You'll meet my mom and dad and my sisters and their families someday. No, I'm meeting an older woman at her home and I think she might feel more comfortable if there were another woman present. It's been a long time since I've seen her.”

“Sounds . . . intriguing.” Jack had the top off the Jeep and I leaned back as we rolled through the streets of Bonaparte Bay, which were mostly empty this time of night and this time of year. I looked up into the sky, remembering how I used to try to count the stars when I was little. I never got very far, as I recall, before my eyes went a little buggy and I settled for finding the Big and Little Dippers and Orion's belt. Tonight they were like rhinestones on deep blue velvet, and I sighed, contented.