Raisin the Dead (8 page)

He winked at me. “You haven't had one of my steaks.”

We both cleared the table. I loaded the dishwasher. Our teamwork made me think of marriage again. I'd actually loved being married to Brian, until it all came unraveled. I didn't want things to unravel with Sean. I was excited about the direction our relationship was taking, but at the same time, I was worried things might change between us.

He dished out the raspberry crisp for me and plopped it into the bowls I'd handed him. I scooped out the ice cream. We went into the living room and settled on my couch. He finished his bowl first and entertained the dogs while I finished. My anxiety returned.

Sean settled the dogs down, then took my empty bowl and put it on the coffee table with his. “We'll take care of those later.”

I nodded, unable to speak suddenly. The intimate timbre of his voice sent chills down my spine.

He was stretched out on the chaise lounge end of my new, overstuffed chocolate brown sofa. “Come here.”

He scooted over enough so I could stretch out on it as well.

He put his arm around my shoulders and his warmth seeped into me. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yes. But say it again.”

“I'm in love with you.” He paused. “I'm hoping you feel the same.”

“I do.” And despite his considering my mother a suspect, I did love him.

“Tell me.”

I looked up at him. “I love you, Detective Sean Corsino.” There's nothing like saying, and hearing, “I love you” for the first time. It's a moment that can't be relived. Nothing else in your life exists at that moment. We did a little maneuvering. Then he kissed me until I came unraveled, which in this case was wonderful.

After we caught our breaths, he spoke. “After Jordan died I refused to allow myself to think about falling in love again.”

I took his hand and linked my fingers with his. “Are you sure you're ready for this? I don't want to be the rebound woman.”

He traced my cheek lightly with one finger, then slowly drew it down my jawline. “I'm sure. I was attracted to you pretty much as soon as we met. I fought it. I thought I'd be dishonoring Jordan's memory, but I realized I'll always have her memory. You're the woman I love, and I don't give my heart easily. You are no rebound woman. What about you? Are you ready to be involved with me? No more Brian?”

I snuggled in next to him. “Yes. You know there's no more Brian. Friends, yes, but nothing more. I'm very sure I'm ready for this. For us. It's scary, but a good scary. There's something else, as long as we're talking.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'd like to enjoy this step. The falling-in-love, really-getting-to-know-each-other step. I don't want to rush into anything. You'll think I'm old-fashioned, but I'd like to keep our living arrangements as they are.”

“I don't have an issue with that.” He kissed the top of my head. “We'll take it one day at a time. No pressure about anything.”

I was the luckiest woman in the world at that moment.

We cleaned up the dishes together, walked the dogs together, then spent quality time celebrating our newly official relationship status, in a mutually satisfying, very together manner.

The next morning,
The Destiny Trumpet
's front-page story, complete with pictures, was about the library expansion protestors. As my mother said, they didn't want it destroying the Yellow Spikey Tree Frog's environs, or the Westley House. In their opinion, the library was a dinosaur in our technologically advanced world, and wasn't as important as frogs, or a historical building. “Does anyone even come to the library anymore?” one protestor had questioned.

Bobby had also interviewed my mother, who immediately dispelled any notion that the library stood empty every day. He included my mother's comments about the library being an asset to the community, and the expansion being critical to improve shelf space, create more space for internet users, create public meeting rooms, relieve cramped staff working conditions, and so forth. She recited statistics that proved the library was a living, growing part of our community.

I had the day off, so I planned on shopping for baking supplies. I wasn't sure what time Sean was going to talk to my mother, but I thought I had time to drive over to the outlet mall and shop for a mango wood bowl, some new jelly roll pans, and a LaCloche brick oven for bread making, among other things.

I listened to Emily West singing on the radio as I drove to the mall, humming happily as I thought about Sean. Last night had been perfect. I was glad that we had defined our relationship. The only blip was him questioning my mother about Baldelli's death. Now that daylight had arrived, I was concerned that the outcome of his discussion with my mother might force me to choose between the woman who gave me life, and the man who had made that life a whole lot more interesting.

I pulled into the outlet mall, found a close parking space near my favorite store, Belinda's Bakery Supplies, and hopped out of my car with a large canvas shopping bag in tow. I'd only been in the store five minutes when my Lady Gaga ring tone burst on, interrupting my perusal of cute cheese mills, and causing the poor woman beside me to jump out of her skin. “So sorry,” I apologized. It was my mother. Sean hadn't wasted any time. I took a deep breath and tried sounding cheerful. “Hi, Mom. What's up, more protestors?”

“Hi, sweetheart. No, nothing like that. You busy?”

“I'm off today. I'm at Belinda's Bakery Supplies, looking at cheese mills.”

“I love her store. Detective Corsino was just here at the library to talk to me.”

“About what?” I hate feigning innocence, which, to me, is akin to lying. I'm a horrible liar.

“Can you come over? I'd rather talk in person. When you're done shopping, I mean. Finish with the cheese mills.”

“Sure. Let me pay for my stuff and I'll be out.”

I went straight to my mother's office on the second floor when I got to the library. Her door was closed and I was about to knock when I heard voices. I paused.

“Anne, you know I'm not against expanding the library per se. I am against what you, the library board, and the advisory board have planned. There is no reason to callously tear down the Westley House, or endanger the Yellow Spikey Tree Frog's home.”

“We've been over this, Dan.” spoke my mother. “The house is falling down. There are mold issues; the walls are crumbling. It's not safe for occupancy. It needs to come down.”

“I disagree. That's why we at the Destiny Trust for Historic Preservation stepped in and stopped you. The Westley House is restorable. You've already destroyed the two smaller buildings. I support the library, but you're talking about an irreplacable historical landmark. How can you not understand?”

“I do understand. I love history as much as the next person does. There's no reason why furniture and other items can't be displayed at the Destiny Historical Society and Museum. If it's not all ruined, that is. We bought the building intending to demolish an eyesore and your group has blocked us.”

“Yes and thank God we did. Eyesore?” he sputtered. “Are you mad? The house belonged to my ancestors. I am a direct descendant of Lieutenant Governor Samuel Westley. What about the trunk of papers found in the attic? The Trust hasn't even had time to look through them.”

“What about them? I think it's a wonderful find. You know we're doing a presentation on them.”

“Admirable of us.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can't say I'm heartbroken about Baldelli's death. Without his money, your expansion will be stopped. The Westley House will be saved for generations to come.”

“Why now, Dan? No one has lived in the house for decades. The bricks are overgrown with ivy and disintegrating. Why are you so concerned now? Maybe if you'd taken on restoring it years ago, it could be a lovely part of the library. I'm sorry, but it has to come down.”

“That is not your decision. How dare you think it is? How are you going to manage that? Baldelli's dead. Face it, without him, your project is dead.”

“There are other means. As long as I'm the director, I will do whatever I can to see this project through.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. I'd watch your step if I were you.”

The door was yanked open. I stumbled backwards. Daniel Bixby stormed by me, fists clenched, his pale complexion mottled with red. His clothing was wrinkled, as if he'd slept in it, and his tie was askew and coming unknotted. His hair was tousled, and I don't mean stylishly tousled on purpose. For a professional he was certainly disheveled. He didn't acknowledge me; I'm not sure he even saw me, which was totally fine.

He had desperately wanted the library director position, that much I knew. He's tried making my mother's life miserable ever since. Not only did he fight her appointment as director, he's also disagreed with every program she's instituted, and tried spreading the word about her incompetence, which was quite a task, as my mother is very competent. The library has flourished under her direction.

His complaining had turned a few people against her, none important enough to mention. Personally, I'd have fired him. I thought she was crazy not to try to get rid of him, but my mother was of the opinion that everyone was entitled to just that, an opinion. As long as he did his job—and according to her, he did—she wouldn't try to have him fired.

“Hi there,” I stepped into her office. “You have your hands full with that guy. Sorry, I was listening outside your door.”

“It's okay.” My mother dropped into her seat. “What time is it? Only eleven? I'm wiped out already. Close the door and sit.”

She was wearing her favorite work uniform. Black pencil skirt, fitted blue and white striped oxford button-down blouse, and black heels. Her hair was up in a messy topknot, a look I know she worked on for a while. I closed the door, then sat in the chair in front of her desk. “So, what did Sean want?”

She leaned forward, hands splayed across her desk. “A couple of things. It was unsettling, I'll have you know. He asked me if I was okay with him questioning me, then he asked if he could tape me! I thought he was going to snap on handcuffs at any moment. First, he wanted to know about letters to Philip that were found in his house. He thought they came from me.”

I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but naturally, I had to ask. “What kind of letters?”

She leaned back. “Letters threatening his life if he withdrew his support and money from the library expansion program. They were made of words cut out of some newspaper, then glued to plain white paper. There were three of them. The police also found the envelopes in which they were mailed in the trash. They were library envelopes.”

“You sent him letters threatening his life?” For a second I was stunned. Then I realized the ludicrousness of that. If she has a problem with you, my mother will confront you, not write crazy, anonymous letters.

She pushed her chair back and got up. Leaning against the window ledge, she folded her arms across her chest. “Of course I didn't! And if I was going to kill him, why would I send letters to the man telling him I'm going to kill him? Does that even remotely make sense?”

“You have a point. Unless you wanted him to change his mind, because without his money there may be no expansion, and you thought merely threatening him with death would make him change his mind. How did someone get the envelope?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Anyone can grab an envelope, or ask a librarian or clerk for one. That does happen now and then.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know the detective is your boyfriend, but whose side are you on?”

I inwardly cringed at the word “boyfriend.” We weren't thirteen, after all. I'd prefer to think of him as the man I'm seeing; however, that wasn't exactly important now. “I'm on the side of truth.” That was lame. I sounded like a Wonder Woman wannabe. “You said there were a couple of things.”

“Yes. The second thing was text messages from my phone to his telling him I planned on killing him.”

“You sent him texts?”

“Again, no, I didn't do that, either! I've never texted Philip. He's never texted me.”

I stared at her for a moment. “You never texted him, yet he got texts from you?”

She nodded. “Crazy, isn't it? Detective Corsino said there were several texts from me threatening his life. Philip's, that is.”

“If you didn't text him, which I'm sure you didn't, then someone either used your phone, or managed to get one in your name. Sean should be able to come up with evidence, like a contract.”

She pushed off the ledge and paced in front of the window. “That's what I told him. Or, maybe one of those disposable phones.”

Which are pretty much impossible to trace, I thought, but I kept said thought to myself. “It has to be the killer.”

“The good detective still won't say Philip was killed.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think the whole town knows we've got another killer on our hands; one who seems to want to frame you for the crime. Why you?”

“Don't ask me. I have no idea. I'm trying to get the expansion in place; I don't have time to run around killing anyone.” She sat back down at her desk.

I had no idea, either. My mother was the kind of woman who you felt was your best friend five seconds after meeting her. “You haven't made any enemies lately, have you?”

“Not that I know of. Candy Blick was my last enemy. Maybe the Oleandra County Preservation Society and the Destiny Trust for Historic Preservation want me out of the way, so they're killing two birds with one stone. First, they kill Philip, then they frame me, putting me away for life. No expansion.”

I couldn't see anyone in either group plotting such maneuver. While it would probably stall the expansion for a little while, it was a little over the top.

She smiled a little as she drank from the coffee cup in front of her. “I forgot all about Candy until you asked about enemies. I haven't thought of her in years.”

“Who's this Candy?”

“She was my best friend all through grade school, junior high, and high school, until the fall of our junior year. I'm sure I've mentioned her at some point.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. What about her?” Not that I was on the edge of my seat waiting to find out, but I thought it might help my mother to think about something other than Sean's interrogation.

“Not only were we inseparable as best friends, we were cheerleaders together, until the fall of our junior year. I made head cheerleader for the rest of our junior and senior years. She didn't make the squad at all.”

“Let me guess. She didn't take that well?”

“You got it. She thought I betrayed her by not stepping down when she didn't make the squad. She cried and carried on something awful. Calling me names and dropping notes in my locker.”

“That's a little overboard.”

“Her family was poorer than ours. I didn't care about that at all, but maybe deep down, she did, so she assumed that I did. The cheerleading thing was only the beginning. Your father had dated Candy since our sophomore year.”

I think I knew where this was going. “So, not only were you head cheerleader, but you stole her man?” No wonder the girl went a little crazy.

My mother grew indignant. “I didn't ‘steal' him. He broke up with her of his own free will. Afterwards he had eyes for no one but me.”

“Ah,” I replied. “I can see why she might not like you.”

“I suppose,” she sighed. “High school is such a hormonal time with so much drama. Candy believed she was in love with Stephen. He didn't feel the same about her. Your father and I being crowned king and queen of the senior prom didn't make her feel any better. By then she had stopped speaking to me completely.”

“What happened to Candy?” I asked, feeling the tiniest bit of sympathy for her.

She shrugged. “I assume she left for college, got married, and moved away for good. Her whole family must have moved. I never saw any of them after we stopped talking. I stopped thinking about her.”

“Did you ask Sean about the phone that was used to send these texts?” I steered our conversation back to the matter at hand. “Or if he spoke to any of the phone stores around?”

“No, and he didn't mention doing that. He didn't exactly open the floor up to questions and comments. It was uncomfortable being questioned like a criminal.”

I ignored her borderline snippy tone; she had the right to be snippy. I'd probably be in the chief's office demanding he fire Detective Corsino if I were she. Then I'd sue said detective for besmirching my name. All things considered, she was calm.

“Do you think I need a lawyer?”

“No!” At least, I didn't think so. What do I know? I make cupcakes for a living, but I wanted to be supportive. She looked scared. “He can't arrest you based on texts and phone calls.” That was purely conjecture on my part, the basis for it being the many hours I'd spent watching
Law & Order
and other police shows
.
“Don't worry, okay?” Easy for me to say.