Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder (29 page)

“I read the papers. And then Jonathan filled me in. I’m the one who suggested the inn you’re going to next weekend.”

Why had Jonathan intruded into the conversation? He didn’t belong with Alec. She couldn’t picture them as friends.

“Have you guys been dating a long time?” Alec asked, dropping a perfect pink slice of tenderloin on her plate, spooning the horseradish sauce next to it.

“No.” Now she was embarrassed. Alec was going to think she was the kind of woman that hopped into bed at a moment’s notice. “I’m not sure I’m going away.” Why was she being so ridiculous? Why did she worry about what Alec thought? And besides, he was gay. He wouldn’t care who she slept with or when. And yet she wanted his good opinion. He was a kind, sensitive, warm man. Charming in a quiet way Jonathan would never be.

“Are you and Jonathan good friends?” she asked.

“I met Jonathan through Chris. They were friends in boarding school. Now Jonathan wants to do some business with me. I’m not sure, though. Like you.”

They smiled at each other and began to eat and sip their wine. This time Alec didn’t spill anything. Lori’s embarrassment evaporated in the cooling air. The sun lowered and launched its reddening light through the trees, washing the picnic area in a rosy glow. The birds started their hectic evening chatter. The ducks slept, one or two intermittently waking up and squawking for attention.

“What were you doing in Rome?” Lori asked, while Alec changed their plates for dessert. He still would not accept help. “Business? Vacation?”

Alec reached into the wicker basket and brought out a peach cobbler. “I have to confess I bought this.”

Lori clapped her hands like a delighted child. “Good. I was beginning to think you were perfect.”

“Far from it, and I know exactly what you mean.”

Lori took the knife and spatula from his hands to serve him. It made her feel good that he had let her. She took it as a compliment.

“I’ve made sure that none of my friends are perfect,” Alec said. “That way they can’t make me feel inadequate. I do a good enough job of that myself.”

Lori slid a generous slice of cobbler on his plate. “Do you?” She was surprised. He seemed so confident.

“At times. I’m hard on myself and I take things too seriously. At work, I’m a perfectionist and drive most people crazy.”

Lori gave herself a much smaller slice. “And at home? Aren’t you able to relax there?”

“At home I’m alone. That’s not much fun. I’m rarely there. I scout for houses all over the eastern states.”

“Sometimes I think I’d like to have a job that takes me away,” Lori said, “but I am lucky to have my wonderful thirteen-year-old daughter Jessica, who stops me from getting lonely most of the time.”

Alec looked chagrined. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the subject of loneliness.”

“Why not?”

His eyes held hers for a moment. “Mrs. Ashe told me that you had recently divorced.”

“Did she?” Lori wondered why. “You can talk about anything you want. How else are we going to know each other?”

“You’re right. You asked about Rome. I go there as often as I can. I spent two years there after graduate school. I’m officially an architect, and I got a job with an Italian firm, grunt work really, but it paid just enough to keep me there soaking up the beauty, the food and the crazy, generous, wildly inefficient Romans. Chris joined me after a year, hoping to break into the movie world. He got bit parts there, bit parts in plays here. Never what he deserved. He was damn good. What about you? Did the
Greenwich Dish
send you to Rome for an article?”

Lori was amazed he remembered what she had told the Roman waiter. Now she’d have to confess her lie. Would he think less of her? “It was the first time I’d been back to Italy since a trip I took after college.” She explained that she didn’t work for any magazine, that the business card had been her friend Beth’s idea. “I felt guilty about tricking the restaurants, but the food was just too good and I got greedy. Having those recipes would give me an edge on the competition. I need the work.”

“I have to thank your friend, then. Your card was lying on the floor between our two tables. That’s how I knew your name and address.”

“I was terribly rude to you that night,” Lori said. “Even before you knocked the gnocchi in my lap. You wanted to talk and I blew you off.” She took a bite of the peach cobbler. It wasn’t good, but she would eat the whole slice to please him. He needed pleasing.

Alec pushed his plate aside after one bite. “I’m the one who shouldn’t have bothered you, but you looked lovely in that dress.”

His words left a glow on her skin. She felt lovely now. Lori leaned on the table and studied his face.
Lucky Chris,
she thought, then instantly regretted it. Chris was dead.

Lori sat up, chewed and swallowed another bite of cobbler. “How did you ever manage to extract the secret gnocchi recipe from the chef?”

Alec’s broad smile pulled a smile out of her, too. “Generosa’s the cook and the
regina,
the queen, in that family. I rented a room from her for those two years in Rome. She took pity on my poverty and usually fed me for free. I guess I became like a son to her. She had only girls. Four of them. Whenever I go back, I eat my meals at her restaurant, paying this time. When the waiter turned you down, I got up to ask Generosa for the recipe. The girls have taken over the cooking, but she still commands. She wrote out the recipe herself, although I can’t guarantee that she didn’t leave out an essential ingredient.

“I was too eager to get that recipe for you. I wanted to make you happy and I stood up too quickly. The rest is messy history.”

“Did I look that forlorn?” Lori asked.

A rueful expression appeared on Alec’s face. “I have the intrusive need to try to read people’s state of mind. It can be annoying, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Well, you read correctly. I was miserable. My ex was getting married the next day with Jessica attending.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” Alec lightly placed his fingers over her wrist, then slowly shifted his gaze from Lori’s wrist to her face. She thought he was mulling something over. Something she might not like.

“What is it?” Lori asked.

He let go of her and ran his hand over his head. His hair had dried to a pale gray-blond. A fine, straight lock fell down his forehead like an arrow pointing to his eyes. They looked amused and hesitant at the same time. “Please forgive me if I say that I’m not sorry for spilling gnocchi and wine all over you. How else would we be sitting in this beautiful spot, surrounded by sleeping ducks and great art, and getting to know each other?” He covered Lori’s hand with his and an unexpected shiver ran up her arm.

“I hope you agree,” Alec said. It took her a moment to realize what he had said.

“Yes, I do,” Lori answered simply.

He laughed and there was joy in his face. “Please stop trying to finish that bad cobbler.” He stood up. “This time I will need help packing up. The guards are going to kick us out of this Eden in five minutes.”

Lori got undressed. It had been a wonderful evening and she hoped there would be others, although Alec hadn’t mentioned getting together again. At the door he had only said, “You are a very special woman, don’t forget that,” and wished her good night with a brotherly kiss on her cheek. If he didn’t call, she would. She did feel special. Somehow he had boosted her courage, her morale, even though they hadn’t talked about the murder, barely touched upon her divorce. Lori wished she had done the same for him. Next time maybe he would open up to her, talk more about Chris and what must be his tremendous grief at losing him.

In her pajamas, Lori padded down to the kitchen to check her messages. Beth had called saying she had “interesting info,” which probably meant something to do with Valerie’s death. It was still early—only nine thirty. Lori knew she should call Beth back, but she was reluctant to lose the serene state she was in. Maybe Beth could wait until morning. She would call Ellie and Jessica to check in with them, but first she was going to make herself a
sgroppino,
a Venetian after-dinner drink: lemon sorbet blended with a generous splash of vodka. She would substitute some club soda for the alcohol.

While Lori sipped her drink at the kitchen table, her legs propped up on a chair, she decided that the reason Alec had made her feel special and lovely was his sincerity. There was no come-on involved as there was with Jonathan. Alec wasn’t selling himself. He was a good, sincere, sensitive man. A man she could trust.

After Lori finished her
sgroppino,
she walked over to the wall phone and dialed Jonathan’s number.

To Lori’s disappointment, Mrs. Ashe answered. “My dear, I’m sorry but Jonathan is out this evening. Can I take a message?”

“Just tell him I called. Good—”

“Please don’t hang up.” Mrs. Ashe sounded breathless.

“Of course not.” Lori leaned against the wall.

“Mrs. Stafford is going to call you in the morning, dear. She was quite impressed with your talents and wants you to cater her fiftieth wedding anniversary in September. Fifty guests.”

So many! “How wonderful,” Lori said, when she found her voice. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And may I ask if you are still interested in Ruth?”

“Well, yes, in fact.” She might as well ask, now that she had Mrs. Ashe on the phone. “I was wondering if you knew how I could find the Fenwicks’ housekeeper.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, but I did find out why poor Ruth was asked to leave their home. I managed to remember that my husband had tried to help her. He kept meticulous notes on his work. He was going to write his memoirs, you see.” Mrs Ashe let out a long sigh.

“What did happen?” Lori prompted.

“The poor girl is dead so we can’t hear her side of the story, but according to what Ruth told my husband, Valerie accused her of being one of those girls that . . .” Mrs. Ashe hesitated with a fluttery breath. “I don’t wish to embarrass you,” another flutter of air, “but Valerie said that Ruth was one of the girls, well, like that comedian. Ellen DeGeneres.”

“You mean a lesbian?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s what they’re called. Valerie told her father that Ruth had confessed to being in love with her and was making inappropriate passes at her. If it was true, the parents had a perfect right to distance Ruth from their daughter, but Ruth denied it and my husband believed her. He was a very good judge of character.” Mrs. Ashe paused. “It was a terrible thing. You see, when Ruth’s stepfather died a few years later, he left the money that should have rightfully gone to Ruth because much of it was her mother’s money—well, he left a good deal of it to Valerie. The rest went to charity. Ruth got nothing.”

“Is there a direct connection between Valerie’s accusation and the stepfather’s will?”

“According to my husband’s notes, Ruth’s stepfather changed his will a few weeks after Valerie’s accusation.”

“Do the police know about this?”

“They may have discovered it on their own. Jonathan has urged me to tell them, in case they haven’t.”

“Oh, please do tell them, Mrs. Ashe.”

“Well, yes, if you think so, too. I’ll call them in the morning, but I don’t like the idea of hurting that poor girl. My husband quite liked Ruth, despite her bad manners. He found her very intelligent.”

Intelligence was not an attribute Lori would have applied to Ruth. A certain animal cunning yes, but then she was hardly a good judge of character. Rob was proof of that.

“My husband thought Valerie lied,” Mrs. Ashe said, “because she was jealous of how her father had taken to Ruth.”

“You have important information, Mrs. Ashe. I urge you to call the police as soon as possible.”

“They haven’t arrested your ex-husband, have they?”

“No. He didn’t kill Valerie, Mrs. Ashe.”

Mrs. Ashe sniffed. “Perhaps not, although in my experience it is always hard to admit to the failings of people we love. It diminishes our own good opinion of ourselves. Your husband ruined my son’s career.”

Lori thought of protesting, of telling Mrs. Ashe she was dead wrong, that she should ask her son why he had left Rob’s law firm, but instead she said, “Jonathan seems very happy with what he is doing now.” There was no reason to defend Rob to a stubborn and grieving woman. Let her hold on to her convictions, wrong as they might be. They were probably what kept her going.

Mrs. Ashe was silent. It was time to hang up, but Lori had one more question. “Did you know Valerie?”

“As a child, then a teenager, yes. We socialized with her parents on occasion, but when my husband took up Ruth’s cause, we stopped seeing them. My husband wasn’t able to help Ruth and so we never spoke of it again, which is why I forgot. I’ll tell Jonathan you called. I’m sure he’s already sent you a check for the dinner.”

Lori had just sent the bill this morning, and for a moment she felt slighted by Mrs. Ashe’s assumption that the only thing she would have to discuss with Jonathan was the money he owed her. Then she shook the slight off her shoulders with a shrug, wished Mrs. Ashe good night, and hung up.

Lori was only halfway across the kitchen when the phone rang.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Mrs. Ashe said.

“You’re not disturbing me.” Lori reached over for a chair and sat down.

“Perhaps you can help me,” Mrs. Ashe said. “I am having difficulty with the thought that Ruth could be the culprit. You see, if she wanted revenge for what Valerie did to her, wouldn’t she have acted years ago? Why kill Valerie now?”

“I told Mrs. Ashe I didn’t know,” Lori said to Beth the next morning as she pulled an oversized T-shirt and baggy pants over her gym clothes.

“But you do know.” Beth had joined Lori in a Pilates mat class, claiming it was the only way to catch her. The previous night Beth had called again after nine thirty, but Lori hadn’t answered the phone.

“I don’t want Mrs. Ashe to get more involved than she has to.”

“But then she won’t tell the police about Ruth and Valerie.” Beth had taken a shower and was now dressed in a short-sleeved beige linen dress, combing her hair in front of the full length mirror in the dressing room.