Olivia arrived at the Bon Vivant a few minutes before five p.m. and found it already filling up. The restaurant had been open less than a month. Chatterley Heights residents had quickly discovered its charms, and a recent excellent review in the Baltimore Sun was now luring in more diners from the surrounding area. This was Olivia’s first look inside.
Del hadn’t yet arrived. The hostess—a tall, elegant redhead with a brilliant smile—skimmed around closely packed tables as she guided Olivia to a table for two next to a window. She pulled out a chair for Olivia and said, “The sheriff specifically requested one of our quieter tables with a view. May I bring you a glass of our house merlot while you wait?”
“I’ll start with coffee, thanks. Cream and sugar.”
The hostess flashed her snow-white incisors and disappeared. Within moments, a server appeared at the table with Olivia’s coffee and two thick menus. Olivia sipped as she gazed out the window at a brick patio bordered with pink and red tea roses, all showcased against the lush hills in the distance. This was what kept her in Maryland despite the dripping heat of late summer. All this and cookies, too.
“What? No merlot?” Olivia jumped at the sound of Del’s voice. Her chair started to tilt; Del steadied it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m too used to sneaking up on people.”
“Do you plan to tell everyone in town that I like a glass of merlot now and then?”
Del grinned. “Everyone knows already. And just to warn you, everyone knows about your thing for pizza, too.”
“I’ve watched you down quite a few slices,” Olivia said. “Not to mention the ever-present ham-and-cheese sandwiches.” Skimming her menu, she said, “Oh look, they serve pizza here. With roasted artichoke hearts and prosciutto, which make it both healthy and ham-like. Want to share one?”
“Sounds good to me.” Del caught the waiter’s eye. “And how about that glass of merlot?”
“Make it Chianti, in deference to the pseudo-Italian nature of the meal. And only if you will join me.” Olivia had not forgotten that wine was a key part of her plan to find out what Del had learned about the break-in at The Vegetable Plate.
“Done.” Del handed over the menus and leaned on his elbows on the table. “You look nice. I like the thing you did with your hair.”
“Thanks,” Olivia said with both pleasure and relief. She knew she should have worn one of her three dresses, but she planned to go directly from dinner to her mother’s rumba class. “The thing I did with my hair,” Olivia said, “is a barrette. That’s a technical term.”
“Unless it has to do with weapons, I won’t remember it,” Del said. “As promised, this meal is on me, with thanks for donating your time and cookies to help identify the man you saw leaving Charlene’s store.” Their wine arrived, and they clinked glasses. “Nice,” Del said after his first sip. He gave Olivia a smile that warmed her from the inside, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen for some time. She almost hated to pester him for information. However.
“Sorry I couldn’t positively identify the intruder as Charlie Critch,” Olivia said. “Although I liked the kid, so I’m also glad. He and Jason have become buddies. Of course, Jason likes Charlene, too, so he might not be the best judge of character.” Olivia sipped her wine and vowed to memorize the label. She wasn’t normally a fan of Chianti, but this stuff was tasty. “So do you have any specific reason to suspect that Charlie might be the intruder?”
Del’s smile faded, but at least he didn’t start ordering her to stay out of the investigation. “We don’t have much at all yet. I’ve heard a great deal of gossip about their parents, but Charlene and Charlie are both strangely hard to investigate.”
“Strangely?” Olivia asked.
“These days we can usually learn a lot about folks simply by searching for them on the Internet. But not these kids. As far as we can tell, neither of them uses sites like Facebook or Twitter or has a blog or even posts messages on anyone else’s sites.”
“Is it too much to hope that either of them has a police record? Come on, Del, don’t make that face at me. I’m not simply curious. I’m not a gossip, either. The Gingerbread House is right next door to The Vegetable Plate, plus I suspect that whoever trashed Charlene’s store did the same to our front lawn. So yeah, I need to know.”
Del took a slow sip of his wine, let his gaze roam around the restaurant, squinted at the view from the window, and sipped again. Olivia felt like canceling the pizza, pouring the wine on his head, and stalking out. Instead she said, “Nice try. Not going to work.”
Del shook his head and laughed. “Lord help me if I ever have to interrogate you.”
“I guess you’ll have to assign someone else to do it. Or a whole team.”
“You’d make mincemeat out of them.”
“Oh please. Mincemeat? Decorated cookies, maybe.” Olivia reached across the table and touched Del’s hand with her fingertips. “I know you’re worried for my safety, and I do appreciate that, but I hope you trust me to be rational. I’m not a danger addict. If a crime doesn’t affect me or those I care about, I’ll gladly leave it entirely to you.”
“Except you seem to wind up caring about everyone you meet,” Del said. “I believe you even care about Charlene Critch. Or is it really curiosity?”
Olivia drew her hand away. “A bit of both, I guess. Charlene can be profoundly irritating, no doubt about it, but there’s also something lost about her. Mom told me she’d heard that Charlene was married briefly but her father had the marriage annulled.”
Del frowned. “We looked for an ex-husband, but Charlene insisted she’d never been married, and we’ve found no record of a marriage. Usually we can unearth an annulment, but apparently the paperwork, if there was any, has disappeared. The Critch family was wealthy and powerful. Charles Sr. made it a point to curry the favor of people with clout. However, if there’s an ex-husband, we’ll find him eventually through friends and relatives.”
“I suppose you’ve dug into her brother Charlie’s past? Through official channels, I mean.”
Del had apparently decided to trust Olivia, at least up to a point, because he answered without hesitation. “I’ve been checking with my sources in the DC Police Department. Nothing solid, but one buddy of mine said he’d heard the kid had a juvie record, which would be sealed. We ought to be able to dig it up, but for some reason we’ve come up empty so far. Has Jason mentioned anything about Charlie?”
“No, but I can grill him,” Olivia said. “And speaking of food preparation, I believe that’s our pizza wending toward us.”
As their pizza and house salads arrived, Del added, “By the way, thanks for forwarding Binnie Sloan’s blog link. She gave us the original photo, and we sent it along to the crime lab in Baltimore. Their photo expert might be able to enhance the guy’s face in Charlene’s window.”
“I’m impressed,” Olivia said. “How did you snag the original from Binnie without a warrant and a lengthy court fight?” She selected a large slice of pizza, one with lots of roasted artichoke hearts, and wedged the narrow end into her mouth before it could collapse.
“Easy,” Del said. “I simply pointed out the consequences if they continued to take photos of you without your knowledge and permission. I informed them that The Gingerbread House is private property, along with your home and land, and that you had a legal right to bar both her and her niece from setting foot on or in either of them. Of course, they can still photograph you from the sidewalk, but if you forbid them from entering your store or even standing at the windows, it will seriously cramp their style.”
“Wow,” Olivia said. “Thank you.”
“All part of the service.”
As they both reached for a second piece of pizza, Olivia asked, “So does all this mean we are friends again?”
Del paused in mid-reach and raised his eyebrows. “Had we stopped being friends?”
Spreading some dressing on her salad of baby greens, Olivia thanked genetics for her blush-resistant skin. “It’s just that . . . a few months ago, it seemed maybe we were becoming more than friends. Or was I imagining things?” She wrapped her mouth around an extra-large forkful of salad in a clear case of nervous eating.
Del gave her free hand a quick, hard squeeze. “You weren’t imagining things, but . . .”
Olivia wanted to encourage him to keep talking, but her mouth was crammed with greens. She tried to say “But what?” with her mouth full. It came out as “Ga-uh?”
Del threw his head back and laughed. A couple at a nearby table glanced at him and gave each other a knowing smile. “Okay,” Del said once he’d quieted down. “If you promise not to choke yourself with green stuff, I’ll talk. It’s about your ex-husband. No, hear me out. I know you assured me the marriage is over, dead, never to be revived. And I know you were being sincere.” Del picked a bit of crust off his plate and ate it.
Olivia sipped her wine and waited for him to elaborate, though it cost her a jittery stomach.
With a sigh, Del leaned toward Olivia. “Ryan is an impressive guy,” he said. “I’ll grant you he has a controlling nature, though when he suddenly showed up in your store, he did seem to be making an effort to lighten up. I think he wants you back.”
“Not a chance,” Olivia said. Her ex-husband had driven from Baltimore and appeared at The Gingerbread House without warning in mid-summer. He had babbled nonstop about his plans for a low-cost surgery clinic for the working poor, all the while pacing the sales floor and talking over customers who had questions about store items. To Olivia, it was an example of the best and the worst of Ryan. His enthusiasm could be infectious and alluring, but he often forgot that his listeners were separate from him and might have their own plans for their lives. Worst of all, Ryan had been in full swing when Del dropped in to ask if Olivia might be interested in dinner and a movie that evening. He couldn’t find a place to break into Ryan’s monologue, so he finally left. Olivia only found out Del’s intentions much later, after the warmth between them abruptly cooled.
“Some breaks can’t be mended,” Olivia said. “Ryan has a good side, and that’s what you saw, although you have to admit he was self-absorbed, too. The real problem is he tends to lose interest in his ideas once they demand too much time and administrative work. He loves to do surgery, and surgery is where he shines. He seemed to be making an effort to be less controlling because he wants me to move back to Baltimore and take care of all the stuff he hates to do. If I’m going to oversee a business, I’d much rather it be mine.”
“I can understand that,” Del said as a waiter arrived to refill their coffee cups. They both shook their heads when he asked if they wanted dessert. When the waiter was out of earshot, Del said, “I do think there was more to it. I think he misses you, and who wouldn’t? Maybe you need to think about his offer for a while.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Teasing, Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. “Or wait, I get it. You’ve been listening to Charlene Critch, and you’ve decided I’ve brought too much sugar into your life.”
“Or maybe not enough,” Del said with a lopsided grin.
Olivia glanced at her watch and said reluctantly, “I’ve got to run. My mom’s rumba lesson begins in fifteen minutes.” But she stayed put and tilted her head at Del. “You’ve pulled back,” she said. “That’s your right, of course, only . . .” She sipped her coffee, took a deep breath, and asked, “Is Ryan the whole reason, or is there more?”
Del stared down into his coffee cup, out the window, anywhere but in her direction.
“You are free not to answer, of course,” Olivia said. “Only, could you give me a verbal hint whether you plan to answer in the next three minutes or not? It’s just that Mom’s rumba lesson waits for no one, not even her one precious daughter.”
Del’s smile was fleeting. “You have a right to know, though I’d appreciate your keeping this between us. In a sense, it’s about Ryan, but more about you. I mean you in relation to Ryan,” he added when he saw the stricken expression on Olivia’s face. “My marriage . . . Livie, I know it isn’t fair to make this comparison, but I can’t help it. My marriage ended because my wife left me for her ex-husband.”
“Oh, Del, you—”
“Don’t really want to talk about it right now,” Del said. In a softer tone, he added, “If I’m not mistaken, it’s time to rumba.”
An unusual number of well-to-do families had settled in and around Chatterley Heights, which made the town a destination for hungry artists of all types, especially those willing and able to teach. Olivia’s mother, Ellie, took full advantage of the opportunities available. On Monday evenings, she would be at her Latin dancing lesson.
The Chatterley Heights Dance Studio occupied a small building located southeast of the town square. A sister team of seamstresses had occupied the building until the early 1960s. The sisters died long before Olivia was born, but her mother had often described the elegant ball gowns and bridal trousseaus she’d admired in the large display window. Ellie had been a little girl in the fifties, but she remembered in vivid detail the delicate embroidery and tiny beads hand-stitched to satin gowns. Ellie had called it sweet karma that, after standing empty for years, the building was renovated for a dance studio. Grateful for the opportunity, underemployed dance teachers came regularly from Baltimore and DC to offer lessons in everything from hip-hop to square dancing.
Through the studio’s front window, Olivia could see the dance floor, which covered what used to be the store’s entire sales area. The dimmed lights left the edges of the room in near darkness. Her mother appeared to be alone on the dance floor, practicing some steps. Behind her, a light shone through a doorway, which Olivia guessed was the instructor’s office. If she hurried, maybe she could catch a word with her mother alone.
Olivia stepped inside the building and felt a rush of cool, dry air. Ellie was across the room perfecting a spin that sent her long, gray hair flying out from her back. In contrast with her usual preference for loose, flowing outfits, Ellie wore a red knit dress that hugged her petite figure. A double row of short ruffles flounced around her knees as she executed a quick twisting movement.
Ellie caught sight of Olivia and waved. She held up one finger to say she’d be back in a minute and disappeared into the office. A moment later, music erupted from speakers around the dance floor, and Ellie emerged in the arms of one of the most gorgeous men Olivia had ever seen. He could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty. His tall, lean, perfectly controlled body swayed like silk in the wind, and he possessed a luxurious shock of white-streaked black hair that set off a chiseled face. He looked down at Ellie, who barely reached his shoulders, and smiled in a way that made Olivia feel squeamish.
“Quite a dancer, isn’t he?”
Olivia spun around to find her stepfather, Allan Meyers, standing behind her in the shadows. Allan’s broad, friendly face tightened as he watched his wife twirl away from her instructor, then back into the crook of his arm.
“Name’s Raoul, of course,” Allan said. “Doesn’t seem to need a last name.”
“Something tells me you’re not here for a rumba lesson,” Olivia said.
Allan laughed. “Your mother sang this fellow’s praises so much, I thought I’d have a look-see for myself. Not that I’m worried, mind you.”
“No reason you should be.”
With his eyes glued to Ellie’s movements, Allan asked, “You thinking about rumba lessons, too? You might want to step on it. This guy will be gone in two weeks.” With a sheepish grin, he added, “Not that I’m counting the days.”
The rumba came to an end, and Ellie danced over to them, swaying her hips in a way no daughter should have to witness. Allan handed Ellie a bottle of water from which she took a long swig. “I have a five-minute break while Raoul selects more music. And I’m afraid Allan and I have to leave right after the lesson. We have reservations for a romantic dinner at that new restaurant, Bon Vivant. Allan planned the whole thing.” Ellie flashed a radiant smile at her husband.
Olivia decided not to mention that she’d just had dinner with Del at Bon Vivant. Her mother already dropped enough hints about the two of them. Living in the city had given Olivia a sense of personal privacy that had evaporated about two minutes after she’d moved back to Chatterley Heights.
Ellie took another swallow of water and handed the bottle back to Allan. “Now Livie, on the phone you said you wanted to know about the Critches? I’m afraid I rather lost track of them after they left Chatterley Heights for DC, but one hears things.”
“I think Charlene Critch is hiding something,” Olivia said. “She knows who that prowler was, the one I found in her store. I’m sure of it. Del suspects her brother, Charlie.” Olivia shook her head. “I visited Struts & Bolts and took a good look at him, but I’m not convinced Charlie is the man I saw. He does seem secretive, though. I’d like to know more about him, and about Charlene, too.”
Allan laughed. “You sure came to the right person. When it comes to people, your mother knows all.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Let me think.” Ellie fingered her hair off one shoulder to disentangle it from a dangly earring. “The Critch family moved away from Chatterley Heights about ten years ago, right in the middle of the school year. I remember because it was Jason’s senior year in high school, and he had such a crush on Charlene. After she left, he was down in the dumps for some time and had trouble concentrating. Although it was spring, after all, which undoubtedly had something to do with his distraction. You know what those last months of high school are like. There’s so much on one’s mind, all of it earth-shattering.”
“The minutes march on, Mother.”
“As they so often do when one is constantly reminded of them.” Though Ellie’s tone sounded innocent enough, Allan edged away out of range.
“Point taken,” Olivia said.
“It’s hard for teenagers to adjust to change,” Ellie said.
“Charlene is a couple years younger than Jason, so she was about fifteen when she had to leave all her friends. She was a pretty little thing, not so painfully thin as she is now. It gives her a hard look, don’t you think? I suspect the poor girl has an eating disorder, which shouldn’t be surprising with those parents of hers. So critical, especially Patty. She insisted her children be perfect, which of course children never are. Present company excluded, of course.”
“Liar,” Olivia said. “But back to the intruder?”
“I’m getting there, Livie. You’re so impatient.”
“I thought I was perfect.”
“Now who’s wasting time?” Ellie glanced back over her shoulder as Raoul crooked a come-hither index finger at her. “Hang on a moment, I have an idea.” She glided across the dance floor to Raoul, who leaned down to her as she spoke. He nodded once.
Ellie waved toward Olivia and called, “Come along, both of you.”
“But—”
“No buts, Livie. I refuse to miss a moment of my wonderful lesson.”
Olivia had a bad feeling about what might be coming next. She glanced at her stepfather. With his husky build and hunched shoulders, he reminded her of a bull in the headlights.
As Raoul changed the compact disc, Ellie said, “This will be fun. And so fortuitous! I’ve always wanted both of you to take up dancing. It will keep you young, and wait until you see how exhilarating it is.”
Olivia’s bad feeling worsened.
“We will keep the dance slow and simple.” Raoul looked as if he had arrived yesterday from Latin America, but his accent was slight. “Ellie and I will demonstrate the basic steps of the rumba. We will then separate the ladies from the gentlemen. Or the gentleman, in this case.” Raoul bowed his head in Allan’s direction. “Normally, I would have a dance partner to instruct the ladies. Alas, here I teach alone. Therefore, I will first instruct the gentleman in his movements, and then the ladies in theirs. Ellie has learned the dance quickly and well, so she will dance with her husband. But first, Ellie and I will again demonstrate the rumba, as I noted that the two of you were in conversation while we danced earlier. Please pay careful attention.”
“I really don’t think this is—” As the music interrupted, Olivia shot an alarmed glance at her mother.
Raoul held out his hand to Ellie, who took it and allowed herself to be escorted again to the dance floor. She rested her right hand on Raoul’s upper arm as he reached his left hand to her shoulder blade. Olivia sneaked a peek at Allan’s scowling face. She sympathized. Over Ellie’s head, Raoul called across the floor, “Watch our feet, the steps are quite simple. Think of a square.”
To Olivia, the square image lasted about twenty seconds. After that, the steps made no sense at all. If there was a pattern to them, she couldn’t see it. Ellie and Raoul’s dancing feet seemed to be going everywhere at once, and the hip movements became, to say the least, distracting.
When the dance ended, Raoul turned to Olivia and Allan. “There, you see? One makes a square, with small departures. Slow, quick-quick, slow. It is simple.” With a tight, closed-lip smile, he held out his hand to Allan, who shrank back against the wall. With an elegant shrug, Raoul turned to Olivia and captured her hand. She felt her heart sink to about knee level.
Ellie took one look at her daughter’s face and said, “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot that you need to repeat the steps slowly several times before they make sense to you. I’m afraid you inherited that from your dear father.”
“Ah,” said Raoul. “I shall teach you slowly.”
Ellie slid between them. “That is so perceptive of you, Raoul, but first, perhaps I could try? It would be such good practice for me.” Ellie grabbed Olivia’s hand and dragged her toward the far end of the dance floor. As Raoul started to follow, she said, “No, no, you gentlemen take a break. We won’t be a minute.” Ellie slipped into the office and reappeared as the rumba music began again. She led Olivia to a dimly lit corner and said, “I know you hate this, Livie, and so does Allan, so I regretfully release my dream of having a twinkle-toed family. I shall orchestrate your escape. But first I thought we could talk more easily over here, away from the pressure. Raoul is so forceful.”
Olivia glanced back across the room, where her stepfather and Raoul stood several feet apart, arms crossed over chests, watching them. “But poor Allan is alone with Raoul.” Turning back to her mother, she asked, “Don’t you find Raoul rather intimidating?”
“Not at all, dear. Besides, Allan is more than capable of taking care of himself. By the time we finish, he will probably know all there is to know about the financial aspects of Raoul’s dancing career. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?” She took Olivia’s left hand and placed it against her upper arm. “Now Livie, you may ask your questions, but pay attention, as well. If I’m to give up the remainder of my dance lesson, at least I can have the satisfaction of teaching you a few steps. Now, start with your right foot and step backward. No, sweetie, your other right. That’s it, but slower. Make it sultry. Next, two quick steps.... Now what else did you want to know about the Critches?”
Distracted and struggling to avoid a collision, Olivia stared down at her feet and watched as they completed a square—more or less, if she didn’t count her false steps. So that’s what Raoul meant by thinking about a square. Olivia relaxed a bit and remembered one of the questions she’d wanted to ask about the intruder in The Vegetable Plate. “Um . . . about the man who broke into Charlene’s store,” she said. “Could he be someone from Charlene’s past? Her ex-husband, maybe?”
When her mother didn’t launch into a convoluted story, Olivia glanced up at her face. Ellie’s knitted eyebrows indicated thought. Olivia lost track of her feet and zigzagged right into her mother’s undulating hip. Ellie didn’t miss a step. With gentle pressure, she guided Olivia into position and hesitated a moment as her daughter stumbled back into rhythm.
“I might be thinking of someone else altogether,” Ellie said, unruffled by the mishap. “But I do think that Charlene’s brief, unfortunate marriage was a while back, at least seven or eight years, because I remember thinking how lucky your father and I were that we’d managed to stay happy despite how young we were when we married. I was only nineteen, and your father was twenty. Of course, we’d already lived together for a year at the commune.”
“Too much information, Mom.”
“Oops, I feel a spin coming on,” Ellie said. Olivia jumped out of the way in time to avoid being whacked as her mother flung her arm out.
“I do love those spins,” Ellie said. “Now where was I? Charles Sr. was the key, I think. You will have noticed that both children were named after their father? Arrogance, pure arrogance. Charles Sr. was a plastic surgeon, wildly successful, made piles of money. That’s why they moved to DC. They bought a mansion, I heard, joined all the right clubs, put their children in private schools. Those poor young dears.”
As the intensity of the music built, Olivia knew she was running out of time, but she decided not to interrupt. Her mother’s stories nearly always yielded helpful information and insights. Eventually.
“They became reflections of their parents’ worth, you see,” Ellie said. “They had to look perfect and excel at everything. I remember hearing that Charles suggested Charlene have plastic surgery when she was still a teenager. And little Charlie, he became quite a problem. I believe he was thrown out of more than one private school.”
Olivia decided to keep Charlie on her suspect list for the time being.
Ellie executed a final twirl out and back as the music ended. “Wasn’t that fun?” Her cheeks had pinked up, but her breathing seemed normal.
“Mom, I really am sorry I used up your lesson. Allan said Raoul will be leaving soon.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I haven’t broken it to Allan yet—he’s feeling a bit overshadowed, you know—but Raoul told me during our dance that he likes Chatterley Heights so much, he has decided to stay indefinitely. Isn’t that lovely? Now, about Charlene’s marriage,” she said. “I don’t know the details, but I remember hearing that she married what they call a ‘bad boy,’ which isn’t surprising when you think about it. I believe she was still in high school in DC when they eloped. Charles hired someone to track them down, or so I heard. I don’t know exactly what happened then, but I assume the marriage was unhappy, since I remember hearing about an annulment. Poor Jason has never forgiven himself.” Ellie flipped her hair over her head and fluffed it with her fingers.
“Jason? What does Jason have to do with it?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? Jason is the one who introduced Charlene to the boy. After your father died, Jason felt so lost. Oh, I know you missed him, too, but you went off to college, and Jason sort of floated for a couple of years, keeping so much inside. Then I met Allan, and it all got worse. Jason was a senior by then. His grades began to slide, he didn’t want to go to college, and he started skipping school to hang around with a group of dropouts. At the moment, I’m afraid I don’t remember anything about them, including their names. Jason was secretive during that time. I’m sorry, Livie, I wish I knew more details. Only I suspect that the man Charlene married turned out to have a nasty side.”