It wasn’t too long ago that he’d had a heart attack, but tonight he showed no signs of lingering health problems. He looked smooth, suave, sophisticated. Like always.
He kissed my cheeks. Aiden rose and held out a hand. My father looked at him for a long moment while he shook. I knew that look. My father was making a match.
I held out my hand for the cuff links. Dad placed them in my palm. “When will the girls be arriving?” he asked.
“Five minutes.”
“Girls?” Aiden asked.
I pushed the cuff link through the slit in my father’s cuff. “Marisol and Em are coming for dinner.”
“I didn’t know.” Aiden pushed away his empty plate.
I hadn’t wanted to tell him. I knew how he felt about Em and had hoped he’d be gone before she arrived.
“Have you met the girls?” my father asked him, an arch to his left eyebrow.
“A few times,” Aiden said. He’d turned a pale shade of red.
To take the pressure off, I asked my dad, “Where are you off to tonight all gussied up?”
“L’Espalier.”
“Ooh, la, la. With Mum?” I already knew the answer, but I liked to watch him squirm once in a while.
He adjusted his tie. “Er, no.”
“Anyone I know?”
His face darkened. “No. No one you know.”
“You’re being quite mysterious.”
“And you’re being nosy.”
I flinched at his tone. It was unlike him to be so curt, so hard.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little … stressed.”
I wondered if “stressed” was a euphemism for something else, like, oh, randy. One didn’t go to L’Espalier without romance on the mind. He had been behaving himself lately, ever since the media storm, but I imagined all that celibacy could cause a little stress.
I should know.
But … there was something in his face, a pinch that had me worried. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Fabulous,” he said, the pinch gone just as fast as it had appeared.
“Did you at least get a private room?” I asked, recalling the field day the local papers had had after my father had a heart attack on a Marblehead beach—sans pants and with a woman who wasn’t my mother. The King of Love having an affair? It trumped all other news. If the media had an inkling that he was back on the prowl … I didn’t even want to see those headlines or how they might affect the family business. As far as the public knew, my parents were happily married, and though there were stories of infidelity, there were still those foolish enough not to believe them.
“Lucy Juliet.”
His tone was lighter. More like I was used to.
He straightened the cuff of his jacket. “That’s none of your business.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Impertinence. You get that from your mother.”
“Of course I do.”
According to my father, all my bad qualities came from my mother.
Raphael chuckled.
My father scowled at him.
It only made Raphael laugh harder. “Refill?” he asked me.
I nodded and he poured.
“Have you seen my billfold, Raphael?” my father asked.
“No, but I’ll help look.” Raphael set the wine bottle in front of me (I loved that man) and followed my father upstairs.
Aiden leaned in. “Why didn’t he just ask you where it was?”
“He doesn’t like to abuse my powers more than necessary.”
“What’s necessary?”
“Oh, more than a dozen times a week. He’s already at his limit.” I took a sip of wine. “I’ll help him if I have to.”
Aiden waited a beat, then said, “So, Sarah … ?”
I knew immediately what he was referring to. He had a one-track mind when it came to work.
“I’ll do a reading.”
“Great. I’ll get in touch with Sarah’s mother. Have her call you. She said something about giving Sarah an ankle bracelet. You can probably get a vibe from that.”
I couldn’t help but smile. His belief in my abilities had come a long way. Miles.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“I appreciate it. I should go or I’ll miss the national anthem.”
I knew he wasn’t in a hurry to hear the national anthem. He was in a hurry to get out of here before Em arrived. There was no mistaking the crush he had on her—or how crushed he’d been to learn of her engagement.
“Before you go …” I began.
He pulled on a fleece coat. “What’s on your mind?”
“The letters?”
The muscles in his face hardened. “Nothing yet, Lucy. Waiting on the crime lab. Did you get another one?”
I shook my head. “Do you think the threats are real?”
“No telling, Lucy. Just be careful, okay? The guy is going to slip up sooner or later.”
I nodded, but Aiden’s reassurance brought me little comfort. Staying busy would help. And now that I had Sarah Loehman’s case along with Leo’s … maybe I could forget about the letters altogether.
“I’m going to keep this file, okay?” I flipped through the paperwork on Sarah Loehman and tried not to think about a potential stalker.
“It’s yours.”
I jumped at a knock on the front door. Marisol sailed in. “Oh my God. Wine. Good stuff too. I love Raphael.”
Em stood near the marble console table, frozen as if her feet had been cemented to the floor. Her gaze had landed squarely on Aiden.
Aiden stared at her with wide blue eyes.
It didn’t take a psychic to see how he felt.
“I, ah, was just leaving,” he said.
“You don’t have to go.” Em set down her handbag and hung her coat on the rack.
Marisol elbowed me, eyebrows raised and waggling. I could practically read her mind about how Aiden could be a great tool in getting rid of Joseph.
No way. Uh-uh. That was much too risky.
Color rose along Em’s neck. She raised her hand to her throat as if trying to keep the heat in check. There was no missing the giant rock on her ring finger.
Aiden stammered. “S-sorry, but I can’t stay. I have, ah, the national anthem …” He glanced around like a caged animal. “Tell Raphael I said thanks.”
He made his escape before any of us could get a word out.
“That was interesting,” Marisol said, taking his vacated stool after grabbing a wine glass.
“What was?” Em slid onto the stool on my other side.
“Come on, you’d have to be blind not to see it.”
“See what?” Em said, finding great interest in the tines of a fork.
“The way he looked at you! I want a guy to look at me like that.”
“You’re seeing things,” she said.
Marisol gaped at me. “Lucy, tell her.”
Em tipped her head, waiting. The three of us had been friends for so long, there was little we didn’t share with each other, including our love lives. But this … this flirtation between Em and Aiden … it wasn’t something I wanted to delve into. I was already feeling guilty for breaking and entering into her private life. “I didn’t see anything.” I sipped my wine.
“Lucy!” Marisol cried, her dark bob swaying. “How could you?”
“How’s Butch?” Em asked Marisol, blatantly trying to turn the tables.
Butch, Marisol’s latest boyfriend, also happened to be Aiden’s roommate. I could imagine the phone call he’d be getting tonight. Would Marisol be able to rope him into her plans?
Undoubtedly. She had that effect on men.
“All right,” Marisol said.
“Just all right?” Em asked.
I kept silent, already having had this conversation today. I poured myself another glass of wine and filled a glass for Em too.
“Why don’t you break up with him?” Em asked.
“He looks just like Mat
t Damon!”
I laughed. Marisol cracked a smile. Em shook her head.
“I know I ought to end it,” Marisol whined, “but Christmas is coming up. I hate being alone at Christmas.”
No one liked being alone during the holidays, and with Valentine’s Day fast approaching, my father would be working long hours to match lovers. This was one of the busiest times of the year for Valentine, Inc.
I knew I’d spent far too many holidays alone. This year would be different. I had Sean. And maybe, finally, our relationship would move out of slow motion and creep into something less torturous.
“It’s no reason to stay with someone,” Em lectured, her red hair tamed into a ponytail that snaked over one shoulder.
“And what is?” Marisol countered. “Comfort and familiarity? Like you and Joseph?”
I gaped, shocked. Not because she’d asked the question, but because she’d actually said his name.
Em sputtered. “What are you trying to say, Marisol?”
Marisol pushed her glass back and forth across the quartz countertop. Soft wrinkles burrowed on her forehead, her expression serious. Softly, she said, “Have you gotten your Christmas tree yet?”
I refilled all our wine glasses and looked around for another bottle. It was going to be that kind of night.
“Not yet,” Em admitted.
“Why not?” Marisol pressed.
“Joseph’s been working long hours.”
Marisol raised her eyebrows.
“And not just him,” Em added. “I’ve been working hard on the wedding now that my mother isn’t talking to me.”
Em’s mother had been outraged when her daughter gave up her M.D. to teach five-year-olds, which, according to her, was “beneath a Baumbach.”
“They’re saying they won’t pay for the wedding”—Em sipped her wine—“and are threatening to cut me off altogether.”
Marisol gasped. “They can’t do that.”
“They can,” Em said. “I’ve had to contact almost all the vendors and cancel. It’s like starting all over again. My budget is shot.”
I felt the color drain from my face. Em’s wedding was an elaborate affair her mother had orchestrated. The price tag had been well over half a million dollars.
“What’s Joseph say about all this?” I asked.
“He’s not too happy about the money.”
“That’s because he’s cheap,” Marisol said, sniffing the air. “I’m starving.”
“He’s not cheap,” Em countered. “He’s … frugal.”
Marisol squawked like a chicken, “Cheap, cheap, cheap.”
I stood, wobbled a little—I should cut back on the wine—and gathered three plates from the cabinet.
Em glanced at me, desperation tingeing the blue in her eyes. “Is there more wine?”
I grabbed a bottle from the rack, used Raphael’s fancy corkscrew, and poured.
Secretly, I had to agree with Marisol. I was under the suspicion that the minimalist design in Em and Joseph’s condo had nothing to do with style and everything to do with dollar signs.
I pictured him finding out that he had to foot the bill for his wedding and help pay for Em to go back to school while she was bringing in no income …
My smile fizzled.
Considering how cheap he was, he must really love her. A pang of guilt swept through me.
Shit. What had I gotten myself into, agreeing to Marisol’s crazy plan?
Em sighed. “I really do want a Christmas tree. I found the sweetest angel topper at the Christmas Tree Shop in Pembroke.”
Marisol jumped up. “Then we should go get one.”
“Now?” I asked, scooping pasta.
“Right now,” Marisol said, checking the thin gold watch on her wrist. “I’m working the graveyard tonight.”
Marisol, a vet, volunteered hours at a local animal hospital downtown at night and worked during the day at a vet clinic in Quincy. I suspected it wouldn’t be long before she had her own office.
Em’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
I put the plate down, glanced at Marisol, and couldn’t say no when I saw the softness in her eyes. “Okay, I’m in.”
Em let out a little happy squeal. It was the most animated I’d seen her in a while. Maybe Marisol was right. Em wasn’t happy with Joseph.
Em slid off her stool. “I’m going to run to the washroom—be right back.”
As soon as the door to the guest bath clicked closed, Marisol said, “Did you get the stuff?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait.”
“Look, I don’t think—”
My objection was interrupted by the sound of feet on the stairs. My father and Raphael were discussing facial hair.
I tried not to groan.
“Good evening, Marisol,” Dad said, kissing her cheek.
Marisol let out a wolf whistle.
My father soaked it in, even did a little twirl for her.
Em emerged from the bathroom, still beaming. “I’m going to get a Christmas tree.”
Dad kissed her cheek. “How lovely.”
“You look spiffy,” she said, fussing with his lapels.
He looked over her head at me with an expression that clearly asked how much we’d had to drink.
I held up two fingers to signal just a little.
Then his gaze narrowed on the empty wine bottle.
That’s what I got for not recycling.
“A fancy date with Judie?” Em asked, slipping on her coat.
“Um, er, no,” my father answered Em.
“No?”
“No.”
“Back to reality?” she asked him.
I couldn’t help the smile. He and Mum had been faking it all over town these last few weeks, trying to keep up the image of a happily married couple. Last I heard, they were both ready to strangle each other.
Dad looked at me. “She’s impertinent too.”
“Does she get it from Mum?”
“Of course.”
“You’re going now?” Raphael asked us.
“A tree must be got,” Marisol said to Raphael, kissing his cheeks. “No time to waste.”
“Rain check?” I asked him, my head spinning a bit as I tried to keep up with the conversations.
“I’ll hold you to it, Uva.”
I wrapped my scarf around my neck as Raphael held open the door for us. Em and Marisol were giggling as they called for the elevator.
“Lucy?” my father said. “A moment?”
I stepped back inside and had another pang of guilt as I saw Raphael ladling cacciatore into Tupperware. “Something wrong?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Em? She’s due to be married soon, correct?”
Dad had yet to meet the elusive Joseph. “Not if Marisol has her way.”
“Ah. She still doesn’t care for him?”
I shook my head.
He retrieved a long coat and a silk scarf from the closet. “Well, Lucy, she may be on to something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your friend Aiden?” He looped the white scarf around his neck, making him look even more dashing.
“Yeah?” Woozy, I leaned against the door frame.
“And Em?”
I was desperately trying to follow along. “Yeah?”
“Their auras are a perfect match.”
5
It was late. By the time Em, Marisol, and I bought a tree and dragged it back to Em’s place to decorate, I’d missed the last commuter train out of the city and had to take a very long, very expensive taxi ride to the train station in Cohasset. I’d had to scrape ice from my windshield in the parking lot, but thankfully home was only a few minutes away.
My brand-new GPS unit glowed in the darkness of the car, its soft light comforting even though I didn’t need the system right now—I knew these roads like the back of my hand. However, I foresaw
a lot of traveling with Lost Loves, and the GPS would come in handy once business took off.
I carefully navigated the narrow lanes leading to Aerie, Dovie’s cliffside estate. Bare branches hovered over two copper mailboxes standing side by side along a small half-moon dirt turnoff just before Aerie’s drive. I checked my rearview mirror to make sure I hadn’t been followed (all clear), pulled up to the second box, reached in and scooped out a stack of mail.
Setting the pile on the passenger seat, I cut the wheel sharply, turning between two stacked stone columns. To my right, a wooden sign that read AERIE in elegant script glowed from a hidden up-light. Graceful garden lanterns lined the sides of the lane, guiding me up the sloped, twisting gravel driveway. Around a bend, Dovie’s house suddenly appeared as if by magic, a sprawling classic century-old New England estate, complete with weathered shingles, gorgeous slate roof, juts, jogs, angles, and utter elegance. It was decked out in sedate white Christmas lights, twinkling happily.
Forgoing her three-car garage, I veered to the right, off the main drive. A crushed shell lane led down to home sweet home.
The one-bedroom guest cottage, shingle style in design, was almost all windows, mostly arched. A narrow wraparound front porch with wooden archways curved around the foundation. Throw in the antique front door, stone steps, and attic dormer, and charm oozed from its rafters.
Colorful Christmas lights dripped from the edges of the eaves, wrapped the columns on the front porch, and adorned the dormers, door frame, and windows.
A brisk, icy breeze blew off the ocean, swept across the yard. A fieldstone path led to the porch, flanked on each side by a short boxwood hedge. In the warmer months, flowering annuals would color the way to my door. I turned up my collar, slipped the key in the lock, and turned the dead bolt.
The circles on the alarm keypad blinked a bright red, blending well with the whole Christmas theme. I punched in my code as my cautious gaze swept the open layout, bouncing like a racquetball from the small Christmas tree near the fireplace, into the kitchen, over the breakfast bar into the tiny dining room, and beyond into my bedroom. Other than the fact that I’d forgotten to make my bed that morning, everything seemed just right.