An Affair to Dismember (22 page)

“Something about me?”

I looked at my nails and played with the door handle. Holden pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned off the motor.

“Something about me?” he asked again.

“Holden, how do you know Father Lawrence?”

“I just told you how.”

“Why does he think you’re arranging to get something from Randy Terns?” I asked.

“Because I told him at the cemetery right in front of you, remember? You’re the one who decided to make up that little story.”

“Oh.” Could it be that simple?

“Chuck Costas is still alive,” I said.

Holden blinked. “What?”

“Chuck Costas is alive. I heard Father Lawrence tell another guy. He said Chuck Costas is still alive. I’m too nosy for my own good, and if you don’t come through for them, they’re going to have to do something serious and permanent. Oh, yeah, and Chuck is angry.”

“None of this makes sense. We saw the grave,” he said.

“Chuck is going to be at the church for confession this afternoon, right before dinner. I have to meet Officer Fred at Tea Time at two first. I’m going to match him,” I said.

“There’s only one Catholic church in town. So that simplifies things.” Holden looked at his watch. “If we rush, we can get your grandmother her tacos, meet Fred at Tea Time, and make it to church on time.” He smiled. “Get me to the church on time. That has a nice ring to it.”

I melted in a heap on my seat. Holden had a way of making my hormones swarm like killer bees.

GRANDMA’S FAVORITE tacos were sold off the back of a truck in the little park on Main Street in the historic district. Holden hopped out of the car, but I stayed in my seat.

“You’re not coming?” he asked through the open window.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“How many do you want?”

“Me? None!”

“If the tacos are so bad, why don’t we go somewhere else?” he asked.

“They’re not bad,” I said. “They’re the most delicious tacos ever made. Grandma only eats tacos from here.”

Holden raised an eyebrow and went off to buy the tacos. After a couple of minutes he came back with a bag that was bursting at the seams. He shuddered and started the motor.

“I didn’t notice at first,” Holden said. “Then he took my money, and I got an eyeful. Does the CDC know about this place?”

“Grandma says he makes the best tacos, and she doesn’t care if she catches smallpox or leprosy eating them.”

Holden looked at the bag of tacos longingly. They smelled out of this world. “Maybe they’re worth a small case of dysentery. If I eat one, will you ever kiss me again?” he asked seriously.

“It will never be the same,” I said.

“Fair enough. I guess I’ll never know what the best tacos taste like.”

AFTER WE dropped off the tacos at Grandma’s, we headed to Tea Time. As agreed, Holden and I split up once we entered. He chose a table in the corner next to the tea cozies. I made a beeline for Fred, who was the only other customer in the restaurant. He sat at the table in the center of the room. He was smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand when he saw me. His face turned up in a wide grin, and he stood up to greet
me, upending the table and sending the china teapot and service for two crashing to the ground.

“Damn that girl!” Ruth hollered from the back.

“It wasn’t me!” The voice came from behind the bar. It was an unnatural squeak, like the rats of NIMH had escaped. Julie’s head popped up. I didn’t know if she had been hiding or taking a nap. Some of her hair had escaped her ponytail, and she pulled it back behind her ear.

I checked out Fred to see if he had noticed Julie and if sparks had flown, but he was too preoccupied with the disaster he had wrought.

“Oh, gee,” he said. He lifted the table over his head out of the way of the mess and searched for a place to put it down amid the shards of porcelain that littered the floor.

Ruth stormed out front and stomped her foot. “Don’t just stand there, girl. Grab a broom and clean it up.”

“It wasn’t me,” Julie squeaked.

“Clean it up before the man freezes like that,” Ruth grunted, and rolled her eyes.

Fred’s arms had started to wobble with the strain of the weight of the table. To his credit, he didn’t yell obscenities at Julie as she hemmed and hawed and whined before getting the broom. But once she did, she was efficient, sweeping up the mess in a matter of seconds, maybe because of all the practice she got from her own mishaps. Anyway, a couple of minutes later, Fred and I were sitting at the table. Julie reset it with china on top of lace doilies. Fred clutched my hand in his, pinning his love-struck doe eyes on my face and sighing loudly.

“How lovely you set the table,” I told Julie. “Doesn’t Julie have a knack with tables, Fred?”

Julie swatted the hair from her face. She stared at me as if noticing me for the first time.

“Hi, Julie,” I said. “I’m Gladie, and this is Fred. I’m a
friend of your great-aunt. She’s said marvelous things about you.”
Like you’re Friday the thirteenth with legs
. “I love how you mismatched the china, putting different patterns together. It’s very modern,” I continued.

“Oh,” Julie said. “Darn. I goofed, again. Don’t tell Auntie. I’ll go get the other pattern.” She picked up my teacup and saucer and passed Ruth as she wandered away into the back.

Ruth beamed at me. “Couldn’t stay away from my peach iced tea? I’m so glad you finally came to your senses.”

“Actually, I could really go for a latte. Triple shot,” I said.

I flinched, expecting her to throw something at me or at least pull my hair, but Ruth kept her cool. She sniffed. “I should have known. And what do you want, Red? Are you with her? You want coffee?” She drew out the word “coffee” in a long, threatening manner, but Fred was too distracted to notice.

“Sure. I like those iced coffee drinks. You got caramel sauce to go on top?”

“Caramel sauce?” she asked.

I put a protective arm out in front of Fred.

“He didn’t mean that,” I said. “You can skip the caramel sauce.”

Ruth turned on her heel, muttering, “Caramel sauce.”

She stopped off at Holden’s table. “You want some kind of coffee drink, too?” she asked him. “You expecting caramel sauce, too? Chocolate? What?”

Holden tilted his head to the side, the picture of magnanimous patience. “Lapsang souchong tea. Steeped for three minutes. No milk, sugar, or honey, please.”

I couldn’t help but notice the small smile of victory Holden threw at me.

“A man who knows tea,” said Ruth. “A man who
knows tea,” she repeated louder in case we hadn’t heard. “I’ll brew it myself.”

I doubted my latte was going to arrive anytime soon, if at all, and Fred’s chances of an iced coffee were worse than hitting the $100,000 jackpot on the nickel slots.

“Julie sure is cute,” I said. I pulled my hand out of his grip. “Don’t you think she’s cute, Fred?”

“Who?”

“Julie, our waitress.”

“Yeah, sure. You look great. I like you in jeans. You look pretty in dresses, too.”

“Julie’s wearing jeans,” I said. “She has such a cute little figure. Pretty, too.”

“I guess so. I’ve got tickets to the monster truck rally next week. You want to come with me?”

A drop of sweat rolled down my face. How had I gotten things so screwed up? I’d sucked face with my first potential match, and now my second potential match wanted to take me to the monster truck rally, which I assumed was the last step before he proposed. I didn’t want to fail with Fred’s match. I had had a strong feeling down in my gut the moment I saw Julie. It was like a blaze of light, a lightning strike, and I knew absolutely that Julie and Fred should be together. Was that the feeling my grandmother spoke about? Was she right about me being like her? I searched for the feeling again, and sure enough, it was right there in the pit of my stomach where I left it. I knew Fred and Julie were meant for each other. I knew they would fall in love and live happily ever after.

“Next week? I don’t think I can make the monster truck rally, Fred. Besides, I hate monster truck rallies,” I said.

Fred flinched.

I moved my chair next to him. “Julie likes monster truck rallies,” I whispered in his ear. “Pretty Julie with
her cute figure in her jeans sitting next to you, watching the big trucks.”

As if on cue, Julie brought me a new cup to match the other setting. She exhaled, sending a lock of red hair flying off her face to reveal her button nose and blue eyes.

“Ask her,” I whispered.

“You like monster truck rallies?” he asked.

“Um, I guess so. If it’s outside. I don’t like to be shut up inside with a lot of people,” Julie answered.

Click click click
. I heard the cogs of Fred’s brain settling into place.

“I don’t like to be shut up inside small places,” he said.

Julie shuddered. “Me neither. I got locked in the closet here. I thought I was going to die.”

“I almost died in a small glass box,” he said.

Fred’s love-struck doe eyes were now fully focused on Julie.

Julie’s focus was elsewhere. She stared toward the back of the store. “That’s nice,” she said absentmindedly, and walked away. Fred popped up and ran after her, loudly regaling her with the wonders of monster truck rallies as he went.

Success. It was a wonderful thing. The tune to “Boogie Fever” played in my head, and I whistled it as I strutted to Holden’s table.

“That looked successful,” he said.

“
Cha-ching
. I’ll get a check from him when things settle down,” I said.

“You made it look easy.”

I twirled around. “ ‘Boogie fever, I think it’s going around,’ ” I sang. “I’m in a really good mood. I don’t think I’ve been in this good a mood in months. You know what? I think everything has turned around for me. I’ve got a handle on matchmaking. Now we’re
going to find Chuck Costas and have the police throw his butt in jail. I should probably play the lottery, too. I can’t lose!

“Ruth, bring me out my latte,” I called. “I feel a party coming on.”

Ruth brought Holden a gold teapot and put it on the table with a proud flourish. “I steeped it in my best china,” she said. “I don’t usually use this for customers, but I can tell you’re different. Don’t let the girl near it. If she breaks it, I’ll lose years off my life.”

“Don’t worry.” Holden’s deep voice dripped charm. “The moment I’m done, I’ll return it to you personally. It’s the most beautiful teapot I’ve ever seen.”

Ruth’s eyes shined with pride. She sure liked tea.

“Where’s my latte?” I asked.

She waved in my direction. “Shh. He’s about to taste it. You’ll get your travel cup when I’m good and ready.”

Holden poured the black tea into his cup and took a sip. He closed his eyes and, after a moment of obvious appreciation, swallowed. He opened his eyes and smiled.

“The best Lapsang souchong I’ve ever tasted, Miss Fletcher. Really.”

Ruth slapped her hands together and gushed, “I’ve got little tea sandwiches that will go perfectly with it. On the house. I’ll be right back.” She leaned down and looked me in the eye. “Sandwiches for one. They don’t go at all well with lattes.”

“That’s okay. I’m not hungry,” I said, but I was starving. I hadn’t eaten lunch, and my stomach growled in protest. I could have eaten at least a dozen tea sandwiches.

Holden stood and took my hand. “Actually, we’re strapped for time. Please allow me to pick up the check for both of us, and then we really must be going.”

Ruth’s face fell like the
Hindenburg
, in flames and in
slow motion, like the greatest achievement of our generation had failed miserably, bringing her great and irreparable disappointment.

Holden tossed a twenty on the table. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m able, Miss Fletcher,” he said. “How could I stay away from such marvelous tea?”

The tiniest of twinkles returned to Ruth’s eyes. “The moment I saw you, I said to myself, ‘There’s a tea drinker. A real one,’ ” she said.

I gave Holden a good hard look. He was not what I would have described as a tea type. He was lumberjack material, someone who drank his coffee thick as mud with a shot of whiskey mixed in. Nevertheless, before we left, after minimal additional begging, Ruth made me a latte.

Holden unlocked the passenger door of his truck.

“Holden, you’re not really a tea drinker, are you?” I asked.

“I like tea.”

“Oh.”

“I like tea and coffee and bourbon and brandy. I don’t like wine. Never have. Don’t know why.”

As he spoke, he took a couple of steps forward, pushing my body against the truck. His heat made me warm all over. My fingers curled into his shirt, and my breathing stopped.

“Fred was right. You look good in jeans,” he said. He trailed languid kisses down the side of my neck. My latte fell and hit the ground with a loud splat. I stumbled, and he held me up, pulling me into a tight embrace. I felt my pores dilate and my hair grow. All my senses were heightened, and I moaned.

“We’re on Main Street in a small town,” I said, either out loud or in my head. In any case, Holden wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t slowing down. He didn’t care what the neighbors thought. He moved from my neck to
my lips, parting them and taking my mouth with a strong urgency. My arms encircled his waist and traveled up under his shirt. His body was hard as nails and mine, mine, mine. My head swam in a sea of hormones, and I was wondering if it was possible to get pregnant like that, fully clothed, standing on Main Street, when Holden broke the kiss.

“Tastier than Lapsang souchong,” he said. “Definitely much tastier.”

I rested my forehead on his chest as I tried to catch my breath.

“I might need a defibrillator,” I said.

“That’s for when your heart stops. Did your heart stop?”

“No, it’s going at a pretty good clip.”

“Then you’re fine.”

“CHUCK COSTAS did it, did it, did it,” I sang. Holden parked the truck in front of the Catholic church.

“Maybe just ‘did it, did it.’ There were only two deaths,” Holden observed.

“How about you? You think he did it? I think he did it. Faking his own death? The priest lying for him? He did it. This is classic Hitchcock. This is classic PBS
Mystery
.”