Died with a Bow (31 page)

“Any plans for tonight?” Dolce asked hopefully.

I couldn’t bear to say no, so I told her I was going back to my former cooking school.

“I plan to sign up for another class from Guido if he’s still teaching. He’s the celebrity chef at the school and a dynamite teacher. The thing is I really need to learn my way around the kitchen.” Even though my kitchen was so tiny I could stand in the center and reach the stove and the fridge,
as well as the sink, telling Dolce my plan made it more likely that I’d follow through with it. Because the next day she was sure to ask how it went. I couldn’t say I’d flaked out and hadn’t gone. She’d be disappointed in me, and I needed to have a little pressure on me or I’d slip back into my old lazy ways.

I could have said I was going swimming at my health club or shopping at the Marina Safeway, where the produce department was a well-known hook-up spot, or attending a speed-dating party, but I’d save those activities for another night.

“I’m looking forward to another delicious dinner at your house,” she said.

“As soon as I get a few more lessons under my belt I’ll have you and William over to dinner again,” I promised. I was good at promising things and then panicking when it came down to the wire. But how do you try something new if you don’t step out of your comfort zone? Easy for me to say, but harder to do.

I didn’t know if Dolce was still seeing William Hemlock, a dashing retired airline pilot she’d met at a society benefit. I sincerely hoped she still was, though she hadn’t said anything about him lately. We had a few unwritten rules, my boss and I. One was that we didn’t criticize the men in the other person’s life, and two was that we never said “I told you so” when things went wrong. Even though Dolce felt comfortable asking about my social life, I didn’t want to ask her about William in case the news was bad or there just wasn’t any news at all.

Before I left, Dolce took a look outside the bay windows of the Great Room and said I should keep the clothes I was
wearing, seeing that the weather appeared to be cool and gusty out there, but no rain. Then she hugged me and told me to have a good time at cooking school.

“You too,” I said. “Have a nice evening.” I waited for her to say something like, “I’m going to William’s house for a cozy cheese fondue dinner,” or “I’m going to meet his overly possessive grown children at last to see if they approve of me,” but she didn’t say anything about herself. Instead she turned to me.

“I’m worried about you, Rita,” she said, holding me by the shoulders and looking at me with a concerned frown.

“Who me?” I said raising my eyebrows. As if that was a crazy idea. I was fine. Really I was.

“You didn’t seem yourself today, even Frieda Young noticed it when you showed her a bow blouse when she wanted a sweater. She thought you seemed distracted.”

I almost said “Who me?” again but I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry about that. I got off to a bad start today, you know, with the rain and all, and I never readjusted. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” I tried to smile, but my mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“It’s clear to me what’s wrong with you,” she said.

“Oh?” I said. Dolce is very perceptive, and I was afraid she had cottoned to how I was feeling disillusioned about my job, the customers and life in general.

“No murders, no mysteries for you to solve. No police cars outside, no yellow tape around the place. No investigations and no handsome detective hanging around either. This is what you’ve gotten hooked on. Without the excitement of a puzzle to solve, you’re bored, Rita. I knew there was something wrong. I could tell.”

“Me bored? Not at all,” I insisted. I shook my head to
indicate what an absurd idea that was. As if I wanted someone else I knew to be murdered here at the shop or at their home. As if I enjoyed being hauled down to the police station to answer questions no matter how sexy the detective was. I always thought that Dolce was always right. But not this time. If I secretly longed for another murder on our doorstep, I’d know it, wouldn’t I?