LeGarde Mysteries Box Set, page 21
part #1 of LeGarde Mystery Series
I glanced at her, worried she’d disapprove. “Yeah. I guess it is sort of a date, although Maddy and Sadie will be joining us for dinner.” I walked over to the side of the bed and slid my feet into my boat shoes. On the way back, I took Freddie’s hands in mine. “Does it bother you that I’m seeing Camille?”
“Are you kidding? I’m relieved. Now I can stop worrying about you. You were sad for so long, Dad.”
I looked at her pretty face and saw bits of Elsbeth in her high cheekbones and bow-shaped mouth. “I tried not to let it show.”
“Don’t be silly. It was completely normal. Something would’ve been wrong with you if you hadn’t mourned for Mom.”
I sat down beside her and we both glanced up at Elsbeth’s photograph. After several minutes, I sensed Freddie’s mood shifting.
She drew in a deep breath, turned to me, and clasped her hands together. “I have something to tell you.” She flashed a small, conspiratorial smile.
I gave her my full attention. “What is it, honey?”
She just blurted it right out. “You’re going to be a grandpa again. I’m due around Thanksgiving.” Her smile widened and she grasped my hand.
I pulled her over and hugged her. “I’m so happy for you, baby.”
We sat together for a few more minutes, and I ignored the questions I wanted to ask about Harold. He’d seemed repentant lately, and although I found the change in his temperament difficult to swallow, I let the doubts drift away. A new baby would be joining our household. I found myself wistfully hoping Freddie would have a little girl this time, and that she would give her mother as much pleasure as Freddie had given Elsbeth and me.
Chapter 54
I parked Freddie’s minivan behind Camille’s VW and got out. Yellow shafts of light beckoned from the windows of her small Cape Cod, and the air still held traces of warmth from today’s record-breaking temperatures. Walking slowly up the driveway with my hands in my pockets, I mused over the news that Freddie had just shared, and smiled, envisioning Millie Stone’s reaction. She’d be thrilled and would probably start crocheting little booties and pastel-colored afghans.
I lifted and dropped Camille’s lion head doorknocker three times. Staccato footsteps approached from inside accompanied by sharp barking. The door was flung open.
Maddy grabbed my hands and dragged me indoors. Boris pattered over and sniffed my shoes, his tail whipping rapidly back and forth. Ginger galloped over to join the fray and wrapped herself around my ankles. I felt quite welcomed, but almost tripped over the cat.
“Professor, my goodness. You know you don’t have to knock. Right, Camille?” Maddy swiveled to raise an eyebrow at Camille, who was in the process of pulling a baking sheet from the oven. Without pausing for an answer, Maddy spun me around and started to pull off my chamois shirt. She hung it in the closet, chattering the whole time.
Sadie sat at the kitchen table, swinging her legs from her chair while she finished up a bowl of Spaghetti-Os. Over the past few weeks, she’d started to come around and had been interacting with us again. The therapy she received at the ARC—plus a healthy dose of time passing—started to work, although she still hadn’t spoken yet. A tentative smile hovered on her lips and her bright eyes twinkled, following Maddy around the room.
Maddy flounced up to me, touching the back of her hand to my cheek. “By golly, it looks like you saw some sun today.” She didn’t let me answer. “Doesn’t he look handsome, ladies?” Again, without waiting for a response, she dragged me into the kitchen and pushed me toward her daughter. I felt like a third grader getting set up by my teacher.
Camille brushed her flour-dusted hands on her jeans and embraced me sedately, talking to her mother over my shoulder. “Now, Mom. You said you wouldn’t embarrass Gus tonight.”
Maddy threw her arms in the air and waved them around. “But love is in the air, my darling! It’s so refreshing to see you two together—even if I was the one to set things in motion.” She twirled around the room several times and leaned back against the refrigerator in a showy, dramatic pose.
Sadie giggled, holding her little hand over her mouth.
Maddy’s flowered caftan flowed around her bare legs. She pointed one slipper for emphasis, raising it onto a kitchen chair. “How do you like my new slippers, Gus? They’re supposed to be Persian, you know, like The Arabian Nights.”
On anyone else the purple velvet slippers with the curled toes and sparkling rhinestones would have looked ridiculous. On Maddy, they were perfect. Before I could answer, she glided to the stereo and turned on a blues piano collection. I recognized a piece by Henry Gray entitled “Lucky, Lucky Man” and started to relax, feeling decidedly lucky.
The air was redolent with Indian spices, and the baking sheet Camille placed on the kitchen counter was full of Indian flat bread, freshly baked and piping hot. Maddy pushed a cold bottle of Narragansett beer into my palm. She’d grown up drinking Narragansett with her husband when they’d lived in Bangor, Maine. It wasn’t a local beer, but she’d always managed to locate a six-pack or two in one of the Beers of the World stores in Rochester.
“Drink up, Professor. Tonight is a night to celebrate life and enjoy your close friends.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Camille when she said close, hardly able to contain her excited laughter.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Camille caught it and chuckled.
This may be a very long night. I just want to be with her, to touch her hand, to kiss her soft lips. I want her to pour her heart out to me, to cry on my shoulder, to let me carry her off to the bedroom.
I chastised myself, realizing how fruitless my thoughts were. None of that’s happening with her mom and little girl in the house.
The dining room table was set for two. I sent a questioning glance at Camille.
She returned a demure look, but before she could explain, Maddy jumped in, smiling devilishly. “Sadie and I have already eaten. I always eat at five you know, and Sadie wanted Spaghetti-Os. Anyway, you don’t need an old lady boring you at dinner, do you?”
Maddy was the farthest from an “old lady” that I could imagine. And never boring. I turned to her with a hopeful glance I tried to hide. “So you two aren’t eating with us?”
She propelled me to the fireplace, chatting as we went. “I’ve had my share already, dear boy. Besides, I can’t miss my programs! Lawrence Welk is on at seven-thirty. I never miss dear Lawrence. Now you start the fire, while Camille finishes up with dinner, that’s a good boy.”
She dimmed the dining room lights, prancing over to the kitchen and singing along with Henry Gray at the top of her not-so-melodic voice.
Sadie climbed down from her chair and joined me in the living room. I knelt beside the fireplace, smiling at her while I crumpled up a few sheets of newspaper. I asked her about her week, and told her about mine. Although she hadn’t answered, we’d worked out a system of head nods and shakes that worked just fine over the past weeks. When I stood to look for matches, the child tugged on my shirt. I turned to her. “What is it, honey?”
She shot a furtive glance at Maddy, speaking in a wispy, hoarse voice. “I don’t wanna watch Lawrence Welk. I wanna see Winnie the Pooh.”
Camille nearly dropped her mixing bowl. Maddy’s mouth fell open. Both women walked slowly into the living room.
My heart pounded rapidly. “I think that would be just fine, sweetie.”
Maddy—speechless for the first time in years—nodded and smiled, her eyes sparkling.
Camille crouched beside the child and wrapped her arms around her. “Sadie, Sadie, Sadie—you can watch whatever your little heart desires! Is there anything else you want, honey?”
Sadie grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the kitchen, pointing to the cupboard. “I’d like an Oreo, please.”
Camille ripped open the bag of Oreos and tossed some on a plate. “You can have as many as you want, sweetie. Just let me know, okay?”
Sadie took the plate from her and sat at the kitchen table. “May I have a glass of milk?”
Maddy lunged for the refrigerator, yanking a gallon of milk from the door. She poured a glass, spilling it over the top. I grabbed a dishtowel and mopped it up. We gathered around Sadie and simply watched her.
When she was full, Sadie pushed the plate away and drained her milk. “I’m tired, Camille. Can Maddy take me up to watch TV?”
Camille nodded, we both hugged Sadie goodnight.
Maddy led her up the stairs, singing at the top of her voice. “Goodnight, my dears. Bon soir, mes amis!”
When she rounded the top of the staircase and closed the door to the guestroom, I finally took a breath and turned to exchange glances with Camille. She came toward me, smiling broadly. I held her close, simply inhaling the wonder of her.
“Can you believe it?” she whispered. “Sadie hasn’t spoken one word since that night she told us her name.”
“It’s like a miracle, Camille. I wonder what triggered it?”
Camille laid her head on my shoulder. “Maybe she was just ready. She’s been silent for so long.”
“Or maybe she’s just plain tired of watching Laurence Welk,” I said.
Camille pushed back from me and chuckled, smoothing her hair with one hand. “That’s it! Tonight, we celebrate Mr. Welk for his ability to get a young girl to use her voice. And now, Professor, let’s get dinner on the table.”
Chapter 55
Camille dropped fresh cilantro into the skillet and stirred it with a large wooden spoon. “My mother—what a beaut she is, huh? Always plotting.”
I picked up a wet dishcloth and slid behind Camille to rinse it under the faucet. Her hair brushed my cheek. I breathed in the fragrance of strawberries and felt my soul stir. Smiling sideways at her, I hung the dishcloth over the faucet to dry. “She's one in a million, that's for sure.” I lightly caressed her cheek with the back of my hand and searched her eyes with mine. “I'm glad they both went upstairs, though. Selfish as it is, I’m looking forward to spending time alone with you. It seems we’re always surrounded by people.”
She smiled nervously and lowered her eyes.
The situation was new to both of us. We hadn’t been together without Johnny, Sadie, or Siegfried tagging along, except for a few dinners in public places. I empathized with the uncertainty in her smile and decided to move to safer ground.
“The food smells incredible.”
She glanced at the handwritten recipes on the counter and gestured at the cast iron skillet she currently tended. “This one’s called Vagan Beteta nu Shak. It has eggplant and potato and is seasoned with curry and cilantro.”
She opened the oven door and pulled out the rack, lifting the glass cover from a casserole dish. The scent of Indian spices rose through the air. My stomach growled in response.
“This one is sort of like refried beans, but made with red lentils and seasoned with garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cumin, and ginger.” She closed the oven door, and the timer went off.
“How can I help?” I asked.
She reached over and turned off the oven, nodding toward the living room. “Could you get the fire going?”
“You bet. I was kind of interrupted before.”
I wandered back into the living room and added more crumpled newspapers to the pile, balling them up and stuffing them under the grate. Next, I grabbed some kindling and crisscrossed it over the papers. Finally, I laid three split birch logs on top of the kindling. I searched for the matches, but had no luck.
“Camille?”
She answered before I asked the question. “The matches are in the cupboard over the mantle.”
“Got ‘em. Thanks.” I knelt before the hearth, then held the flame to the papers and watched the fire roar around the dry wood. Instead of a cozy, atmospheric fire, I had created a bonfire.
I drew the screen across the hearth and walked into the dining room to light the two white candles in the middle of the table.
Camille brought a tray of flatbread to the table and glanced at the bonfire, politely reserving comment. She raised one eyebrow and chuckled.
“Guess I got carried away, it should die down in time for dessert,” I said.
“No matter. It’s nice.” She lifted the skillet from the stove and turned to me. “Would you open the wine, honey?”
“That I can do.” I grabbed the bottle of Riesling from the fridge, noticing that the blues CD had stopped.
Camille put on a new CD, the score from Miss Saigon. I smiled approval and helped her carry the dishes to the table.
The flatbread lay next to a bowl of a green condiment. We sat down, and she pointed to it.
“This is called Hari Chutney. It’s made from blended cilantro leaves, garlic, ginger, almonds, green chilies, coconut, and cumin.”
I reached over to take a spoonful of the chutney and smeared it onto a piece of the bread. The fiery flavor was incredible. I tore off another piece of bread and eagerly took another bite. “Excellent, Camille. Your friend Gangaram is a genius. Is this his native cuisine?”
“Mm-hmm. He came over from India for college and settled here. He’s told me so many interesting stories about his boyhood. It’s fascinating.”
She spooned the two main dishes onto our plates, and we began a long and animated conversation that covered Gujarati customs, Sadie’s amazing breakthrough, and our common interest in musical theater. Lea Salonga’s pure voice decorated the air while we moved from topic to topic, savoring the food.
“So, you played the part of Annie in junior high?” I refilled our wine glasses for the second time. The bottle of Dr. Konstantin Frank’s semi-dry Riesling was nearly empty.
“Uh-huh. Eighth grade. It was so much fun. Nearly all the other kids in the show were in high school, except the other orphans, of course. The older kids really spoiled us.”
I looked at her, trying to picture her at that age in a red wig. “I’d love to see pictures.”
“Mom has tons of albums from all the shows I've been in. I'm sure she'd show them to you. Only problem is you might not be able to get away for hours.” She took another sip of wine and smiled. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks.
I studied her dark-lashed eyes as we talked, realizing I’d never seen her wear makeup. Elsbeth had been trained in the rituals of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. Although I’d never seen the need for it, she always spent a half hour each morning applying the ingredients that made her feel presentable to the world. I hadn’t understood. Elsbeth was a stunning woman who would’ve turned heads with messy bed-hair and pajamas—not that she ever believed me when I told her that.
Camille’s natural beauty shone, needing no adornment. She wore a soft pale blue cardigan sweater with pearl buttons and a faded pair of jeans. Her long, curly chestnut hair fell loosely around her shoulders, glistening in the candlelight. When she spoke about her love of theater, she waved her fork in the air and laughed, sharing funny stories from her drama club experiences. She said she'd been directing the high school and local community productions for the past several years and asked if I'd be interested in playing piano in the fall for the upcoming production. I accepted, eager for an excuse to spend more time with her.
I finished the last bite of eggplant and put down my fork. “That was delicious. You are one heck of a cook.”
She laughed off the compliment and stood. “Thanks, but I just followed the recipes. Do you have room for dessert?”
My stomach protested, but I gave in to gluttony. “Sure.”
She whisked away my plate and set a glass bowl before me. “Mango pudding.”
I lifted a spoonful to my mouth, moaning with pleasure. “This is perfect.”
I devoured it, then helped her clear the table and wash the dishes.
The bedroom door upstairs opened, emitting the sound of Tigger bouncing in Rabbit’s garden. Two sets of footsteps crept quietly toward the bathroom and closed the door. The water ran briefly, and Maddy and Sadie crept back toward the bedroom, giggling like co-conspirators.
Deciding against coffee, we walked arm-in-arm into the living room. Boris snoozed on the rug near the fireplace, and Ginger had settled on her usual spot in the green leather club chair.
We’d progressed to a recording of Louie Armstrong. The room was semi-dark and the fire had finally burned down to glowing embers. I added another small log to the fire, stirred the embers with a poker until the flames grew, and then extended my hand to her. “Care to dance?”
She accepted willingly, slipping her arms around my neck.
I slid my hands around her waist and rested my cheek against her fragrant hair, enjoying the soft, silky feel of it against my face. Louie Armstrong’s gravelly voice was soothing and melodic. We danced slowly in place, and I brushed my lips against her forehead. She lifted her face to mine, her eyes still closed. I applied soft fluttery kisses to her eyelids, cheeks, and to her neck just beneath her ear. Her skin was soft and smooth. My heartbeat quickened when she drew my face toward hers. We stood motionless together before the fire, kissing long and deep until I felt a stirring within that had previously belonged only to Elsbeth.
I pressed my hand against the small of her back, pulling her tight against me. Passion flooded through my body.
She rested her head against my chest, listening to my pounding heart. “Your heart’s beating so fast, Gus.”
I felt myself melting into her eyes. “Yeah. It’s all your fault.”
I sensed her mood shift. She laid her head back against my chest, but stopped moving.
“Gus?” She took a step back and looked at me, her eyes searching mine.
I took both of her small hands, pulling her close. “What is it, honey?”
“I'm…afraid.” She said it softly, almost in a whisper.
“Afraid?” I stroked her hair. “Afraid of us?”
I wanted her to say, No! Of Baxter, or Greg, or of the dark.
Her dark eyes flooded with anxiety. “Sort of—” she whispered, “but mostly I keep remembering Greg and the things he did. It’s so ingrained in my memory it’s hard for me to keep everything straight. I know you aren’t Greg, but most of the memories of him involved this kind of romance at first. You know, the physical stuff. Can you possibly understand?”
