Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Fidelio’s was bustling when we walked in, filled with the usual Sunday dinner crowd. The ma?tre d’ greeted us warmly—Greg seemed to be known everywhere—and led us to a table near the back. Cozy and secluded, the romantic part of the restaurant.
He held out my chair. I was just settling onto it when I happened to notice the young couple on the other side of the dining room.
A blond head and a dark close together over a shared dessert.
As I watched, the man forked up a piece of cake and extended it across the table to where the woman parted surgically enhanced lips and took it off his fork.
I felt acid rise in my chest.
“Gina?” Greg’s voice came from very far away, and was somehow both wary and concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He followed my eyes across the room, and his expression changed. “Someone you know?”
“You could say that,” I said, and my voice was froggy. “That’s my stepson having dinner with his dead father’s mistress.”
Greg’s eyes widened. “That’s your stepson? And Jacquie?”
I nodded. But before I could say anything, Kenny must have felt our eyes on him because he looked up, and his gaze locked with mine.
I watched his expression shift from relaxed to wary, and then he said something to Jacquie.
She turned, too, following his gaze, and when she saw me, her face went pale.
“Well,” Greg said. “That’s awkward.”
That was putting it mildly.
I forced myself to look away, to focus on the menu the waiter had placed in front of me.
Not that I could read it. The words blurred together, meaningless. Good thing I’d been here enough times before to know what was available.
But even as my vision fogged and my stomach twisted, my brain was still trying to make sense of what I had seen. Kenny and Jacquie together? Here, of all places? And less than forty-eight hours after Nick had died?
No, I had to have made a mistake. There was no way I could have seen what I thought I’d seen.
I slanted another look their way, and saw that they now had their heads close together and were whispering agitatedly.
No, there was no mistake. That was my stepson Kenny and my current—former?—client. The one whose boyfriend had been shot two nights ago.
“Do you want to leave?” Greg asked softly.
I glanced at him, and saw the concern on his face.
“No.” My voice came out stronger than I felt. “No, we’re staying. They don’t bother me. I was just…”
Shocked? Appalled? Suspicious?
“Fair enough.” He studied me for a moment before glancing over at the other table. “How about you tell me why your stepson having dinner with your husband’s former mistress is making you look queasy?”
Wasn’t it obvious?
“Aside from the fact that she was his father’s mistress, you mean?”
I stopped, to take a breath and to try to organize my thoughts into something that made sense.
That done, I continued. “You have to understand: Kenny and I never got along. He was eight, and his sister eleven, when David divorced Sandra, and they blamed me for it. Not that they didn’t have reason, although it was really more David’s fault than mine. ”
Greg nodded.
“But they never made a secret of the fact that they hated me. So in that sense, I suppose it’s only reasonable that Kenny would be friendly with the woman who took David away from me. Although you’d think he’d realize the irony.”
I shot them another fulminating glare. Jacquie noticed and quailed. Kenny glared back.
“Maybe they bonded over their shared grief?” Greg suggested.
I shot him a look. “Kenny didn’t grieve. He wanted his share of David’s money, and he got it. Besides, he thought I killed David. And so did Jacquie.”
“Then maybe they bonded over their shared suspicion of you,” Greg said.
That was even worse, frankly.
I gave him a quelling sort of look, which seemed to bounce right off.
“And then, aside from that whole issue, there’s Jacquie.
Who hired me last week to determine whether or not her boyfriend was cheating on her.
She had a boyfriend, remember? The same boyfriend who got shot two nights ago.
The boyfriend she was sobbing over the last time I saw her. ”
I gestured at their table. “Does that look like grief to you?”
Greg glanced over. “Not so as you’d notice.”
Exactly. They looked perfectly comfortable together, like this wasn’t the first time they were in each other’s company, and if Jacquie was grieving, she hid it well.
Or maybe not. Her hands were shaking, even from this distance, and the corners of her mouth were pulled down. Although from the way she was sneaking me looks out of the corner of her eye, that might be as much guilt and fear as it was grief.
Yes, I would definitely be asking Rachel about Kenny’s movements on Friday night and Saturday morning.
“They’re coming this way,” Greg warned.
I looked up and sure enough, the happy couple was making their way across the dining room toward us. Kenny had his hand on Jacquie’s back, proprietary as well as protective, and his expression was belligerent.
“Gina.” The tone was confrontational, too. Like he knew what I was thinking, and objected to it.
“Kenny.” I managed to keep my own voice level, or mostly.
He might have mistaken the tremor for fear and not rage, because tilted his head to look down at me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Likewise,” I told him. “And that goes double for you, Jacquie.”
Her eyes were bloodshot, I noticed, now that I was looking at her up close, so at least she had shed a few tears in the time since I’d seen her last. But she had also taken the time to do her makeup, and to put on a dress that had most likely been paid for out of David’s and my shared account back when she was sleeping with him.
It was well beyond anything Nick could have afforded on his salary.
Although at least the dress was black. That was something, anyway.
“I see you’re managing your grief,” I added, because I couldn’t not say it.
Her eyes filled with tears, and Kenny scowled at me. His hand moved from her back to her waist, as he pulled her closer to him.
“It’s not what you think,” Jacquie said. “Kenny is my friend.”
She glanced up at him. The way he looked back at her said, as clearly as words, that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Kenny was smitten. Or horny. One or the other. Or more likely both.
“I’m sure he is,” I said, even as I locked eyes with Kenny. He made a face.
An awkward silence descended, until Greg cleared his throat. “I’m Greg Newsome. A friend of Gina’s.”
Kenny’s eyes sharpened with interest. “The writer?”
Greg nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“I’ve read all your books.” Kenny actually smiled, a real smile instead of the polite grimace he’d been giving me. “I’m Kenneth Kelly, Gina’s stepson.”
He took his arm away from Jacquie’s waist and stuck it out. “Dark Water is one of my favorite books.”
They talked about Greg’s genius for a moment while Jacquie and I stood there in uncomfortable silence. “How are you doing?” I ventured finally. She looked like a chastised child, and I couldn’t handle it any longer.
Her eyes lit up. Probably at the relief of being spoken to, because what she had to say certainly wasn’t happy.
“I’m a mess. Everything’s awful.” She sniffed, even as her eyes started to fill with tears again.
“But I couldn’t stand to look at the walls of my apartment anymore, so when Kenny called, I said yes, because I thought it would be better than sitting at home by myself. ”
“I didn’t know you and Kenny knew each other.”
“Oh, I met him through David,” Jacquie said, flapping a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Him and Krystal both.”
Of course. Getting the children’s permission before replacing me with a model younger than both of them.
I bit my tongue, because that was all in the past now, and there was no need to dredge it up.
“Can I come see you tomorrow?” Jacquie asked.
I hesitated. What were the chances that she’d try to talk me into giving back the retainer she’d given us, now that Nick was dead?
On the other hand, she might be his murderer, so a discussion couldn’t hurt.
“I’ll be there at nine. Any time after that.
” And no matter how much I felt like we had earned that retainer, I’d probably give her some of it back if she insisted.
Her boyfriend was dead, and while it wasn’t my fault, I still felt bad for her.
She nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
Finally, Kenny seemed to remember where he was.
“We should get going,” he said. “We’re done, and the waiter is waiting to take your order.”
He was: hovering a few feet away, looking anxious.
Kenny turned to me, and his expression hardened slightly. “I’ll talk to you later, Gina.”
Oh, would he really?
“I’ll be in the office tomorrow after nine,” I told him coolly. If he thought he could intimidate me, he had another think coming. “Feel free to stop by any time. You remember where it is, I’m sure.”
It had been David’s office for much of the time Kenny had been alive, after all.
He scowled and steered Jacquie away. I watched them go, through the dining room, past the ma?tre d’ stand, and out the door. Jacquie didn’t look back, although Kenny gave me a final, threatening look before he passed through the door and out.
“Well,” Greg said once they were gone. “That was exciting.”
“That’s one word for it,” I agreed, and dropped back down on my seat.
He eyed me across the table. “Want to talk about it?”
“Later.” I picked up my menu again. “Let’s just order.”
The waiter approached, somewhat diffidently. The tension in the air must have been clear to everyone in the restaurant, considering the many glances and whispered conversations that were no doubt centered around us.
I ordered the first thing my eyes landed on—salmon this time—and handed back the menu. Greg ordered the lamb and a bottle of wine and then waited for the waiter to withdraw before he turned back to me. “I can tell what you’re thinking.”