Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“So that’s the infamous paint job,” Rachel said as we met in front of the house in Hillwood after work.
We had knocked off a bit early—there was nothing else to do; I couldn’t go back to the Body Shop, nor could Zach, and staking out Sal’s house was out of the question.
There was nowhere to park on Nick’s street, and I didn’t feel like sitting on Elliston Place staring up at Jacquie’s windows. What good would it do?
Daniel was busy, and Rachel was free for the evening, so I invited her back to the house for food and conversation—about anything but the case. I had invited Zachary too, but he had plans, he’d said, with an expression that was part triumphant and part embarrassed.
I gathered the bag of cheese and crackers from the back of the Lexus while Edwina made a beeline to the grass to relieve herself. “That’s it.”
Rachel grabbed the wine bottles—two of them, because it had been that kind of day—and wandered over for a closer look at the door.
“Let’s just go through the kitchen,” I added. “That’s what I did this morning.”
I dug my keychain out of my bag and closed the hatch on the Lexus remotely.
“I can see why,” Rachel nodded. She tilted her head. “It doesn’t look too bad right now, but I can imagine what it must have been like, coming back here in the dark and seeing it all wet and glistening.”
I fought back a shiver, and Rachel added, as she stepped back and turned to follow me. “What are you going to do about it?”
“The door?” I led the way around the side of the house toward the kitchen door while Edwina scampered in front.
“I’m not painting it red, if that’s what you’re asking.
But I also don’t think the wood can be salvaged, so I’ll probably have to paint it some color or other.
Most likely black. Try to cover up the red. ”
Rachel nodded. “Probably the best thing to do. Might do you good to sell the place, too.”
It might. I had eighteen years of history with David in this house, including the conversation when he told me about Jacquie and how young and nubile and accommodating she was.
And that was before the family room caught on fire, and before Heidi Newsome tried to kill me in the living room, and before the red paint spattered against the door.
I switched the cheese and crackers to one hand so I could unlock the kitchen door with the other, and Edwina went straight for her food and water bowls.
“Just a minute,” I told her. “Let me put this down and I’ll feed you.”
Rachel headed for the kitchen island. “I’ll deal with this if you’ll deal with Edwina.” She put the two bottles down and looked around. “Corkscrew?”
“Still in the same drawer. It isn’t that long since you stayed her.”
She shrugged and got busy. By the time I had scooped food into Edwina’s bowl and the dog was chowing down, Rachel had opened one of the wine bottles and was pouring us each a generous measure.
“To surviving Monday,” she said, raising her glass.
“To surviving Tuesday, as well,” I corrected, and we clinked glasses.
The cheese plate came together quickly—brie, aged cheddar, some grapes, crackers, a few slices of salami. I carried it into the living room, and we settled onto the sofa. Edwina finished her food and came to join us.
I kicked off my shoes and curled my legs up under me. For a few minutes we just sat, sipping wine and not talking about murder or vandalism or money laundering. It was nice. Almost normal.
“So,” Rachel said eventually, in that tone that meant she was about to broach a delicate subject. “Greg called you today.”
I nodded.
“And you turned him down for dinner.”
I picked up a cracker and added a piece of brie to it. Not trying to avoid her eyes at all. No, ma’am. “I needed a quiet night.”
“You had a quiet night on Saturday,” Rachel pointed out.
“That wasn’t a quiet night. That was recovery.”
I popped the cracker in my mouth and chewed. When I had swallowed, I added, “Besides, I couldn’t have gone anywhere with Greg on Saturday anyway. He spent the night with his mother. And with Tara and Cressie.”
Rachel nodded. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Gina…”
“Oh, sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you’re not full of opinions about Daniel?”
Of course I was. But— “That’s different. Daniel is—was—my brother-in-law. I know Daniel. You don’t know anything about Greg.”
“I know enough,” Rachel said. She set down her wine glass and turned to face me.
“He comes to Nashville to visit his mother regularly, so he cares about the things that matter. He doesn’t have any ex-wives or children you have to worry about.
He’s successful, with an interesting job and multiple homes.
He travels, and wants you to go with him. Why do you keep him at a distance?”
“I’m not keeping him at a distance,” I protested, even as a dimple and a wicked grin floated across my inner vision. “We’ve had dinner twice in the past four days. That’s hardly arm’s length.”
“But you’re not letting yourself fall for him,” Rachel said. “I can see it. You’re holding back.”
And there it was. Because yes, that was what I was doing.
It wasn’t just the dimple, though. Or just Mendoza, I should say.
I knew very well who that dimple belonged to, and I also knew better than to imagine that anything would happen with him.
He flirted with me, yes. But he flirted with everyone, and I was practically old enough to be his mother.
He had an ex-wife and a young son, as well as a demanding job that surely didn’t pay what it should for the risks it involved.
And did I mention that he’s thirty-three with a history of infidelity?
But for all that, it wasn’t just Mendoza. I stared into my wine glass, watching the light play off the pale gold liquid. “David’s only been dead for a few months, Rachel. And we weren’t even properly divorced when he died. Don’t you think it’s too soon to be thinking about another husband?”
“Who said anything about a husband?” Rachel asked. “I’m talking about dating. Having fun. Letting yourself feel something for someone who actually deserves you, instead of the cheating bastard you were married to.”
“That’s nice of you to say.” I took a long sip of wine. “Unfortunately, that’s not what Greg wants. He hasn’t proposed—”
“I should hope not,” Rachel muttered. “You’ve known him how long? A month? And half that time he’s been in Italy?”
“—but he talks about getting older, and having been single for a long time, and when it’s right, it’s right. The kinds of things that people say when they don’t want anything casual. He wants to settle down. And I’m not sure I’m ready.”
She looked at me over top of the glass, and I added, “I like him. I do. What’s not to like?
I just think we want different things right now.
I’m trying to get the business off the ground and I’m just getting used to being single.
He has an established career and is looking for a woman to complete him.
And I’m not sure I’m she. At least not right now. ”
Rachel nodded. “You can still date him, though.”
“String him along until he gets tired of it, you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you told him how you feel?”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to do without coming across like I’m making assumptions. He hasn’t actually come right out and said he wants something serious. And until he does, I don’t want to bring it up.”
Rachel studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But for the record, you deserve to be happy. Whether that’s with Greg or someone else.”
“Thank you. But I’m not unhappy, you know. I’m having fun working with you and Zach, and I like living with Edwina. You may have a point about selling the house, though.”
“With this spread,” Rachel said, eyeing it critically, “you’ll get enough money that you could afford to buy almost anything else.”
She wasn’t wrong. We chatted about it for a bit, as we worked our way through the cheese plate.
I had originally planned to live in David’s love nest at the Apex, and even did move into it for a bit, but that was before Edwina came into my life.
She deserved better than a penthouse view of downtown Nashville.
She deserved grass under her paws and room to run, which was why I’d come back to the house in Hillwood after the fire damage was repaired.
“What about you?” I asked eventually, when the real estate discussion had wound down. “You and Daniel seem to be getting serious.”
Rachel’s face softened. “We are. Or at least, I think we are. He’s been wonderful, Gina. Attentive, thoughtful. He actually listens when I talk. Buck never did that.”
Buck was the late husband, dead seven years now. He’d died of a heart attack in someone else’s bed, which was when Rachel had had to reenter the job market and became David’s admin. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was Rachel.
“Yes,” Rachel agreed when I said so. “But?”
“But nothing.”
“Gina.”
I sighed. “Fine. But I worry. Daniel’s track record isn’t great. At least not with business ventures; I’m not sure how he is with women. But he’s almost sixty; there has to have been a few. And now Kenny’s involved, too, and you know how I feel about Kenny.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “And I appreciate the concern. But I’m not putting any money into the bar, and I’m not letting Daniel move in with me. I’m being careful. I promise.”
“What about the bar itself? How’s that going?”
“Actually...” Rachel smiled. “Really well. They’ve been working on it every day. The permits came through, and the professional contractors are starting next week. Daniel thinks they’ll be ready to open by St. Patrick’s Day if everything stays on schedule.”
A big if, if you asked me. The permits might be revoked, the contractors might discover problems no one foresaw, and the money might run out before opening day. Daniel had a history of promising the moon and delivering rocks instead.