Chapter Eighteen The Turning Point #3
“Those are from Diogo.” Viggo was pleased that he was able to impress someone as stylish as Madison Wainwright.
Madison leaned over to the dog wagging his tail. “Thank you, sweet prince.” She set down the glasses and gave him a big hug around his neck. When she stood, she moved closer to Viggo.
“I think you deserve a hug, too.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he participated willingly and placed his cheek against hers.
It’s getting warm out here, too, she thought to herself.
They stayed in that position for several long seconds. Madison was counting them. At least ten.
Viggo reluctantly let go. “Better start the grill.”
Madison’s face was crimson. “Good idea.”
Viggo pulled a chair from the table. “Please, have a seat.”
Madison complied. “I like my steak medium rare, please.”
“As you wish.” Viggo made a slight bow. “Me too, actually.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she offered.
“It will take a few minutes for this thing to heat up. Let’s enjoy some wine and cheese while we wait.”
“Perfect.” And it was. The night was balmy. The moon was full. And so was her heart.
As a prologue to their dinner, Madison told Viggo about the visit from Arlo earlier that day.
“He apologized profusely.” Madison smiled. “Oh, and he began to untie his shoelaces, so Olivia had to dig up a pair of slippers. Heaven forbid he realize he’d been duped.”
“I’m beginning to think you really are in witness protection. You and the entire family,” Viggo teased.
More conversation followed as Viggo prepared the succulent ribeyes and served them with his potato dish and a side of greens.
By the end of the meal, both were stuffed. That’s when Madison realized she had forgotten the dessert.
“I am so embarrassed.”
“No need. Besides, I don’t think I can fit another thing in my stomach.”
“I must say, the steaks were perfection, and the potatoes. Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“You mean the fl?tegratinerte poteter med brunost?”
“Yes! That!” Madison laughed.
“Also known as scalloped potatoes with brown cheese, except I substituted Emmental and a dash of gouda.”
“Well, it sure was good-a!” Madison cackled.
She began to clear the table and carry the dishes into the kitchen. Viggo turned off the grill and was snuffing out the candles when he heard a gasp. He dashed into the kitchen, where Madison was standing in front of the counter.
“Are you alright?” Madison was frozen. Viggo took the plates from her hands. “What is it?”
“That photo. That man. Where did you get it?” She pointed at the small stack of photocopies of the Farrells’ mystery man.
“Do you recognize him?” Viggo placed his hands on her arms. He could feel her trembling.
“That’s Geoffrey Wilson.” She picked up one of the copies and scrutinized it.
“Wilson? The guy who advertises in your magazine? The one from the company dinner? Are you sure?”
“The photo is a little grainy, but I’d recognize that pinky ring and flashy watch anywhere. And that bald spot he’s been trying to hide. I told you, he reminded me of my father.”
Madison turned and tapped Viggo on the chest with the photo. “Tell me. Where did this come from?”
“It’s a bit of a long story, but we need to call Chief Burton first. I’ll explain as soon as I reach him.”
Viggo grabbed his cellphone and hit the speed dial button for Rob’s mobile.
“This better be good,” Burton joked. “You’re supposed to be having dinner, and it’s almost past nine.”
“Yes, it is, and yes, I am. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
Viggo looked over at Madison. “Madison is here with me, and she is relatively certain she can identify the mystery man.”
Burton’s voice became serious. “How?”
Madison spoke next. “He advertises in our magazine. He’s a land developer. High-end condos.” She took a breath. “But what is he doing in this photo?”
“Maybe we should meet at the station,” Burton suggested. “I know it’s not the most romantic spot for a Saturday night, but it might save a lot of time and explanations.”
Viggo and Madison looked at each other. They knew it was the right and urgent thing to do.
“How soon do you want us there?” Viggo asked.
“I’d like to say, ‘after the ballgame,’ but since this is messing up your plans, why should I have all the fun?” Burton snickered. “Fifteen minutes?”
Viggo and Madison hurriedly finished kitchen cleanup and were on their way.
“Diogo, you are in charge,” Viggo said as they hurried out the door. The dog woofed in response.
Viggo explained a few details to Madison on the short drive to the police station.
When they arrived, Burton and Estes were waiting for them in a room that contained the whiteboard and a laptop.
“Have a seat,” Burton instructed, then began to lay out the timeline, referring to the names on the board.