“To which one would you give the most information?”
Lindsey, however, did not return the smile. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, when I was about to break the increasing tension with a comment about the weather, she said, “My darling boy. You’re working to be a detective, a career choice I admire, but please think carefully about the questions you’ll be posing to your family and friends and the complicated situations that might result.”
She was absolutely right, and I hadn’t once thought about the awkward positions Ash might put people into. He could potentially be asking the people he knew best to betray confidences. To spill secrets. To blab.
I slid him a sideways glance and wondered at what point I’d stop telling him things. Of course, we didn’t exactly have many soul-baring conversations, which was another sign that the love I’d hoped would blossom was never going to burst into flower.
Ash nodded at his mother. “I know. Hal and I have talked about this. It’s something I’m working on.”
“Good,” Lindsey said. “Since that’s settled, I’ll tell you about Carmen.”
“And Leese and Brad and Mia?” Ash asked.
She considered the question. “The only thing I’ll share about the kids is about Brad. He had a horrible temper when he was a child and I’ll lay the blame for that at his father’s cold feet. From what I’ve heard, since he broke away from his father, he has turned into a fine young man.”
“Carmen,” Ash said.
Lindsey glanced at our new neighbor, but continued. “Not from around here,” she told us.
My chin went up the slightest bit. “Neither am I.”
“But you fit with the way things work Up North,” Lindsey said. “Carmen hasn’t stopped complaining about the way things are done around here since the day she showed up.” She shook her head. “She and Dale make an excellent pair.”
“Not much of a pair any longer,” Ash said.
“No.” His mother sighed. “I couldn’t stand the man, but I didn’t wish him dead.”
Though that seemed to be a common sentiment, he was undeniably deceased. Lindsey’s information about Bev was reassuring, but I certainly hadn’t wanted to know that Brad Lacombe’s history included a horrible temper.
And that Lindsey hadn’t wanted to say anything about Mia.
Or Leese.
At that point, Ash’s phone started buzzing frantically. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced down. “Sorry,” he said, rising, “it’s Hal. I have to take this.” Thumbing the phone’s screen, he walked out of the room and toward the front door.
I was trying to figure out why Ash’s sudden and frequent departures didn’t bother me nearly as much as the similar departures of my former doctor boyfriend had when Lindsey said, “Minnie, I need to use the restroom. Do you mind if I leave you alone for a moment?”
After shooing her off, I considered the options for the next few minutes of my life. Was there enough time to pull out the book I always carried with me? There wasn’t much point in looking at the menu, but hope did spring eternal that I might someday be able to order something different from what Kristen wanted me to eat.
“Excuse me,” said a male voice.
I jumped the slightest bit. It was the man sitting at the table behind us. I turned and smiled politely. “Hi.”
“Were you talking about the Lacombes?”
One of his eyes was looking at me, but the other was staring into a slightly different direction. The poor man probably had horrible headaches “Yes,” I said cautiously. In the years I’d lived in Chilson, I’d learned to accept the fact that personal conversations with strangers were commonplace, but I wasn’t always comfortable having them. “Do you know them?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
He smiled, and the skin over his right cheekbone drew up oddly. I was so distracted as I tried to think what could have caused the effect—Skin cancer? Plastic surgery gone awry? A bad burn? A congenital problem?—that I almost missed his next question.
“Leese has to be, what, in her mid-thirties by now?” he was asking.
“That’s right.” I wondered if I was about to be the bearer of bad tidings, and said, “Did you know that Dale Lacombe was killed just over a week ago?”
The man nodded briefly. “I hear Leese is an attorney these days.”
“That’s right. She’s specializing in elder law.”
“Interesting,” he said, but I got the feeling I hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already known. “Well, have a good dinner.” He smiled again.
Choosing his left eye to focus upon, I smiled back. “You, too.”
As I turned around in my seat, Lindsey returned. “Is now the time we talk about Ash?” she asked, sitting.
“Sure,” I said. “Although I don’t have any problem talking about him when he’s here, either.”
She laughed. “You two make a great team. Your senses of humor are so similar it’s frightening. Are you sure you’re not my own child?”
“If I’d come out of your gene pool, I’d probably be six inches taller,” I said. “Then all my pants would be too short.”
“Who are you calling short?” Ash asked, sliding into his chair.
“No one,” Lindsey and I said together, and then laughed at the same time.
Ash shook his head in mock sorrow and murmured something about not being able to leave us two alone.
The rest of the meal passed in a similar lighthearted fashion, but underneath, I kept wondering the same thing: Exactly how uncontrollable was Brad Lacombe’s temper?
Chapter 10
The next day, Saturday, was a bookmobile day, but instead of being my normal bright self, I started off the morning yawning and wishing for a couple more hours of sleep.
“Up late last night?” Julia asked. “Did you and Ash go barhopping?”
Barhopping in Chilson wouldn’t have taken very long since there was only one establishment in town dedicated to the serving of alcohol. Half a dozen restaurants had bar areas, but I wasn’t sure if those would count. “We had dinner with his mom and ended up back at her house playing trivia games.”
Julia looked down at Eddie. “What do you think, my furry friend? Could there possibly be a more romantic way to spend an evening?”
“I like Lindsey. She’s funny. And smart.”
“Are you dating her or her son?”
I couldn’t think of any response that didn’t involve sarcasm, and since I’d recently promised my mother that I would try to avoid being sarcastic for at least a week, just to see how it felt, I flicked on the turn signal and said, “Is that Mr. Zonne’s car?”
Julia looked at the church parking lot. “It is indeed. What kind of story do you think he’ll have for us today?”
It was bound to be a good one. After the death of his wife, Lawrence Zonne, a sprightly white-haired octogenarian, had returned home to Tonedagana County from a retirement community in Florida. Mr. Zonne had vision sharper than an eagle’s and a memory that retrieved information faster than Wikipedia and with far more accuracy.
I parked, Julia opened the door to Eddie’s carrier, and we went about getting the bookmobile ready for business, which amounted to flipping open the laptop computers, unstrapping the chair at the back desk, and unlocking the back door.
Mr. Zonne bounded up the stairs. “My dears, I was so sorry to hear about your macabre discovery. What a dreadful thing!” He spread his thin arms wide and gave Julia a massive hug, which then got transferred to me. “More dreadful for Dale Lacombe,” he said into my hair, “but then Dale was a dreadful man.”
“You knew him?” I asked as I was released.
“In a way.” Mr. Zonne paused and squinted at the ceiling. “The rat bast . . . sorry, that miserable son of . . . no, sorry . . .” He pursed his lips. Finally, he said, “Dale Lacombe was the low bid for an addition to our house some thirty years ago. And there was a reason he was low bidder.”