Trey opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, his eyes became guarded and he averted his glance. “It’s cool. I’m sure Iris will handle it.”
Althea and I exchanged worried glances, but I knew we wouldn’t get another word out of Trey. Instead of trying to elicit more information, I blended chicken stock, white wine, lemon, garlic, fresh basil, and capers. At the sound of the doorbell, Trey leapt up from the table to answer the door, his face transformed by a boyish grin of anticipation. While the piccata sauce was thickening, I had time to catch a glimpse of a pint-size Miss America, a devil missing his two front teeth, a wounded soldier, and a fairy with a glittering purple dress. Trey gave the children generous handfuls of candy and wished them a happy Halloween.
“Go easy on the treats,” I chided, waving my wooden spoon at him. “Or I won’t have any left to eat while I watch Ghostbusters later tonight.”
Trey grabbed several boxes of Milk Duds and brought them into the kitchen. “Then these are mine. Can’t handle cheesy flicks without them.”
“You’re going to watch the movie with me?” I was thrilled. When Trey was younger, we’d always spend Halloween night sampling from his trick-or-treat bag while Ghostbusters played on the small television set in our living room.
Althea gestured toward the front yard. “He’s already got a change of clothes in the truck. Neither of us thought you should be alone tonight. Strange things can go on when spirits are roamin’ around.”
“It’s not the spirits I’m worried about,” Trey insisted, studying me gravely. “The book festival killer is still out there and I don’t want you to be on your own, Mom.”
I gave him a grateful smile, once again noticing how brawny he’d grown after months of manual labor, fresh air, and healthy food. “I’ll definitely feel much safer with you in the house, Trey.”
He smiled, pleased that I thought him a worthy protector.
“Maybe you can get that hunky cop to spend tomorrow night with you. It’s about time that man unlaced his boots and stayed for a spell. A long spell,” Althea said with a leer and then refilled her tumbler with another inch of whiskey.
Ignoring her, I poured the thickened sauce over the chicken and garnished the cutlets with sprigs of fresh parsley. After putting several spoonfuls of wild rice on each plate, I lifted the lid from the pot of snow peas. Steam billowed forth, flushing my face with heat. The rush of warmth made me think of Sean.
Trey and Althea were right. I didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night, either. I was ready for Sean to become a real-life Paris to my Helen, for him to lay down his shield, kick off his sandals, and take me in his arms. I was just getting to the part in my fantasy in which Sean’s fingers were deftly removing my long, white Grecian dress when Trey asked me to pass the pepper shaker. At the same moment, the doorbell rang and I offered to handle the next batch of trick-or-treaters.
As I walked to the door, I made another silent vow to help find Melissa’s killer. As soon as he was caught, I could have Sean to myself, and when that time came, I was going to show him just how passionate a middle-aged single mother could be.
WHEN I ENTERED the office on Monday, the first day of the new month, its uneasy atmosphere was like a tangible entity. The enthusiasm over the success of the festival was blighted by Melissa’s murder, and my coworkers were unusually listless.
Instead of hunkering down to work at our desks, we hung about the coffee room, hugging our mugs as we dissected the events of the weekend. Zach paced back and forth while Flora and Vicky dipped their tea bags in and out of their cups in tandem. As conversation lulled, Jude pushed back his chair with a loud scrape and stood.
“I need to get to work. I’m sending out an offer of representation this morning.” Without further elaboration he strode out of the room.
Vicky dangled her tea bag over her cup before dropping it into the trash. “I, too, must tick some items off my list,” she said. “There are numerous wrap-up tasks from the weekend cluttering my desk, including sorting through the scores of photos I took and entering the number of people who preregistered for next year’s festival in my database.”
Following Jude and Vicky’s lead, the rest of us headed for the door. There was a stack of proposals waiting for me, and the manuscripts I’d intended to work on at the festival still needed to be read. Before tackling those, however, I intended to research Ruben Felden, the editor at Melissa’s publishing house, and try to discover the identity of the mysterious green-eyed woman.