He looked up my way and stood up. “Oscar. Call me Oscar, please.”
I nodded and swallowed down the hitch in my throat. “Okay. Oscar. I just wanted to apologize for my rude behavior today at Catcher in the Rye.” I held out my hand.
To my relief, he didn’t hesitate to grasp it in his own, a broad smile on his face as he enthusiastically shook it. “Don’t mention it again, Lila. I understand.”
I smiled back. A bit of a weak smile, perhaps. Because I couldn’t help but remember what Pam told me at lunch about overhearing Oscar and Chuck Richards arguing the day before Chuck was murdered. Then there was the fact that Oscar was at the murder scene and, well . . . disliking Oscar was just so easy for me. But for Mama’s sake, I was going to try to stay open-minded.
Oscar was back to working the lug nuts, which didn’t seem to be any easier for him than it was for Mama. After a few minutes of huffing, puffing, and a wee bit of swearing, he glanced over his shoulder. “Lila, would you pull my Caddy over and fix the headlights on me. I need some more light.”
“Sure,” I said, walking to the back of his car to shut the trunk before I moved it. Just before slamming it shut, I glanced inside. Obviously the back of his car doubled as a tool chest. Every sort of tool imaginable was crammed in the tiny space. Including a nail gun. A cordless nail gun, just like the one I’d seen at the crime scene, lying not too far from Chuck’s lifeless body. My eyes darted from the contents of the trunk to where Mama and Oscar were standing, looking down at the flat. Oscar leaned in and whispered something in her ear, causing Mama to let loose a raucous belly laugh. Then she playfully wrapped her arm around his midsection and rested her head against his shoulder. My heart stood still as I offered up a silent plea that my mother wasn’t falling for a killer.
*
OSCAR FINALLY GOT the tire changed and Mama dropped me off at my cottage. I was surprised to find Sean’s Ford Explorer parked on my curb.
I bid Mama a quick good-bye and hopped out of her truck to greet Sean. “This is a nice surprise,” I said, as he stepped out of his car. “What brings you over?”
He reached back into his vehicle and pulled out a to-go bag from Machiavelli’s. “Peace offering?”
“Peace offering. For what?” Guilt pricked at my conscience as I thought back to that reckless moment with Jude earlier. How could I have been so stupid? But Sean couldn’t have known. Could he?
He shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me?”
A flush warmed my face and, though shadowed in the dark, I felt sure Sean could spy this obvious declaration of guilt. Probably knew everything that happened—or actually didn’t happen—at the author’s table with Jude. After all, he was a detective. He knew how to figure things out, sweat out suspects, get confessions. But how . . .
He went on, “I figured I did something wrong. You hung up on me this morning.”
Every fiber in me loosened as my mind swung around to this morning’s call. I tipped my head back and laughed. With everything that’d happened, I’d forgotten about the mishap with Eliot. “Oh no, Sean! Didn’t you get my voicemail? I tried calling you right back. It wasn’t me that hung up on you. It was Eliot.”
The lines around Sean’s eyes crinkled. “Eliot?”
I quickly explained how the cat had inadvertently caused my shout and the resultant abrupt hang-up.
“Well, I’m going to have to have a talk with that cat.” He laughed and nodded toward the cottage. “How about we head inside where it’s warmer. There’s a few other things I want to talk with you about, too.”
A few minutes later, we were settled on the couch, two heaping plates of shrimp scampi with capellini pasta on the coffee table in front of us and a warm fire crackling in my fireplace. I’d found some red wine in the fridge and poured us a couple of glasses. I sighed with contentment and nestled in close to Sean.
“Wait until you try this,” he said between forkfuls of pasta. “It’s delicious.”
I took my own bite, savoring the tender shrimp sautéed in a delicate white wine sauce with just the right amount of garlic and a fresh lemon taste. I rolled my eyes. “Really good,” I mumbled, digging in for more.
“Trey was running the kitchen. I talked to him for just a second. He seemed to be doing well.”
I nodded, still chewing.
Sean went on, “I don’t think you need to worry so much about him, Lila. He’s doing fine. Working hard.”