“Well.” I pluck at the hem of my navy skirt, re-draping it over my knees. “Innocent until proven guilty, and all that jazz.”
Jeremiah’s blue gaze holds unnervingly steady on me. “Piper Sail, do you have another suspect in mind?”
“Who’s asking? Jeremiah, my friend and neighbor? Or Jeremiah, the newspaper man?”
“To whom will you tell the honest answer?”
I laugh and stretch my hand out for the popcorn. “Neither of you.”
Jeremiah pulls the bag closer to his chest, and grasps my reaching hand. “We’d be good together, Piper. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
The smile drains from my face as I look at him. Had things gone differently, Jeremiah could’ve been the highlight of my summer. Handsome, smart, and not afraid to meet me quip for quip, he would’ve been everything I could have hoped for in a boyfriend. We should’ve had many dates like this, only with my thoughts full of him rather than Mariano.
Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve.
Losing Lydia, it seems, has left nothing untouched.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Piper, honey, you really need to get your dress on,” Jane says from the doorway of Father’s office. “The seamstress is going to be here in fifteen minutes.”
I keep my gaze on the phone as she speaks. “My dress fits perfectly.”
“That can change from week to week. Even for a girl of your age. Now be a good girl, and come up to get your dress on.”
“I will when I’m finished here.”
“How much longer will this . . . this thing you’re doing take?” Jane’s voice grows ever sweeter, a sure sign that her patience with me is waning.
“It depends.” I lift my eyes and beam a bright smile Jane’s way. “How much longer do you intend to delay me?”
Her shiny red mouth purses. “Fine. Come up as soon as you’re done. And, Piper . . . I’m not your mother—”
Well, this oughta be good. I raise my eyebrows at her—a silent challenge.
Jane presses her mouth shut as her gaze skims the kimono I’ve wrapped over my nightgown. “Walter will be here soon, you know.”
The implications are as loud and clear as if she spoke them—You’re dressed indecently. Go put clothes on.
I keep my anger shoved down in my chest and make my voice sunny. “Thank you. Now, may I finish making my phone call, or would you like to belabor this conversation?”
I don’t wait for a response, just start dialing Mariano’s number once more.
“I’ll see you upstairs, Piper.” Jane’s words are stiff, and her footsteps loud in the hallway.
I’ve nearly finished dialing when Joyce pads into the room, coffeepot in hand. “You’ll have to learn to get along with her, you know.”
I hang up the phone. Yet again. “I’m hoping to prove you wrong on this one.”
She fills my cup with steaming black coffee. “She’s doing a hard thing, marrying into a family with three grown children—”
“Well, nobody asked her to do that.”
“Actually, Piper, your father did.” Joyce lets this sit a beat. “You don’t really want him rattling around this big house all alone, do you?”
I look away from her accusing eyes and draw Father’s telephone close to me. “I’m trying to make a phone call.”
Joyce’s disapproval stings, like it always does. It’s not that I want Father to be alone forever. Not if he’s unhappy about it. What I want is for him to want to be alone. I want to know that he misses Mother more than he loves Jane.
What an unfair thing to ask of someone.
I shake the thoughts away as the operator transfers me to Mariano. “Hi, it’s me.”
“Let me guess. You want something.”
His words cause hesitation. Denying the truth would be pointless, wouldn’t it? “How do you know?”
“Your words are always a bit clipped when you call wanting something. What is it?”
“Well . . .” I feel inexplicably cross over him calling me out. “We don’t have to talk about it immediately. You can tell me how your day is going or something.”
Mariano chuckles. “My day is fine. What are you wanting?”
I sip at my coffee, wincing when it burns my tongue. “What are your plans tonight? What do you think of going to John Barleycorn?”
Mariano snorts a laugh. “You’re aware I’m an officer of the law, right? That being seen in a gin joint might not be great for my career.”
“If you’re working, it would be fine, right?”
Now he sighs. “I know David Barrow is at the top of your list, but his alibi—”
“How’d you know?”
“Know what? That you’re going after your favorite neighbor?”
“Yeah.”
“Because Friday nights are his pool nights, and why else would you be going there?”
“Friday night pool is a real thing? I figured it was just a story he told his wife.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t tell her that he meets his girlfriend there.”
Yuck. “That’s disgusting.”
“But it’s not evidence of homicide. No matter how much we wish it were.”