Dying To Teach Part 19

"Almost thirty years." A shiver welled up inside her, as it did every time she thought about the demise of her marriage.

"That's a long time," Josh said. There was no envy in his tone.

Cilla shoved the ladle into the pot. Drops of boiling broth shot around the table. Some landed on Angie's hands but she didn't raise attention by wiping at them. Josh did.

Cilla spooned out a delicious smelling mix of potatoes, carrots and beef. She gestured for Angie to hold up her plate. Which she was more than willing to do. Anything to hurry this meal along.

"Mmm," Angie said, "smells great."

"It's Josh's favorite."

They were finishing the last of the entree when the phone rang. Josh slapped his napkin on the table and left the room muttering about d.a.m.ned telemarketers. He came back quickly-probably he'd hung up on them. But he didn't return to the table. "That was Brent. He needs help moving a new sofa into his apartment."

Though Cilla protested, "Does it have to be tonight?" Angie had the idea she was glad Josh's negativity might be departing the premises.

Josh laughed. "Apparently they've got it caught in the stairwell. I'm sorry Angie, I was looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Same here. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

As her husband disappeared through the kitchen, Cilla stood up. "What if we have our coffee and dessert in the living room? I'll light the fire. It'll be cozy."

Angie rose and began stacking plates.

"No. Company doesn't do that."

"We're pa.s.sing the sink anyway, might as well carry something."

Cilla brought the crockpot and set it on the counter. She punched the b.u.t.ton to start a pot of coffee. "I made pumpkin mousse." Cilla removed a pair of white ceramic ramekins from the fridge.

Angie s.n.a.t.c.hed one of the containers from her hostess's fingers. "Not on my diet."

"Same here." Cilla laughed.

They strolled into the living room carrying the desserts. Cilla stopped at a long wall of artwork obviously done by children. At the top was a picture of each of their three sons. Judging by the similar backgrounds, probably school photos. Below each one, fanned in a rainbow arc, were framed pieces, obviously done at all stages of the boys' development. A great wall of childhood history.

Cilla pointed to a purple scribble on yellow lined paper. "Brent did this when he was two." Above this, a cute brown haired boy who looked a lot like Josh, grinned down at them.

"How old is he?"

"In the picture, he's eight. He's nineteen as of next week, attending a two-year college in town," she said with a mother's obvious pride. "He's the one Josh went to help with the sofa." She thumped a finger on the middle group of artwork. "Scott is our middle son. He's eighteen." Scott looked a bit like Josh also. The third son had Cilla's blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked to be about seventeen years old. "You had your boys close together."

Cilla laughed. "In just over three years. It was quite stressful for a while, as you can imagine."

"I can only imagine. As I said, we didn't have children."

"Didn't you ever want any?"

Angie's insides tightened as a whisper of guilt pa.s.sed through. It had been one of the discussions between she and Will in the early stages of their marriage. He'd wanted kids and she didn't. It wasn't till after their divorce that she realized she'd been too self-centered. Kids would've gotten in the way of her lifestyle. Kids would've messed up the house. The recognition of this flaw in her personality was, as they say, a bitter pill to swallow.

"It just didn't happen," was all she could think of saying that wouldn't bare the painful memory.

Cilla led Angie to a leather sofa and chair set atop a low pile carpet in a pretty cinnamon color. She placed her ramekin on a coaster then went to push the b.u.t.ton to turn on the fireplace. "I'll get the coffee."

She returned and placed a carved wooden tray on the coffee table. After cups were fixed according to each person's tastes, Cilla leaned back against the deep cushioned sofa with the dessert.

"You have a very nice house," Angie said.

"Thanks. We bought it two years ago when we moved here to Nashua. Josh is responsible for most of the decorating. He has great color sense. He told me you live in Alton. I'm not sure where that is."

"It's at the very southernmost tip of Lake Winnipesaukee."

"Nice. We went there on vacation about ten years ago. Do you live right on the lake?"

"No, I have a condo in town."

"I always pictured living on the water someplace. Not the ocean-I'm frightened of the ocean-but a lake or pond. Something peaceful. That would be nice."

"I don't care for the water either. I get seasick." Angie's stomach twitched at the confession. She quickly took a bite of the mousse. It was smooth and decadent. She savored the wonderful concoction as it slid down her throat. "Very good."

"Thanks. Josh told me you're dating a cop. That's got to be stressful, always worrying if he'll get hurt."

"Alton's a small town with fairly well behaved people."

"Except when there's a murder. Josh mentioned you solved a couple of cases."

"Helped solve."

"I don't really worry about Josh getting hurt at work."

"Except when there's a murder," Angie mimicked her words and they both smiled.

"Except then."

Cilla's attention became riveted on the flames licking the ceramic logs in the granite stone fireplace. Angie watched her watching the fire. All at once, Cilla asked, "Who do you think killed Gwen?"

"I don't know."

"You mean you don't even suspect anyone?"

How to tell the grieving woman she had deliberately pushed potential clues to the back of her mind? "Even if I did, it wouldn't be official. It would only be an opinion."

Cilla faced Angie, tears glistening in her eyes. "I have to know. I have to..." Cilla brushed away the tears and went back to peering into the fire. Yes, the woman was grieving for her friend, but Angie couldn't help thinking something else was wrong-and that something was the real reason she'd been invited here tonight.

Her mouth spoke before she could stop it. "Is something wrong? Besides Gwen's murder, I mean."

Cilla let her head fall back, took in a breath and straightened up. "Josh and I have been going through a rough time. Lately..." Cilla sc.r.a.ped the spoon around the edge of the dessert container, licked the last of the sweetness from it, then set it and the container on the coffee table.

A horrifying thought popped into Angie's head. Did Cilla suspect her husband of murder? Was that what this was all about? Gosh, she so didn't want to be here. Didn't want to hear any confession that might be coming.

Cilla turned, tucking one leg on the sofa, to face Angie. "The last of the kids moved out three months ago. I thought Josh and I would have time together, you know, that time when you tighten the bonds that brought you together in the first place. Not only were our kids born in quick succession they also came early in our marriage. We never had time to enjoy life, or each other." Her eyes roved up and over Angie's left shoulder. Angie thought she might be looking at the wall of childhood art. After a few seconds her attention returned, focusing on the base of Angie's throat. Had Jarvis given her a hickey? Angie almost covered the spot with her hand but Cilla looked back onto Angie's face, and said, "Whenever I bring up doing something...well, like the other day I mentioned going to the movies then getting a motel for the night. To be romantic. Get out of our rut. You know? He practically blew up at me. Called me a nagging b.i.t.c.h."

Tears welled up in Cilla's eyes. She blinked a few times and one rolled down each side of her nose. Why was she opening up to a complete stranger? Angie hated when people did that. With her track record, she obviously had no answers to spousal problems.

Deep thought wasn't necessary. Angie knew why Cilla spoke freely-they were fellow women. Women's bodies contained an extra gene, the sympathy gene. That sympathy could be turned in many directions, most especially toward each other. Now that her best friend Gwen was gone, Cilla needed somebody. For this evening it was supposed to be Angie.

Okay, for this evening, it would be Angie. Rather than ask the question uppermost in her mind-Do you think Josh killed Gwen-Angie asked, "Any idea why he reacted so strongly?"

"No. None."

"Don't answer because this isn't a question and I'm not prying, but if there's a money problem, it might make him unwilling to consider doing something...frivolous."

"We don't have money troubles. Josh is a good provider."

Another long bout of silence. This time Cilla's gazed focused on something on the mantle-perhaps the painted porcelain bowl with a tiny flower design. Pretty. It would look nice in Angie's condo, on the shelf between the oil and vinegar cruets.

Cilla pulled her attention away from the mantle. "The reason I asked him to invite you tonight was because I thought he was...I thought he was-with you."

"I've only just arrived in town."

"Yes, but Gwen told me he's been to your theater several times. She said he tried out for parts in your performances."

Yes, she guessed it could be construed that way.

Cilla thought they were seeing each other. Angie looked the woman in the eye the way her grandfather always taught her. It was supposed to let a person know you were telling the truth. "Tyson-he's my partner-handles most, if not all, the casting. My duties lean more toward office work, scheduling, advertising, costumes, set design. Things like that. I promise you, until I arrived in town, I didn't really even know Josh. Yes, when I met him here, I realized I'd seen him in our place." Angie clamped her lips closed. She was treading in dangerous territory, in the she doth protest too much category.

Cilla waved off Angie's protest. "It's nothing to do with you. It's all in my own suspicious mind."

Angie had thought the conversation would get easier if Josh left. She didn't know what to say so she said nothing.

"That's the thing. I don't think Josh is cheating, like having s.e.x with someone."

So, what did she think was going on? What sort of cheating was there if no s.e.x was involved? And why would she rule out s.e.x? Angie ran scenarios through her head. Outside of the fact that he could be impotent, she couldn't come up with anything that made sense.

"I know the whole thing sounds stupid," Cilla said, probably reading Angie's expression. Everybody always said her face was easy to read.

The comment left an opening where Angie felt comfortable asking, "If you don't think he's cheating, what do you think is going on?"

Cilla stood up and walked to the fireplace. She stared down into the flames for a long time.

Why had this couple asked Angie here? Had Josh's exit been carefully ch.o.r.eographed so she and Cilla could be alone? To divulge, or request, some information. Perhaps they had knowledge of Gwen's murderer. Some tiny snippet they thought might be related but were hesitant to mention to the police, perhaps because it seemed insignificant, or perhaps they thought it would bring attention on their family.

Best thing to do was wait. Sooner or later the information would come to light.

But it didn't.

After several minutes that stretched like an hour, Cilla visibly shook off whatever had possessed her, turned and walked to the coffee table. She gathered the dessert dishes and piled them on the tray along with the cups, even though Angie's was only half empty. The message was clear. It was time to leave.

As awkward as it was, a relieved Angie stood and straightened her skirt. Usually she'd take the things to the kitchen, help with cleanup, but tonight it seemed best to make a rapid departure.

At the door she took Cilla's soft, uncalloused hand. "I really hope you and Josh get things straightened out. Thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home. I had a good time."

"Liar," Cilla said on a soft laugh. "Dinner was tense and embarra.s.sing. I thought once Josh left things would smooth out. I thought we'd have some nice relaxing girl-talk. You know, swap recipes, things like that."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good at recipe-swapping," Angie said to ease past the awkward moment. "Since opening the theater over a year ago, I've practically lived on fast food and frozen dinners."

Cilla didn't fall into the meager attempt at humor. "I had to go and spout off like a baby."

Angie touched Cilla's arm. "It's been a very tense time for you."

"You're very nice to say that. I feel awful for the way the conversation went. Maybe I can make it up to you. Could we get together for coffee or something tomorrow?"

Everything inside Angie screamed that this was a bad idea, that whatever Cilla had been unable say tonight was best kept in this house. Unfortunately Angie's brain didn't agree because, before she could clamp her lips together, her mouth said, "Sure, I'd like that. I'll tell you a few embarra.s.sing things, then we'll be even."

Cilla opened the door, laughing. "I can't imagine you have embarra.s.sing moments."

"Then you've severely misjudged me. Thanks again." Angie stepped quickly outside. If she got out before a date for tomorrow's coffee was set, she'd be off the hook.

As usual, her luck didn't hold up because Cilla said, "Twelve-thirty at Farina's?"

"Sounds good."

Cilla remained on the front stoop until Angie backed out of the driveway and blinked the headlights. She heaved a sigh that cleared her lungs. Angie maneuvered the car along the city streets back to the hotel. She stopped trying to figure out what the heck just happened and let herself relax. The evening was over. All could be left behind-till tomorrow at 12:30.

Angie couldn't squelch the idea racing through her brain, that there was something strange about the Philmores, or at least with Cilla. The couple was hiding something. Something each of them wanted out in the open, but at the same time, wanted to remain secret. Again came the thought that this couple knew something about the death of Cilla's best friend.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Angie pulled into a spot in the hotel garage. She still felt wound up from...well, from either the delicious mousse or the freaky situation with the Philmores. She wasn't ready to go upstairs. She changed into walking shoes from a bag she always kept in the back seat and set off at a brisk walk, east on Tara Boulevard, reveling in the brisk air on her face. She wished for a heavier jacket but right now needed to burn off extra energy.

She pa.s.sed an all-night restaurant called Farina's-the one where she was to meet Cilla tomorrow-and almost stopped in to pick up a m.u.f.fin to heat for breakfast. But she kept walking, planning to tick off about a mile on her internal odometer. Who was she kidding? It wasn't sugar levels that needed burning off, it was the weirdness of the evening.

What was up with Cilla? First she mentioned suspecting Josh of cheating and then took it all back as though returning a defective coffee machine. She acted remorseful and embarra.s.sed for even bringing up the subject. So, was Josh cheating or not? How can any woman be sure her man is being faithful? It had been the last thing Angie expected from Will and look what happened there. A pang of unresolved anger pushed into her veins and Angie walked faster, rubber soles striking the pavement with m.u.f.fled thumps.

Cilla and Josh had been married a long time. The stress of life and family began early. They never really got to know each other, to build the familiarity needed to relax and be themselves before life swarmed at them. Angie had the idea Cilla walked on tiptoe around Josh, always wanting to please, never doing anything for herself. The one time she'd gotten the courage to ask for something-the night together at a hotel-he'd shot her down.

Finally Angie's frustration burnt itself out. She turned and retraced her steps on the opposite side of the street for some different scenery. Not too many shops were vacant in this part of town. With such a nice hotel in their midst, they wouldn't be, would they? That was another way she'd changed. Last year she would've made a point to go inside these shops, to browse till her feet were blistered and bleeding. Tonight, Angie only took note of the stores as scenery, something to keep away the boredom-and the puzzle of Gwen Forest's death-at bay.

Outside the hotel's entrance Angie dialed Jarvis' number. The call didn't go through. There was plenty of signal. Her battery was okay. What was up with that?

Oh well, she was too tired to worry about it tonight. She only wanted to make sure he got home safely anyway. She pictured Jarvis and Red tucked into the big bed in the freshly painted bedroom in the little ranch at the end of that dead-end street. Safe. Rested. Immersed in a murder investigation in somebody else's jurisdiction. Because of her. Well, this time it had been none of her doing.

Angie whooshed upstairs in the elevator. Normally she'd take the stairs but didn't want to reawaken her adrenaline. She undressed and slid between the sheets, pulling the fluffy duvet up to her chin.