The Lavender Lane Lothario, page 6
“He said he’d been searching his entire adult life for that little girl whose initials he’d carved in that beech tree. And now that he’d found me again his days of searching were over. I believed him, Mitch. And we’ve been incredibly happy together. Or so I believed. It turns out I’m a terrible judge of character. I was wrong, you see. I’m not Gaylord’s ultimate destination. Someone else is. You’ve heard about those two houses he’s so very, very anxious to build on the Lieutenant River, haven’t you?”
Mitch nodded. “Sure.”
“One of them is for his current flame, who’s living in Greenwich right now. She’s thirty-two, a former Dior model, and loaded. Her ex-husband’s a New York City real estate tycoon. I’d been…” Loretta bit down on her lower lip, her bright blue eyes shining at him. “I’d been hearing whispers about her for weeks before I confronted him. Gaylord admitted that it was true. He hasn’t asked me for a divorce, and I don’t believe he will. I happen to be quite wealthy myself. I’m also extremely valuable to him socially. So what we have now is an open marriage. We’re free to see other people if we wish. I’ve been seeing someone for several weeks, as it happens. A local man. I’m planning to end it, though. I have a certain reputation to protect, and we’re all so cheek by jowl here in Dorset that I…” She frowned at him. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no. Something about that image just made me shudder is all. My bad.” Mitch wondered who her boyfriend might be. He was picturing a younger man, fortyish, with muscles. Someone who she’d met at the Fitness Center. The lady exercised her body relentlessly. She wasn’t about to give it to someone who was fat, bald, and sixty.
“You still spend time in New York City, don’t you?”
Mitch nodded. “I have a place on the Upper West Side.”
“What I wanted to ask you is…” Loretta hesitated, coloring slightly. “Oh, dear, this is turning out to be more difficult than I thought.”
“What is? Wait, you’re not asking me out, are you?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Loretta let out another cascade of laughter. She was amused. Highly amused. “Mitch, you’re so sweet. I’d go out with you in a heartbeat if I weren’t nearly old enough to be your mother. Besides, you don’t do that sort of thing, do you?”
“I’m in a committed relationship, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“You’ll forgive me, but it’s been my experience that most men who say they’re in a committed relationship really aren’t. Not if they’re offered a chance to un-commit.”
“I’m not most men.”
“I know you’re not. That’s why I felt I could have this conversation with you. Okay, here it is—I was wondering if you might have a male friend in the city who I could go out with. Someone interesting like, say, an author.”
“I thought you just said you wanted to go out with someone interesting.”
“I’d like to meet someone who has a sense of humor. He doesn’t have to be great looking but he does have to be reasonably fit. And tall would be nice. Self-assured, upbeat. The gloomy, neurotic type has never appealed to me.”
“That’s too bad. I happen to know a lot of gloomy, neurotic types.”
Loretta tilted her head at him. “You’re teasing me now, aren’t you?”
“Little bit.”
“I’d like to go to the theater, have dinner, have fun. And, yes, that would involve spending the night together there. So I’d prefer someone who’s single.”
“How would you explain spending the night in New York City to Gaylord?”
“I don’t have to. We have an open marriage, remember? But I’d be discreet. I’ve been thinking about getting certified to teach yoga. I can tell him I’m taking teacher training classes at a studio there an evening or two a week.”
“That doesn’t sound like discreet to me. That sounds like lying.”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” Mitch drank some more of his smoothie, gazing down into the cup with dismay. It didn’t appear as if he’d drained so much as a drop. If anything, his garden-fresh beverage seemed to be growing. Alive. It was alive. “So you want me to fix you up with somebody.”
“What do you say, Mitch?” Loretta flashed her big, bright smile at him. “Do you know someone?”
* * *
“Well, do you?” Des asked him.
“Offhand, no. My editor probably knows someone. And she loves to fix people up. But I feel funny about this whole thing.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny weird?”
“Weird. Definitely weird.”
It was just past six o’clock. Outside Mitch’s cottage the wind was howling and the waves were crashing against the rocks. Inside, a big fire was crackling in the fireplace and The Road to Escondido, a laid-back Eric Clapton–J. J. Cale collaboration, was playing on the stereo. Des had gotten out of her uniform and into the four-ply dove-gray cashmere robe that he’d bought her in Paris. They were snuggled before the fire on the love seat, sipping Chianti.
“Would you like to know why I put up with you, thin person?”
Des gazed at him with her almond-shaped pale green eyes. “Do tell.”
“Because you don’t mind drinking red wine even though we’re having fish for dinner.”
“It’s a red wine kind of an evening.”
“That it is.” He petted the Dude, who was dozing peacefully between them on the love seat. Clemmie was curled up on her easy chair, purring. Quirt was curled up on his easy chair, purring. “I feel like we’ve wandered into our own private version of a Norman Rockwell painting.”
Des leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Life is good.”
“You know what? I should take a selfie of this moment with my new super-duper Batphone.”
“Mitch, if you take a selfie of this moment I can promise you that it will no longer be Rockwellesque.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll be searching around on the rug for your teeth.”
“So is that a no vote on the selfie?”
“What kind of fish did you get us?”
“Fresh gray sole from Point Judith. I thought I’d bread it and pan fry it.”
“Let me guess, Meals on Wheels served fish sticks today.”
He drew back from her, startled. “How on earth did you know that?”
“I’m a trained detective, remember? And you do have the most suggestible stomach I’ve ever encountered. Are we having tater tots, too?”
“Des, you know I don’t go in for that kind of fake, processed non-food anymore. I’m all about eating healthy now, thanks to you. We’re having brown rice and locally grown organic asparagus, okay?”
“More than okay.” She kissed him again, running her fingers through his unruly mop of hair. “How does your head feel?”
“Totally fine. You weren’t serious last night, were you?”
“About what?”
“Some foolishness to do with me staying out of the fray from now on.”
“I was totally serious. I don’t want to lose you.”
“But we’re a team. You need me.”
“I’ll just have to muddle along without you somehow.”
“Does this mean that you don’t want me to share the rest of the incredibly juicy gossip I heard today?”
“Not exactly.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Dish.”
“Bitsy Peck is having a wild, top-secret love affair.”
Des’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“Yes way. She hasn’t been coming home Saturday nights for a while. I just figured she was keeping one of her doddering aunts company. She has a dozen of them. But it turns out that she’s been getting naked in a suite at the Mohegan Sun with a certain man. Bitsy won’t tell me who he is, but she was sobbing her head off over him this morning. She thinks he’s dogging her.”
“Poor Bitsy.” Des sipped her wine, staring into the fire. “The ladies sure unloaded on you today, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did. How did I suddenly end up playing the role of trusted confidant?”
“Sometimes women need a man’s advice about things. And they know you won’t go blabbing to other people.”
“I’m blabbing to you.”
“That’s to be expected. But they know that it’ll stay between us. We don’t spread gossip. If we did they’d be aware of it.” She shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Exactly what did Loretta tell you about Gaylord?”
“That he had a rep as a serial home wrecker back in Larchmont, and it sounds as if he hasn’t changed his wicked, wicked ways since he returned home to Dorset. He did break up Loretta’s marriage to John Friday, after all. Want to know how he won her over? By telling her he’d carved their initials in a beech tree in the Nehantic State Forest back when he was in the third grade.”
“And she bought that line of bull?”
“He showed her the tree. Their initials were carved there just like he said. She was so moved that she got freaky with him right there on the spot. Best sex she’s ever had.”
“How much do you want to bet he carved their initials in that tree an hour before he showed them to her.”
“She said they looked like they’d been there for a long time.”
“Trust me, the man knows a thing or two about how to age fresh-cut wood. He’s a housewright, remember?”
“How could I forget? It’s the only job title I’ve ever heard that’s even more annoying than entrepreneur. Oh, and Gaylord’s current girlfriend? One of those houses that he wants to build on the Lieutenant River is for her.”
Des nodded her head. “That would explain why he’s leaning so hard on Hubie to approve the project. It’s not his workmen’s mortgage payments he’s thinking about. It’s his slice on the side.” She sat there in thoughtful silence, her eyes narrowing. “I can’t say that I like Hubie, because he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, but he sure does stand his ground. I offered to escort him to The Pit this morning, seeing as how Sherm did threaten him last night. He turned me down cold. Ended up costing him a bloody nose.”
“Sherm punched him?”
“And Hubie punched him right back. Leland got into it, too. He seemed super upset.”
“That’s because Leland doesn’t want to have anything to do with the place. He’d like to become a physical therapist. Help returning veterans.”
“How do you know that?”
“I started my day out with Mary Ellen, remember? She thinks he’s a good kid, but she sure doesn’t have anything nice to say about big brother Sherm. She thinks Sherm’s a bully and a drunk and just an all-around rotten businessman.”
“She’s not the only person in Dorset who feels that way.”
A hickory log burned through and broke in half, crashing to the hearth floor in a shower of sparks that sent Quirt darting for the front door. Clemmie opened one eye but didn’t budge. The Dude didn’t even open one eye. Just went right on snoozing.
“He feels safe here,” Des observed. “Look how nice and calm he is.”
“I wish he was this nice and calm at five o’clock in the morning.” Mitch got up to put another log on the fire and let Quirt out. “But I know what you mean. El Duderino does seem awfully at home here.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Why, no. I just…” He settled back down on the love seat, the Dude dozing there between them. “If it turns out that you can’t find a good home for him, well, Clemmie’s gotten kind of attached to the little guy.”
“Oh, Clemmie has, has she?”
“And Quirt’s starting to tolerate his presence, too.”
Des showed him her smile, the one that did strange, warm things to the lower half of his body. “You want to keep him, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that. But I don’t hate having him around. Do you think I’m turning into a bizarre, pathetic cat person?”
“I think you’re a big softie. And he’s all yours if you want him.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“You do that, wow man.”
“Want me to start dinner?”
“Feel free to start something,” she said, snuggling closer. “But here’s a hint—it’s not food that I’m thinking about right now.”
“Are you getting frisky with me, Master Sergeant?”
“Trying to.”
“Sorry, you had your chance last night in the cemetery. I was in the mood then. I’m not in the mood now.”
She buried her nose in his neck and kissed him in that spot behind his ear that never failed to make him quiver all over. “Are you absolutely sure…?”
“Okay, I may be in a position to reevaluate the situation.” He kissed her gently. Then not so gently. And then he ran his hand inside her robe, his fingers probing for whatever points of interest they might find in there.
She untied the robe and shrugged out of it. He put his arms around her and held her tight, reminding himself just how lucky he was to be with this incredible woman in this incredible place at this moment. That was when he saw it out of his bay windows—a bright orange glow in the eastern sky.
He pulled back from her, staring at it. “What do you suppose that is?”
Now he heard sirens off in the distance. One, two, three of them.
And now her cell started ringing on the coffee table. Des took the call and listened before she said, “I’ll be right there.” Rang off and darted into the bathroom, where her uniform was hanging on the back of the door. “It’s The Pit,” she called out to him.
“What about The Pit?”
She came out of the bathroom buttoning her uniform shirt. “It’s on fire.”
CHAPTER 7
SOMEONE WHO’D STOPPED FOR a carton of milk at the Citgo mini-mart phoned it in.
By the time Dorset’s forty-man volunteer fire department arrived, backed up by volunteer fire companies from South Dorset, Cardiff, and Hubbard’s Point, the fire had already engulfed The Pit. They needed water tankers since there were no hydrants on Pitcairn Avenue. And they needed every high-beam headlight and searchlight on every truck because there were no streetlights. Specially trained RITs—two-man Rapid Intervention Teams—stood by with oxygen, ready to assist any firefighters who got trapped or overcome. The Jewett sisters stood by in case anyone required emergency medical attention.
Des was the first state trooper to arrive, followed a minute later by two more from the Troop F barracks in Westbrook. The TV crews from Connecticut’s four local news stations showed up soon after that. They loved, loved fires.
The wood-framed building was pretty much gone by the time she got there, the flames fanned by the gusty winds that were blowing off of the Sound. Part of the wall where the kitchen had been remained standing, but the rest of the place was nothing more than a smoldering heap. Des could feel the residual heat on her face as the firefighters continued to douse the wreckage just to make absolutely sure it was out. They were also hosing down the neighboring wooden buildings, which were susceptible to being ignited by flying embers.
Ed Hurst, Dorset’s fire chief, was there in full gear. His Dodge Ram was parked in front of the boarded-up ice cream parlor next to Hubie Swope’s Ford Explorer. Hubie would be there in his capacity as fire marshal. Des spotted Gaylord Holland, who was Dorset’s assistant fire chief. Men such as Gaylord, who knew construction from top to bottom, were extremely valuable to a volunteer fire department.
“We’ve got it contained, Trooper Mitry,” declared Ed, who was a plumbing contractor. “Damned place went up faster than any building I’ve ever seen.”
Des said, “Sherm had all of the picnic tables from the patio piled inside, as I’m sure Hubie’s already told you. They made for an excellent source of fuel.”
“That they did,” he acknowledged. “Doesn’t explain what started it, though. Have you seen Hubie?”
“No, I haven’t. I just got here, Ed.”
“If you spot him tell him I’m looking for him, will you?”
Des found Sherm Gant slumped against his pickup over by the tattoo parlor, utterly devastated, his left eye swollen nearly shut from that altercation with Hubie earlier in the day. “We were holding our monthly Lions Club meeting at the Clam House when Gaylord g-got the call,” he told Des, his voice choking with emotion. “I—I followed him here. Can’t believe it’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, Sherm,” she said, as Leland came running down Pitcairn Avenue toward them.
“They wouldn’t let me through, Dad. I had to leave my car back at the Citgo.” Leland paused to catch his breath, gawking at the remains of The Pit in disbelief. “My God, there’s nothing left.…”
“Nothing,” Sherm said glumly. “I called you three times. Where were you?”
“At Center School. I was helping Brianna set up chairs for parent-teacher night. Had my phone on mute.”
Mary Ellen Tatum showed up now, along with her husband, Ward, who was tall, thin, and gray bearded. Mary Ellen hugged her nephew and then her brother, distraught. “We were sitting down to dinner when you called,” she told Sherm, her voice trembling. “Ward had just walked in the door from the library.”
“I was tutoring the Miller boy,” Ward said. “He’s bright but he just doesn’t ‘get’ mitosis.”
“What on earth happened?” Mary Ellen wondered plaintively.
“Kids,” said Sherm, puffing out his cheeks. “Must have been.”
Des studied him curiously. “Kids?”
“They break in every once in a while looking for booze. Like I’d be to stupid enough to leave any lying around.”
“Could be they were partying,” Leland said. “That’s been going on since back when I was in high school. They know that nobody’s down here so they break in and smoke joints and fart around. Maybe things got out of control.”
“Maybe,” Des said. “Sherm, did you keep anything flammable in there?”
“I’m not stupid,” he growled. “I strip the place from top to bottom before I shut it down. Will you be able to tell if somebody broke in?”
“I doubt it. That wreckage looks pretty far gone to me.”
