me in my usual spot. Her pencil was poised above her pad, awaiting my order.
“Cheeseburger deluxe and a chocolate milk shake,” I said. If the ten thousand calories I was about to consume didn’t wipe away the memories of my arrest, I didn’t know what would.
“Is that all?” she asked, more out of habit than curiosity.
“I should hope so,” I said, cracking myself up. When I didn’t get a reaction, I replied, “Yes, thank you.”
I stared at the refrigerated case in front of me, elaborately frosted cakes stacked on the shelves. I looked at each one, thinking that I would finish the meal off with a big, gooey piece of chocolate mousse cake. After all, I had been shot at and arrested. I needed something to take the edge off, and I had flushed all of my remaining Vicodin down the toilet. I thought chocolate would be the next best thing. A shape appeared behind my reflection in the glass, and judging by its silhouette—that of a bowling ball—I knew immediately who it was.
I didn’t turn around. “Hello, Peter.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “Expecting anyone or dining alone?” I didn’t answer, so he took the seat to my left. “This is a coincidence, huh?” he said.
I refused to make eye contact with him. “It certainly is.” I pulled a napkin out of the holder in front of me and wiped my upper lip. “Do you often come to Dobbs Ferry for diner food?”
“Nothing like a good Greek diner.” The waitress approached him and he ordered a cup of coffee.
I told the waitress to cancel my order and threw a ten down on the counter for her trouble. I had lost my appetite but, for some reason unknown to me, I wasn’t afraid. Annoyed, yes. But afraid? Not anymore. I knew that Peter wasn’t going to hurt me. I was convinced that he had killed Ray and that that had been his ultimate goal all along. I didn’t know why he had come; perhaps he wanted congratulations on the murder? Were we finally even? I stood.
Peter grabbed my arm. “Sit, Alison.”
“Leave me alone, Peter,” I said through my teeth.
He pulled on my arm. “Sit,” he said, this time more forcefully.
I looked around the restaurant, not knowing what I was hoping to see. A police officer on a break? Someone I knew? Now would be a good time for Detectives Hardin or Madden, or both, to grab a cup of coffee, I thought. But that didn’t seem to be a possibility and I finally relented, sitting back down on the stool. I leaned in close to Peter, with courage born of a near-death experience, jail time, and a peripheral involvement with too many murders. “Peter, I’m only going to say this once. Leave me alone.”
I wasn’t entirely surprised when he burst out laughing. “You are not a tough broad, Alison. No matter what you think.” His coffee arrived, some of it slopping over onto the saucer. He took the cup and dumped the residue on the saucer into it. He set about adding three sugars and a hefty dollop of cream from the metal pitcher on the counter. After a couple of sips, he turned back to me. “I just wanted to tell you that I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Stark was probably not the father of Kathy’s baby.”
“Then you must feel really bad about murdering him,” I spat out.
He looked surprised. “I didn’t murder him, Alison.” I started to get up, but he pulled me back onto the stool. He put his hand on my knee, his attempt to keep me seated.
“God, Peter. You must think I’m a moron.”
He shook his head. “Someone got to him before—”
“Before what? Before you could?” I asked.
He shook his head. “God knows, Alison, I had a few reasons to kill him. Of course, for Kathy, and then for the way he treated you. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. So, I’m here to pay my respects. For your loss.”
“For the way he treated me? Why would you care about that?” I snapped. “And what about the way you’ve treated me? You’ve kidnapped me, threatened to kill my best friend and my ex-husband, had him killed for all I know, and broke into my house not once,” I said, my voice getting loud, “not twice, but three times!” I jabbed his chest with my index finger. I took a deep breath and brought my voice back