“Can I help you?” she asked, as though June were some kid trying to peddle magazines.
“Hello, yourself.” June pushed past Rose and surveyed the situation. The last time she had been present in Charley’s home, the place had smelled like a man. Now, it smelled like lavender bathwater. Turning to Rose, she said, “What are you doing here? Again?”
Rose pressed her manicured mauve nails into June’s shoulder. “I was speaking with Charley on the phone and he told me all about his accident.” Leaning forward, she murmured, “Just between you and me, it sounded like a cry for another casserole, but he really is feeling quite blue.”
June swept past her and into the den. Charley was stretched out on the chaise lounge, looking anything but blue. He was wearing a pair of silver reading glasses and flipping through the pages of a classic Sherlock Holmes novel.
“June!” Charley slid off his glasses. “How nice of you to drop by.”
“It looks like you already have company.” She had to make an effort to keep the annoyance out of her tone. “However, I’ve brought you some more food.”
Rose clucked. “The casserole is already in the oven. If we would have known you were coming . . .”
“Yes, June.” Charley grinned. “If we had known you were coming, we would have asked you to bring dessert.”
June flushed. “I did.” Setting the brown bag down on a wooden end table, she rifled through it and pulled out the pecan pie. “Here you are.”
“My goodness.” Rose folded her hands. “Is that . . . store-bought?”
“I think it looks delicious,” Charley said. “Pecan pie is my favorite.”
June was surprised to hear this. Pecan pie was her favorite, which was why she picked it. She had pegged Charley as more of a peach pie type of man. “It is indeed store-bought,” she told Rose, “but that particular store is serviced by the finest bakery in town. I imagine it will taste much better than a strudel.”
“Does this mean you’re staying for dinner?” Charley asked.
Rose narrowed her eyes. “I really don’t know if we’ll have enough food . . .”
The doorbell chimed. They all looked toward the entryway, and Charley seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Now, who in the world could that be?”
“I’ll get it,” Rose and June chorused. Glaring at each other, they strode out of the den and into the foyer. Rose’s high heels clicked across the hardwood floor like a horse trying to win a race.
In the hallway, she stopped abruptly in front of the mirror. Pinching her cheeks pink, she turned and glared at June. “Now, you listen to me.” Her voice was practically a hiss. “You may as well save your breath. Charley is as good as mine.”
“You can have him,” June said, exasperated. “I don’t even like the man.”
“Oh, please.” Rose made a face that could have been a frown, but with all of that Botox, it was hard to tell. “Sneaking in like you have nothing at stake. Don’t think you’re going to be the one who walks away with the silver fox.”
“The silver fox?” June echoed, bewildered. “What is he, a holiday ornament?”
The doorbell chimed again. With a toss of her red-dyed hair, Rose pushed past June and opened the door. “What on earth are you doing here?” she gasped.
Rose sounded so genuinely distressed that June was certain it had to be Rose’s ex-husband. He was a distasteful man, with a rather strong passion for the drink. June pulled Rose out of the way, ready to give the man a piece of her mind. Charley or no Charley, no one messed with her friends.
To her surprise, the person on the front stoop wasn’t Rose’s ex-husband. In fact, it wasn’t a man at all.
It was Bernice, eagerly clutching a casserole.
Thirty-three
Kristine leaned back in her black metal chair at a corner cafe. The hotel was right next door, a charming structure made from dark gray stone. Next to it loomed a building that had to be at least eight hundred years old, with its stained yellow walls and faded blue shutters.
“I love it out here,” Kristine told Ethan. “In fact, I think I love everything about Rome.” Kristine had been having the time of her life but something was happening, something between her and Ethan. Maybe it was the fact that she was spending so much time with him or because being in Italy felt like her life back home didn’t exist, but Kristine had found herself becoming more and more attracted to him. After all,