and everything I did, especially in these first few months, was going to be scrutinized with microscopic intensity. Plus, I didn’t know anything about this guy, other than the fact that he was movie-star delicious and made a mean gin and tonic. He could have all sorts of secrets behind that slow, easy smile. I’d known a man with secrets before, and it hadn’t turned out well for me. I’d need more information before I could make an educated decision. If he was the new bartender, he’d be around for a while. Dinner could wait.
“No boyfriend,” I finally said. “But I’m pretty new at this job and I actually have a ton of work I have to do.” That was an excuse, but it wasn’t untrue. I did have work, and what I didn’t have at the moment were any emotional reserves to spend on an evening attempting to be witty and engaging while trying to pretend that the flutter wasn’t there. “Could we do it another time?”
His smile stayed in place, and I felt an illogical twinge of disappointment that he seemed to show little disappointment of his own. I guess he really was just looking for someone, anyone, to have dinner with. So much for feeling special. The flutter evaporated, replaced by a pragmatic sense of self-protection.
“Sure. You let me know when. Other than working, my schedule is wide open.”
He picked up the few glasses remaining on the table and walked from the room.
Well . . . so much for that.
Chapter 5
Sunday evening dinners at my grandmother’s house had become a family habit ever since Emily moved back to the island last summer. She, along with her thirteen-year-old daughter, Chloe, now lived with Gigi, and Emily’s boyfriend, Ryan, was a frequent fixture there as well. He lived in one of the few condo villas on the south side of the island, an area where the buildings had been constructed sometime within the past fifty years. You know—new stuff.
On this particular Sunday, we were gathered on the front porch. It was a surprisingly warm evening by November standards, and we were taking advantage of the last bit of sunshine, knowing that winter was on its way. I’d been filling them in on the city council’s antics, and deliberately avoiding any mention of the alleged jewel thief, when my father arrived. He walked up the wide steps, shoes thumping softly on the old wooden stairs.
“Evening, ladies. Ryan.” He nodded at each of us as we said our hellos.
Ryan stood up to shake his hand. “Chief. Nice to see you.”
Gigi and I were on the porch swing surrounded by well-worn chintz cushions and a couple of fuzzy throw blankets. She was polishing off her second martini while I nursed a weak vodka and cranberry. Emily and Chloe lounged nearby on a wicker outdoor sofa with one of Gigi’s cats reclining between them. I didn’t know which cat it was because I’d stopped paying attention to that a long time ago. Gigi was forever taking in strays. They’d hang around for a while and then eventually move on. Half the time she didn’t even bother to name them. She just called them all kitty.
“I’m afraid I have a bit of sad news,” my father said as Ryan settled back down on the other side of Emily.
“Sad news, Grandpa?” Chloe looked up from her phone.
“Yep, sad news for certain,” Harlan said, leaning against the whitewashed post and sliding his hands into the pockets of jeans that were at least as old as his granddaughter. Like most people born here, Harlan Callaghan was nothing if not frugal, and one did not discard a perfectly good pair of pants, even if they did date back a decade or two. “Bridget O’Malley has finally called it quits,” he said. “Poor old girl kicked the bucket, as it were.”
“She died?” Emily said. “When?”
“This morning. She was quilting with some of the other old gals over at Delores Crenshaw’s house, and they all thought she’d just dozed off. Not sure how long she sat there until they figured it out.”
“That’s terrible,” Chloe said, pulling the cat into her lap for comfort. “No one even noticed?”
“Well, keep in mind, Niblet, those quilting ladies are none too young themselves, and Bridget just turned a hundred and three years old. She napped all the time, only this time she didn’t wake up.”
This news was not really a surprise, but still a shock. Bridget O’Malley had been as much a fixture of