Crewel Intentions (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery) (5 page)

“I can’t. I’ll lose Darren.”

“You’re going to lose a lot more than a boyfriend if you don’t.” And what about me? If the guys in the Range Rover planned to carry out a hit on Erica, they weren’t going to leave me around as a witness.

“Grab a change of clothes,” I said after she unlocked the back door and we slipped into the house. “We’re not staying here.”

“Where will we go?”

“A hotel for now.”

She raced upstairs.

“Don’t turn on any lights, and keep away from the windows,” I called after her.

My overnight bag still sat at the foot of the stairs. I grabbed the strap and positioned myself off to the side of the living room window, giving me a view of the street without risk of being seen by anyone outside.

The minutes ticked by.
What was taking her so long?
“Hurry up!” I yelled. My life was flashing before my eyes, and I didn’t like the ending.

“I am!”

A minute later I heard the toilet flush. Finally, she ran back downstairs, a gym bag looped over her shoulder—just as a blue minivan pulled into the driveway of the house across the street.

The two men stepped from the Range Rover. One appeared to be in his forties, the other in his seventies. Neither carried a gun. They headed for the minivan as the side door slid open. Two young boys jumped out and raced into the men’s arms.

“False alarm.” I slid down the wall and collapsed onto the floor. Maybe by next Tuesday, if I were lucky, my blood pressure would return from the stratosphere.

Erica stared out the window at the happy family reunion. “I need a drink.”

“Make mine a triple.”

After a few drinks, Erica and I calmed down sufficiently not to arouse any suspicions regarding our harrowing, non-life-threatening escapade. Still, I’d feel much safer once my plane departed from the Pittsburgh airport the next evening, even though, once back in New Jersey, I now needed to make sure no electronic bugs lurked in either my house or my office. The thought of Joey Milano or one of his goons eavesdropping on my life left me totally freaked out. Been there, done that. And once had been one time too many.

***

Erica’s doorbell rang at six-thirty. She ran to the door and swung it open. “Darren—” In a split second her voice shifted from excited to horrified. “Where did you get those?”

As he stepped into the living room, I saw what had rattled her. In his hands he held a pale pink envelope and a small package
wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with a pink ribbon.

“They were sitting at your door,” he said. He leaned over to peck her cheek. “Do I have competition?”

Erica recovered quickly, snatching the package and envelope from him. She forced a laugh. “Of course not. I forgot. They’re from my next door neighbor. I guess she left them while we were in the backyard earlier.”

“Why is your next door neighbor leaving you gifts?”

“It’s…uhm…a…a thank-you for some research I did for her at the library. For her mother. For a nursing home. She needs to find a nursing home for her mother.”

Poor Erica. She’d stroke out if we didn’t unmask her love-struck mystery man before I left tomorrow. I needed to set a trap to catch Eldon in the act.

Right now, though, I knew I’d better empty my brain of anything remotely connected to love-struck geeks, stalkers, and mob hit men until after my dinner with Erica and her boyfriend. I had an evening of lies ahead of me, thanks to Erica, and needed to concentrate on not screwing up.

Darren Applegate was not at all what I had pictured, given Erica’s only other romance, the gorilla-like Ricardo. At least ten years older than Erica, Darren shared no physical traits with apes and bore a striking resemblance to Jude Law, minus the receding hairline.

“I get that a lot,” he said when I mentioned the likeness. “Wish I earned his kind of money.”

After a few more pleasantries, the three of us left the house and piled into Darren’s SUV to head to the restaurant. Darren began peppering me with questions the moment he pulled out of Erica’s driveway. “Erica tells me you own an art gallery in Manhattan, but she hasn’t said much more about you, Anastasia. I didn’t even know she had any family until she mentioned your visit this weekend.”

“I’m all the family she has.” Then I used Erica’s tactic and turned the conversation around to him. “I understand you have children, Darren. Tell me about them.”

Didn’t all parents love to brag about their kids? Darren didn’t disappoint. Over the twenty-minute drive back to Shadyside, I heard more than I’d ever need to know about two- year-old Isabelle and three-year-old Edward.

The bragging finally ended when Darren parked the car. He’d chosen a small Italian bistro situated several doors down from Needle Me. The moment we stepped inside, I realized he’d most likely made the reservation before he knew of my visit.

Firenza’s featured linen tablecloths, soft lighting with candles on each table, and Andrea Bocelli piped through the sound system. A perfect restaurant for an intimate date, not for a couple dragging along a
faux
aunt. I would have apologized for ruining his plans, but even I didn’t know before yesterday that I’d be spending the weekend in Oakmont, Pennsylvania.

After we’d given the waitress our orders, I attempted to prolong the conversation about Darren’s kids. Anything to keep him talking rather than asking questions. “Given your children’s names, is their mother a big
Twilight
fan?”

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

“Candace wanted Darren to have his teeth filed into vampire points,” said Erica. “Can you imagine?”

“Only one of many reasons why we’re now divorced,” he said, “but let’s get back to you, Anastasia. What types of artwork do you show in your gallery?”

Damn!
“Crafts, mainly. Erica mentioned you’re a college admissions counselor at Pitt?”

“That’s right. What’s the name of the gallery?”

Luckily, I’d anticipated having to supply a gallery name. “Creative Hearts & Hands.” The gallery did exist but in Hoboken, not Manhattan. And of course, I wasn’t the owner. “How long have you worked at the university?”

Darren frowned as he broke a breadstick in half. “Is this a genetic trait common to all Miller women? You’re exactly like Erica. Neither one of you is willing to talk much about yourself. Erica and I have dated for three months, yet I know next to nothing about her life before she moved to Oakmont. She doesn’t even have any family photos.”

Erica placed her hand on his forearm. “Darren, I told you I lost everything when my house flooded during Hurricane Irene.”

He ignored her and turned to me. “What about you, Anastasia? Did your house also flood during the hurricane?”

I hadn’t expected the conversation to veer in this direction. Good thing Erica provided a handy dodge for both of us. “Yes, as a matter of fact—”

He slammed his hands on the table, nearly toppling our wine glasses. “Why are you both so damn secretive?”

I shrugged. “I’d love to tell you, Darren, but then I’d have to kill you.”

He didn’t get the joke. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You’re a government agent?”

I laughed. This must be how Zack feels whenever I question him about his frequent spur-of-the-moment trips to remote parts of the world.

Erica placed her hand over Darren’s. “Really, does Anastasia look like a government agent? You think she’s Jane Bond or something?”

“I can assure you,” I said, “that I’m not a spy.” At least that wasn’t a lie, unlike nearly everything else I’d told Darren so far this evening.

“I’m not sure what to think,” he said. “Something’s very odd about the way the two of you act. Like you’re hiding something.”

“Blame our reticence on our upbringing,” I said. “In our family talking about yourself was considered poor manners and frowned upon.”

I don’t think he bought into my explanation, but he gave up peppering me with questions once our dinners arrived.

***

“How exhausting!” I said after Darren dropped us off back at Erica’s house. “I don’t know how you manage hiding your past from everyone. How do you keep all the lies straight?”

Erica curled up on the couch and hugged one of the throw pillows to her chest. “It’s a full-time job. I have to think about everything I say before I say anything. On more than one occasion I’ve slipped and mentioned something I shouldn’t have said.”

“Like what?”

“A few weeks ago I told someone at work that I’d met Vittorio Versailles before he was murdered.”

“Erica!”

“I know. I caught myself in time and said it was part of a literacy fundraiser I’d attended in New York.”

“You need to be more careful.”

She sighed. “I’m trying. At least I haven’t mentioned anything about my family.”

“What about me?”

“My real family, I mean. But you saw how annoyed Darren got this evening. Eventually, I’m going to have to tell him something.”

“You need to discuss this with your WitSec handler.”

“I haven’t told her about Darren yet.”

“She doesn’t know you’re dating someone?”

“No.”

“Darren seems serious, Erica. You need to discuss this with her.”

She sighed again. “I know. I promise. As soon as we figure out who’s leaving me those notes and gifts. I can only deal with one crisis at a time.”

“I think I have a plan.”

SIX

“We’re going to catch him in the act,” I said.

“How? There doesn’t seem to be any pattern to when the gifts and cards arrive.”

“But you said they’re appearing with more frequency lately, twice a day or more.”

“That’s right.”

“So chances are he’ll show up again at least once before I leave tomorrow. We’re going to be waiting for him the moment he steps onto your property.”

I laid out my plan. “We’ll set an alarm to wake up before dawn. I’ll stake out the front of the house, and you’ll stake out the back. At some point he’ll show up, and we’ll have our answer.”

“I hope it’s not Eldon,” said Erica.

“I haven’t noticed anyone else other than Darren taking an interest in you.” Other than Eldon and Tilly Braunfelter, we hadn’t bumped into anyone who seemed to know Erica. I found that quite odd, especially considering she worked at the library. “Has any other man asked you out? Have you turned down a date with anyone?”

“No one.”

Another thought occurred to me, one I hope she didn’t confirm. “You haven’t signed up for any online dating sites or visited any chat rooms, have you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you need to think about what you’ll say to Eldon because I’m betting he shows up here sometime tomorrow.”

***

The alarm woke me at four-thirty the next morning. I peeled my eyelids open to the annoying chirping of waking birds and headed for the bathroom. Erica, already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, met me in the hall. “I’ll start a pot of coffee,” she mumbled.

“Don’t turn on any lights. If he thinks you’re awake, he might not leave anything.”

“I hope he’s an early riser. I’d love to catch him, then go back to bed.”

I yawned. “That makes two of us.”

By the dim glow of the bathroom night light, I brushed my teeth and grabbed a quick shower. The sky had begun to lighten when I returned to the guest bedroom. Glancing out the window, I noticed a familiar figure jogging down the street, heading away from the house.

I raced down the stairs, unlocked the front door, and flung it open. No package. No card. Nothing in front of the door, nothing sitting on either porch chair.

“Who is it?” asked Erica, coming up behind me.

“No one.” I closed and locked the door. “Is Eldon a runner?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I saw him jogging down the street.”

“But he didn’t leave anything on the porch?”

“No. Unless he went to the back door.”

“I didn’t hear anyone.”

We both headed for the kitchen. Erica unlocked and opened the kitchen door. Again, no package or envelope.

“Maybe the jogger only looked like Eldon,” I said. After all, I’d met Eldon only once and had spent less than a minute with him.

We both grabbed coffee and cereal bars and took up our stake-out positions. The sun rose; the street came alive. One by one families left to go to church. The morning dragged on without any sign of Eldon or anyone else bearing gifts for Erica.

A little before eleven o’clock Erica called from the kitchen. “I made a fresh pot of coffee.”

I grabbed my cup and headed for the kitchen. As Erica poured the coffee, we heard a knock on the front door.

“That’s probably Darren,” she said.

I followed her to the living room. When she opened the door, we found Horace Buckwalter standing on her porch. He held a bouquet of pink roses in his hands. Mr. Buckwalter offered Erica the flowers. “I’ve come a’courtin’, Rose.” Then seeing me, he tipped his hat and said, “With your permission, of course, ma’am.”