Reclaiming His Bride (DiCarlo Brides book 3) (The DiCarlo Brides) (32 page)

“Today’s tragedy is going to change your life. For the better I think.”

Rosemary looked up from the salmon she was deboning and saw Sage standing beside her at the restaurant kitchen counter. “Yeah? Thanks for the heads up, but I’m a little too busy for tragedy today.” Still, she felt a little shiver go down her spine. Sage’s predictions had a way of coming true, even if she couched them in vague enough terms that the average person might ignore the warnings. The word
tragedy
rang again in her mind—it was fairly certain she wasn’t referring to a burned dish or dropped appetizer. “Not enough going on in your own department right now?”

Sage didn’t react to the clipped words, her wide, brown eyes studying Rosemary calmly. Her olive skin and curling brown hair gave her the look of a gypsy—a not inapt comparison considering the random, always-accurate predictions. Though the half-sisters hadn’t known each other long, Rosemary had seen enough of these predictions to believe in them.

“The spa is busy, but I had a few minutes’ break and thought I should come warn you. It’s been on my mind since I woke up this morning,” Sage said. The chaos of breakfast preparation whirled around them, pans clattering, dishes clanking and staff calling back and forth to each other as they prepared for the convention, while feeding late breakfast patrons in the restaurant.

 “Well, thanks for stopping by. I think.” Rosemary didn’t want to dwell on what the tragedy was going to be if there was no way to avert it. And how could it have a positive outcome?

Sage touched Rosemary’s arm. “Just remember. Good things come out of bad sometimes too. And this will definitely be one of them.” She gave her arm a little squeeze, then breezed out.

It was nice no longer seeing evidence of the worry and stress that had plagued Sage through the summer and fall, but Rosemary wondered if it left too much time for her to worry about the rest of the sisters. She stretched her back muscles, forcing away the shiver of discomfort Sage’s prediction had caused. Maybe Sage had misunderstood her impressions.

It had been a fourteen-hour day when Rosemary returned home, her feet sore, her muscles complaining, and with another long day ahead of her tomorrow—but at least everything was ready for the next day. Sage’s warning had flitted into her thoughts several times through the day, but nothing she would consider tragic had happened, unless you counted the server who tripped over her own feet and dropped a table’s meals just before she reached them.

That had been a mess, and the restaurant had to comp the meals, but Rosemary would hardly consider it a tragedy. She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes in the middle of the aisle, mostly with the hope of annoying Delphi. She poured herself some hot water from the espresso machine, grabbed one of Sage’s secret tea blends and stepped into the sunken living room to join Delphi in watching the news.

“Anything interesting in your neck of the woods?” Rosemary asked as the newscasters droned on about some new legislation the Colorado House of Representatives was trying to push through.

“I dealt with a hysterical bride because the linens we ordered are a shade too pink for her reception, a CEO who decided to add an extra ten rooms for his convention
this
weekend, despite the fact that we’re already at capacity, but I’m not having any trouble with my employees. You?” Delphi brushed the short, blond hair back from her face.

A lot of people thought they were the two sisters who the most alike, but Rosemary didn’t see it—and not just in personality. She was tall with long, blond hair that she had to braid out of the way while she worked in the kitchen and she had to fight to keep the extra weight off. Delphi was thin without exercise or paying attention to what she ate and totally uncoordinated, in opposition to the genteel, polished way she presented herself in every situation—at least when she was in public. Their histories were also total opposites, but that was another story.

Rosemary pushed the comparison away. “Things ran mostly fine in the restaurant, the convention banquets went well—unless you’ve heard something I haven’t—and I got my food order done. No major catastrophes—despite Sage saying a tragedy was going to change my life today.” She tried to blow the warning off as if she didn’t believe a word of it, but still felt an itch between her shoulder blades when she thought of it.

“Sage gave you a warning? That sounds ominous.” Delphi took another sip from her teacup, the soft scent wafting over to Rosemary said it held chamomile.

 “New information regarding the bombing of a Washington DC café has just come in,” a blond news anchor announced on the television. She stared into the camera with a serious expression. “Senator Gary Lampert of Minnesota is confirmed as having died in the blast, along with at least eight other people after a bomb was shot through a window during lunch hour. Authorities are still trying to track down suspects.” She went on to discuss the controversial legislation the senator had been trying to pass and how it wasn’t expected to get enough votes without his push behind it.

Delphi looked at Rosemary. “You’re from DC; maybe that’s your tragedy.” She pointed to the television. Everyone was starting to believe Sage’s predictions, despite the fact that it was so unlikely.

The camera panned back, showing the row of storefronts on the street. Rosemary recognized the café sign hanging crooked against the wall and sighed. She loved the little café and had been going there for decades. “It sure is. They make the best cannoli at that shop. It’s even better than mine.”

“Liar.” Delphi picked up the remote and turned off the television. “No one’s cannoli is better than yours, as much as I might hate to admit that.”

Though the loss of the café gave Rosemary wistful beats of nostalgia, Delphi’s unusual compliment did make her feel a little better. “I’m off to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a doozy.” Rosemary carried her tea up to her room to sip on while she prepared for bed, wondering if she’d known anyone who’d been hurt in the bombing.

The morning zoomed by as the restaurant staff got the continental breakfast out for the finance conference, then turned their attention to preparing the lunches.

Rosemary double-checked the croissants they had made fresh that morning to ensure there were enough and that they looked right for the lunch sandwiches when there was a knock on the storage room door. “Come in,” she called as she checked them off her list.

“Hey, um, Deputy Oliver wants to talk to you.” It was one of the servers, looking a little nervous to be interrupting Rosemary.

She scowled, but set down her clipboard on the shelf and responded coolly. “Thank you for letting me know.” What was he doing there? She’d paid that speeding ticket, already. It wasn’t like she’d been going that fast, either. A funny thought niggled in the back of her mind, saying that this was important, but she shoved it back, determined to face the cop professionally.

“Hello,” she greeted him just outside the kitchen doors with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

“Is there somewhere quieter where we can talk?” he asked.

Her stomach quivered a little, but she pointed to a private room a few feet away and he led the way. Why would he need to talk to her alone, anyway?

When he was well away from everyone else, the deputy turned to face Rosemary. “Please have a seat.”

“Do I
need
to sit?” she asked, sinking into the one he pointed to. “Is there something wrong with my mother?” The thought gave her twisted feelings of both wistfulness and apathy—which made her feel terrible.

“No, your family is fine. You’re originally from Washington DC, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You know a couple named Don and Cecelia Markham?” He consulted his notebook to make sure he got the names correct.

“Yes. Are they okay?” Now real fear gripped her and her lungs became tight.

“Did you hear about the senator who was killed in that café bombing in DC yesterday?” When she nodded that she had, he continued. “It seems they were there at the time. I’m very sorry. They didn’t make it.”

She couldn’t breathe. It took a couple of tries before she got out the words, “Their daughter, Cleo?”

“Is fine. She was at school at the time.”

Her lungs loosened slightly, though the pain of knowing that Don and Cecelia were gone was overwhelming. “Who’s taking care of her? How...” Her mind stopped working almost entirely. How could this happen?

“I don’t have a lot of details, ma’am. I’m sorry. Their lawyer called our office. Apparently you were on the list of people to alert if something happened to them.” He ripped off a page from his notepad and passed it to her. “Here’s his contact information.”

“Thank you.” She took the paper but didn’t know what else to do or say.

“Would you like me to get someone to be with you?” he asked. “I can get one of your sisters.”

“No. No thanks.” She shook her head, looking back at him and forcing a smile while she mourned inside. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll go to one of their offices if I need to talk to someone.” She doubted her legs would hold her weight at the moment, but she didn’t want to face anyone else right now anyway.

He looked as though he wasn’t sure if he should go, but he accepted the dismissal. “The lawyer did state that they expected plans for the funeral to be set by the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” she said again. He left and a moment later she walked back into the kitchen. She passed right through on her way to the storage room, pausing only when spoken to. As she pushed open the door to the storage room, she felt hot tears roll onto her cheeks. Don and Cecelia were dead. It was like losing her father all over again. Maybe worse.

She allowed herself to grieve for several minutes, before wiping her face and forcing herself to focus on her job. She had to get through the next few hours at work, reschedule her life so she could go to DC. Cleo was going to need her, so she’d be strong. Tonight when she was in her bed alone there would be time to fall apart.

When she walked back into the kitchen and found out that the sandwich filling for lunch was ruined, she snapped.

Rosemary was still fuming, working like mad to keep up with the restaurant demands and oversee preparations for the banquet that afternoon. She just couldn’t catch a break, and she was so tired. And hungry. But she wasn’t going to indulge in anything until those sandwiches were made.

“Rosemary, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was Harrison, who always made her feel like a bumbling fool. He was using his calm, controlled voice—which meant they would probably be fighting in a few minutes, because that’s what they always did when they ‘talked.’