On Turpentine Lane(79)

“Cabbage soup.”

“That should keep. How about if we go out?”

I said sure. Okay. The soup would be better tomorrow.

“I’m thinking La Grotta.”

We were going, at this awkward juncture, to a restaurant? Common wisdom reminded me that breakups are supposed to be less messy when delivered in public. “Isn’t it something we can discuss here?” I managed to ask.

Later he told me I’d turned pale and looked so worried that he had to spill the beans.

He said no, not here. No way. Who did I think I was dealing with—a man who got down on his knee in the crappy kitchen of the murder site we called home? Or my partner in crime and life and second chances, Nicholas Paul Franconi?





47





News


NICK AND I DIDN’T rush into announcing what we were rather coyly calling “our understanding.” He did phone his father, too far away to meddle or spill the beans. Mr. Franconi wasn’t thrilled about the Jewish part. But Nick, winking at me, said yes, sure, we’d go to pre-Cana conferences; sure, we’d raise the children Catholic. Locally, we chose my brother to tell first, the family member least likely to ask questions about insurance beneficiaries, florists, caterers, and who’d officiate at our mixed marriage.

We disguised the invitation, said it was time I met Leslie and for Joel to have more than a passing acquaintance with Nick. How about dropping by for a drink? Saturday night? Six, six thirty, so it doesn’t interfere with your evening plans?

Which explains why he took the “dropping by” so casually that he showed up with not only Leslie—tall, dark hair artfully twisted, in jeans and boots and a sweater that was surely not purchased in Everton—but also his buddy Brian Dolan and Mrs. Brian Dolan. All four were on their way to a movie, Joel explained. He thought, having heard that Brian had set up shop here, that I’d be pleased to see him off duty, too.

After securing two more glasses from the kitchen and pouring the champagne, Nick cleared his throat in hammy fashion, and said, “First, welcome, everyone. Leslie, very nice to meet you. Faith and I think you’ve been an excellent influence on Joel, who now answers his phone and returns messages at least fifty percent of the time.”

Leslie raised her glass and gave a little bow.

“And welcome, Brian and Patty. Patty, I don’t know if Brian’s told you that our basement has become his second home. Sure, the neighbors think Faith and I are under house arrest, but we hold our heads high nonetheless”—apparently a cue for Brian to ask, “Did the chief call you?”

I said no. Was there news about the bloodstains?

“Bloodstains? Do I know about this?” Leslie asked Joel.

“Ancient history,” he told her. “The previous owner probably killed a couple of her husbands here.”

“Allegedly,” said Brian.

Shop talk inspired Joel to announce, “I’m on the police department’s tow list as of this week.”

Nick said, “Wow. Quite the get. Was that bid out?”

Brian said, “No. We maintain a list and we call them in order.”

Patty Dolan asked, “Is that what we’re celebrating?”

Finally, the needed segue! I slipped my arm around Nick’s waist. “Want to take this one?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “We’ve gathered you here tonight—well, not exactly Brian and Patty, but you’re totally welcome—to tell you that the most wonderful woman I’ve ever shared an office with . . . has asked me to marry her!”

“I did not! You asked me.”

He said, “I did, didn’t I!”

“At La Grotta,” I told them. “But not officially until dessert.”

“She made a scene.”

“I cried. The people at the next table asked if I was okay.”

Nick said, “I told them, ‘I just asked her to marry me. I think this is how she says yes.’ They sent two glasses of champagne over. It turned out that he was an alum.”

“Of course he was,” said Joel. “By the way, Nick, I called it.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said. “You only predicted that it wouldn’t stay platonic.”

“It was never platonic,” said Nick. “Or was that my overactive imagination?”

“So it’s official?” Patty Dolan asked.

I said, “Yes, and you’re the first to know.”

Hugs and high-fives were exchanged. Patty took my left hand for a quick survey then dropped it quickly. I said, “He’s not allowed to buy me a ring due to previous bad associations with that custom.”

“How long have you known each other?” Leslie asked.

I asked Nick, “When did I start at ECD? Two years ago? Eighteen months?”

“It’ll be two years on September 30,” he said.

I kissed him for that, for an anniversary date I didn’t know he’d been observing.

“I fell first,” Nick said. “But we were waylaid by complications.”

“On both sides,” I said.

“Isn’t there always?” said Leslie. “And as a former relative by marriage of the dick who was one of those complications, I’d say the best man won.”