Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

“Maybe we could have a little dinner first—”

Her eyebrows raised.

“At The Inn—”

Her eyebrows dropped.

“Or The Out,” I finished. Not as cheap as The Inn, but at least it was cheaper than Le Dock, and I clearly needed to be on a budget from here on in. “Afterward we could take a little walk on the beach,” I said, hoping to distract her from the other restaurant possibilities with the promise of romance. Girls liked that shit, right?

Of course, Francesca was no ordinary girl.

She seemed to consider it for a full moment, and just when I thought she might utter some inane protest, she stood up and said, “Okay.” Then, with one toss of her shiny brown hair, she headed inside.

“You’re both going out? Together?” Tom said, staring at me after I explained that Francesca and I were going out to dinner. A friendly little dinner, I described it as.

But no matter how I had sugarcoated it, Tom looked pretty pissed off. I was starting to worry that he might not be as oblivious to what was going on between me and Francesca as I thought.

“What am I going to do with this dinner I’m making?” he said, waving a hand at the meat defrosting on the counter. “I’ve got enough lamb chops here to feed an army!”

Nope. Still clueless.

“First Sage disappears,” he continued. “Now you and Francesca—”

“Well, Zoe is around, isn’t she?”

“Zoe’s a vegetarian!” Tom said, slapping a hand on the counter in frustration.

“Ummm, she’ll definitely go for the, uh, spinach. And the potatoes,” I said, eyeing the produce he had taken out, too. I looked around, hoping Zoe might come out and save me somehow by converting back to a carnivore. But since she didn’t, I asked, “Where is Zoe?”

“Oh, she’s up in the attic,” Tom said with a wave of his hand. “She’s looking through Maggie’s old clothes.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t picture Zoe wearing Maggie’s clothes—Maggie was a bit more upscale than Zoe could tolerate—but whatever.

“At least someone’s interested,” Tom said. “I’m having a heck of a time getting anyone from the Salvation Army to pick the stuff up. Or at least meet the freight ferry.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think I ought to just throw it all out.” Then his face brightened. “Or maybe I’ll have a yard sale.”

Oh, that was classy, Tom. Fortunately, I was saved from making a reply by the sight of Francesca, who stood in the entrance to the kitchen, finally ready to go.

Wow, I thought, studying the soft lavender dress she wore. It was worth the wait. I think she might have even put on makeup. She looked older. She looked hot. Well, hotter than usual.

I saw Tom looking at his daughter as she stood there, his gaze pensive. Shit, maybe he’d already figured out this little outing was not as casual as I had made it sound.

Then he snapped his fingers, a smile coming over his face as he looked at me once more. “I just remembered—I know a great recipe for lamb stew. I can use the leftovers and make us that for lunch tomorrow!”

Oh, brother. I looked at Francesca and saw, once again, what looked like genuine hurt in her eyes.

Damn. Francesca’s m.o. suddenly became way too clear to me. All this time she’d been trying to get her father’s attention. And, I thought, watching as Tom opened a cabinet and began pulling out ingredients, she clearly wasn’t getting it.

Poor kid. I vowed to make it up to her. Now I was glad I’d suggested this little outing. Maybe that was what Francesca needed, you know? A little TLC.

That, I could do. Yeah, I thought, studying her as she stepped toward the sliding glass door, eyes lowered.

That, I could handle.

Chapter Thirty-two

Zoe

For whom the dinner bell tolls

If Maggie Landon did live on, it was in her attic. After an hour of digging through the bags of clothing Tom had stored there, I was practically ill. Probably because all those sweatshirts, shorts, skirts and pants conjured up a woman—a life—that no longer was. Now I wondered why I had even bothered. What did I expect a dress to tell me anyway? I had learned all I needed to know from Nick. When I had asked him what Maggie was wearing the last time he saw her, he had said a shirt and jeans. Which made me wonder just why—or for who—she had changed into a dress. Still, the dress was a clue, and since it was the first real clue I had, I wanted to get my hands on it.

Not that I did.

By the time I climbed down again, sweaty and coated in dust, I felt vaguely nauseous. And completely demoralized.

“Find anything you like?” Tom greeted me once I stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh, uh, no. I mean, not really,” I said, looking at the line of lamb chops on the cutting board before him.

There was a lot of meat there. Well, Sage wasn’t here to enjoy them, and I certainly wouldn’t enjoy them. I just hoped Nick and Francesca were hungry.

Then I realized how quiet the house was.“Where is everyone?”

“Well, as you know, Sage went out with Vince, and it looks like Nick and Francesca have followed suit.”

“Nick took Francesca to Le Dock?” I said.

“Nah, I think they went to The Out for dinner,” he said, raising the knife above the fatty end of one chop.“So it’s just me and you for dinner.” Whack.

I shivered, watching as he used the knife to slide the fat off to the side of the cutting board. Me and Tom for dinner? Yikes.“Uh, you know I don’t eat meat, right?” I said, grabbing on to the first good excuse to run to The Out myself.

“Oh, I know,” he said with a grimace as he lined up another chop to trim. Whack.

I stepped away from the counter, nearly falling over Janis Joplin, who was lying by the door. At least she was here to