LITMIR.BIZ

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killed the cat.”

      Bill maneuvered his car this way and that, navigating the stop-and-go of New Jersey congestion until I realized where we were headed. “That was the last exit in Jersey.”

      We threaded our way into the Lincoln Tunnel, evening commuters bumper-to-bumper. New York City. He turned sideways, the light from the streets casting shadows on his chiseled profile. “Yep. Something special.”

      6

      By the time we’d negotiated Seventh Avenue traffic, found a parking lot, and walked a block, I knew exactly where we were going: Rondelay, in the heart of Greenwich Village, one of the most romantic eating establishments in the city. I’d offhandedly mentioned that it was my favorite New York restaurant. I guess Bill had been listening.

      As he took my coat, Bill’s eyes slid up and down my suit. “Nice outfit. Attractive,” he murmured.

      OMG. Had he really called me “attractive”? This evening was going to be special. I eyed his pinstriped black suit, the tapered waist accentuating his broad shoulders. He’d managed to stay in great shape even after a career in the NFL. “Thanks. Not so bad yourself.”

      Bill was a bit of a wine connoisseur, especially reds, and I had confidence in his judgment. We sipped a California cabernet at a candlelit table by floor-to-ceiling windows, the fireplace emitting a cozy warmth complemented by the rustic feel of the brick walls. The light from the chandeliers was reflected in the windows that overlooked snow-covered shrubs in a private garden. In a corner, a tuxedo-clad man played a baby grand piano. The ambience was intimate and inviting.

      “Guess I hit one out of the ballpark with this place,” he said, sipping his wine. “I see why you like it. A nice place to have a belated Valentine’s Day dinner.”

      I lifted my glass. “To Valentine’s Day.”

      “I’m sorry about that. Duty called and—”

      I raised a hand to stop him. “No need to explain. I understand.”

      Bill cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

      “I’m surprised you felt you could take tonight off.”

      “I’m delegating to Suki more.”

      Really? “Any leads on Sally’s whereabouts?” I asked cautiously. I still hadn’t heard back from her.

      His eyes narrowed. “Dodie, let’s have a nice dinner and forget about shop talk, okay?”

      We had decided on the three-course prix fixe menu and the waiter brought our appetizers—oyster chowder for me, crispy octopus for him. I inhaled the fragrant steam off my bowl. “This smells amazing.” We dove in.

      “You know the other reason I brought you here?” he asked.

      “Besides it being my favorite restaurant?”

      “Yeah. And romantic,” he said matter-of-factly.

      My spoon halfway to my mouth, I paused. “Why?”

      “Its history.” Bill cut into a piece of octopus.

      I knew it had been a carriage house in the 1700s. “Early American, right?”

      “Built before the American Revolution. So…this restaurant, the ELT production…” He waited for me to respond.

      “Both colonial America,” I said and took another spoonful of the chowder.

      Bill laughed. “Yeah. You and everyone else in Etonville have their heads buried in the eighteenth century lately.”

      “It’s a big undertaking for the theater. Large cast, powdered wigs, a grumpy turntable…”

      He nodded. “I receive updates from Edna daily. Hard to keep her mind on dispatch.”

      “Well, she’s saying what a lot of folks are thinking. I guess Walter just got a vision that he had to run with. There’s a stubborn streak there,” I said.

      “Stubbornness. Must be the drinking water in Etonville,” he said wryly. “Anyway, things have been pretty quiet around town until yesterday. The only crises were the Banger sisters forgetting to pay their bill at Coffee Heaven and Mrs. Parker’s cat caught up a tree. But now…”

      Coffee Heaven was an old-fashioned breakfast diner with a few modern coffee items on the menu. Caramel macchiato was my obsession.

      “Right.” I had a sudden brainstorm. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you yesterday and I know you don’t want to talk shop, but Sunday night I had just come out of the Windjammer and it was already dark but across the street Barbie’s Craft Shoppe was—”

      “What?”

      Our entrées appeared—beef Wellington with root vegetables and beets in a cabernet reduction for me, and a rack of lamb with parsnip potato gratin and onion rings for Bill.

      “I guess you know Ralph picked up the dead man on Main Street Sunday night?”

      Bill stopped pouring wine.

      “I knew it was him because the jacket and hat were the same,” I said.

      “You’re telling me the victim was on the streets of Etonville days before he was found murdered?” Bill asked.

      “Some coincidence, right?” No need to mention that Sally was with me. Yet.

      Bill exhaled heavily. “The Craft Shoppe called in a complaint about a vagrant and Ralph responded. He told me the guy seemed nice, wandering down the street, and he paused to look in the shop window.”

      That’s not all he paused to do.

      “Ralph brought him in to the station?”

      Bill shook his head. “He dropped him off at the library parking lot. The guy said he was meeting someone there.”

      The library?

      We ate and drank, and I could feel myself melting—relaxed and satisfied—even though Bill now seemed a little preoccupied. “Well, this makes up for last Saturday night,” I said.

      He blinked. “You’re still holding a grudge?”

      I laughed. “Of course not.”

      I was too full for dessert, but a third course came with our dinners so we settled on crème brûlée and chocolate mousse. It had been a perfect night so far. Now, if Bill invited me back to his place for a nightcap—

      “Do you?” he asked.

      I had gotten lost in my fantasy. “Sorry?”

      “Want to find someplace for an after-dinner drink?” He placed his credit card on the check.

      “Sure.”

      We put on our coats, Bill held the door, and I slipped out into the night. It felt like the temperature had dropped a few degrees and I shivered involuntarily.

      Bill took my arm. “Let’s walk to the corner. There’s got to be a spot down Seventh Avenue.”

      He shifted places with me, moving to the outside of the sidewalk as a couple bounced down the walk, laughing and nudging each other. They were probably high on something besides love. We shuffled aside to let them pass and Bill stepped off the curb. When he attempted to get back on the sidewalk, his foot caught the edge of a wrought iron tree guard throwing him off balance. He grasped a branch as his other foot hit a patch of black ice, whisking his legs out from under him, sending him onto the pavement with a thud and smashing his right foot into the tree guard.

      I lunged for his arm, but the whole thing happened so quickly that he was on the ground before I could help. “Bill!” I stooped down.

      The couple disappeared around a corner. Totally oblivious.

      “Are you all right?” I asked, suddenly in disaster-mode. I knew it would be impossible for me to try to lift him.

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