Five in a Row Read online

  Emily could see Liz was busy behind the counter. Lunch had not yet begun in earnest, though half a dozen customers were already standing in line, getting sandwiches to take out. A couple of the regulars from the courthouse were sitting at one of the three wrought-iron tables in front of the café, eating their early lunch and enjoying the sunshine.

  It still amazed Emily what this place had come to mean to her and Liz. The joint venture had served to ground the two sisters. It had brought them closer to each other. It gave them a feeling of ownership, of belonging. They now had a place in this community, too. This was exactly what Emily wanted for Conor and for herself.

  Eatopia Café was also a place where both sisters could play the roles that suited them best. Liz had inherited their father’s handsome Irish looks and his personality. She was an extrovert, a people person. She remembered names and made friends easily. She liked to perform. And the customers were enchanted not only with her healthy, gourmet sandwiches, but with her beauty and charm. Emily, on the other hand, was just like their Italian mother. Dark complexioned and on the short side, she felt particularly plain when she was in the company of her sister. Emily felt no envy toward Liz, though. She knew who she was and was fairly content with it. Emily was an introvert, a behind-the-scenes kind of person. In her case, she was really a behind-the-screen kind of person.

  The SUV drove away, and Emily nosed into the parking space. Shutting off the engine, she got out. A car tooted its horn across the green as she stepped up onto the sidewalk. She turned and looked back across the glistening cobblestones. On the green, in front of the Vietnam war monument, a bed of mums still in bloom caught her eye. The monument was fairly new—a semicircular wall of granite standing near a Civil War statue. She gazed at the mums for a moment. Their reds and golds were vibrant in the bright morning sunshine, and she wondered for a moment how long it would be until the first hard frost cut their vitality, leaving them bent and faded. Such is life, she thought, turning and going into the café.

  Liz was alone behind the counter. The new haircut looked good on her. Short red ringlets bounced prettily around her face. The tall, lithe body moved with the gracefulness of a dancer as she took orders from one customer and bagged a sandwich for another. Other than a slight flush on the high cheekbones, Liz appeared to be in total control. Her expression brightened, though, at seeing Emily.

  “Good news, sis,” Liz said. “You’re promoted.”

  Emily answered the friendly nod of one of the regulars and, instead of heading back toward the office, slipped behind the counter. She dropped her bag on the shelf below the cash register. “Promoted to what?”

  “Delivery woman.” Liz rang up the total for a young woman who was ready to pay. She motioned to a cardboard box containing drinks and sandwiches. “The police station. I have one more sandwich to add to it, then it’s ready to go.”

  Emily stepped back and looked toward the empty back hallway. The light of the office was off, so no one was playing computer games on the PC back there. “Don’t tell me Steve is a no-show again?”

  “At least, this time he called…two minutes ago,” Liz said, handing the order to the next customer. “His girlfriend has his car, and she’s not back. He said he’s…uh, unavailable today.”

  Two weeks on the job and four days missed already. This commission-based “delivery” part of the business was a trial run, anyway. The idea had been brought to them by Steve, a twenty-three-year-old newspaper carrier, snowplow operator and lawn and garden guy, who also did all kinds of odd jobs around the village—so long as there was no sense of urgency involved in the job. Emily knew it was just about time to can the idea and Steve with it. She moved to the cash register and rang up the next customer’s order.

  “Who’s coming in to help you at the counter?” Emily asked as the bells chimed on the door of the café. A group of three more customers stepped in.

  “Sharon’s on her way. She’s running a few minutes late.”

  The bell at the door sounded again. Emily glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11:45. They started serving at 11:00. The two-dozen sandwiches Liz put together every morning before opening up were already gone. She was now at the point of making orders up from scratch and seemed totally oblivious to the growing line of people snaking through the café.

  “Do you want the second sandwich on twelve-grain bread, too?” Liz asked the man at the counter.

  The noise decibels were steadily increasing. Emily hated lines. She hated traffic. She could feel the perspiration starting to dampen her shirt, and she started to peel off her jacket.

  “Give me something to do. How can I help you?”

  “Keep it on.” Liz tucked a sandwich into the box. “Delivery to the police station, remember?”

  “How are you going to handle this mob?” Emily asked under her breath.

  “The way I handle them every day.” The younger woman winked. “You’re getting pale. Get out of here before you pass out on me.”

  Emily didn’t need to be asked twice, especially when the door opened again. Glancing up, she was relieved to see Sharon coming in. It took some maneuvering for the woman to make her way through to the counter. She looked at the box Emily was picking up from the counter.

  “No Steve again?” Sharon asked in disbelief.

  Emily shook her head and started toward the back door. Backing out, she almost missed the short step down to the pavement, as her heel caught something left by the door. She righted herself as the steel door closed behind her with a resounding bang. The fresh air felt wonderful, the sun warm in the protected courtyard behind the building. She adjusted the awkward box of drinks and sandwiches in her arm and glanced over her shoulder at what she’d almost tripped over. A package, sitting against the door under the mailbox. She saw her own name and the café’s address, but no markings to hint at the contents. An uncomfortable feeling quickly formed in her stomach. She hoped it wasn’t something new from her secret admirer. She couldn’t handle any more gifts. She was starting to get spooked by the attentions of whoever this guy was. No name. The return address was fake, and it changed every time he sent her something. She knew that because she’d written to a couple of the addresses, only to have it come back to her as undeliverable. And he just kept sending her gifts, signing himself “A Fan.”

  You were supposed to be a celebrity to have a fan, or at least beautiful and sexy like Liz. Emily was not any of those things. He had to be a computer geek. Probably one of the nameless and faceless online students who devotedly plugged themselves into their PCs every Monday night for one of her classes.

  Or maybe someone who had attended one of her conference workshops. She was invited to speak in at least a dozen computer expos all over the country every year. Emily only agreed to half of them. And there were always a few participants who approached her afterward. She was friendly but distant.

  She wasn’t looking for a relationship, especially not with someone in her own line of business. She’d married David Lee the same year that both of them had received their master’s degrees from MIT. They’d moved west to San Francisco, had Conor and worked for the same company. Their life had been their jobs, but it hadn’t been enough for either of them. After the first year, there had been no spark between them. No sense of romance. Other than work, they soon found they had nothing in common. Except Conor.

  It was six years this August since their divorce. David was married again, this time happily—and to a “nontechnical” person. Emily was here, back in Connecticut, and unwilling to make the same mistake in her life. She decided to let the package stay where it was and started down the alley.

  She’d been considering taking some official action about the gifts, though…just in case. Maybe this was as good a chance as any to make a report about what had been going on. She was heading to the police station anyway. At the same time, she’d never been one to succumb to hysteria. The whole thing might be harmless. Whoever this person was, he’d made no demands or
overtures in person. The gifts had been small and inexpensive, but very thoughtful. Back in July, an amaryllis bulb. Then, an out-of-print technical book that he somehow knew she’d been looking for. Another time, a box of her favorite dark chocolate. And there were other things, too. Sometimes shipped, other times left outside of the café with a note, like this package. The stranger seemed to know her pretty well, but still preferred to stay in the shadows. All the same, he also knew how to find her. Thankfully, his presents had only been left at the Eatopia Café.

  Leaving the package behind, Emily hurried along the sidewalk and turned sharply up the stone stairway of the police station. As she did, the box of food she was holding rammed directly into the stomach of someone standing on the steps. Emily juggled the box and a hand reached out and righted a drink that was tipping precariously.

  “I’m so sorry.” She stepped back, embarrassed.

  “Careful.” A strong hand gripped her arm, stopping her retreat. She glanced over her shoulder and realized she was about to back into someone else coming up behind her.

  “Do you need a hand with that?”

  “No, thanks.” She looked up into his face. The man’s hazel eyes were studying her. He looked doubtful. “Seriously. I’m fine.”

  “I’m going your way. At least let me get the door for you.”

  Emily accepted his offer with a nod. She didn’t think he was a townie, at least no one she’d seen around before. Clean-cut good looks. Very tall, but not gangly. Built like a quarterback. Former quarterback, she amended, studying him again as he opened the door for her. The touch of gray in the sideburns was a giveaway. The suit and tie made her think lawyer. Definitely a professional.

  He held the door as she passed through it. Crossing the small waiting area, she put the box of lunches on the high reception counter.

  “Delivery from Eatopia Café,” she told the young dispatcher who came over. Emily knew she had just been hired on to the force.

  “How much do we owe you?”

  “Good question.” Emily hoped her sister had had the foresight to leave a bill. The box was too high for her to search inside. The stranger once again came to her aid and lowered the box for her to look inside.

  She couldn’t help but notice the spicy scent of his cologne. It was pleasant, not overpowering.

  “I can see that I may have to share my tip,” she told him.

  “I was counting on it.”

  Their gazes met over the box and for a fleeting second, Emily’s insides fluttered, surprising her. She looked back into the box.

  “Here it is.” A menu marked with the tally was tucked on the side. She took it out and handed it across the counter. The dispatcher disappeared with the box and the receipt through a door, and Emily could hear her calling for money for the lunches.

  “So, do you have an extra menu?”

  Emily turned, plunging her hand into her jacket pocket. She’d left her purse behind, and didn’t even have a business card for the restaurant on her. She shook her head.

  “Sorry, I don’t. But we’re only a block up the street. On the same side. Eatopia Café.”

  “What kind of food?”

  “Sandwiches, mostly. And soup.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Health food?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. “You wouldn’t know it. Or at least, that’s not the only kind of food we have on the menu. We gladly slap a rasher of bacon on twenty-four grain bread.”

  “With mayo?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  His smile was dangerous. It made him look boyish and more handsome, if that were at all possible. His eyes, though, became serious as he studied her face for a moment. “I think we’ve met before.”

  “Great line.” She shook her head, trying to keep it light. Suddenly, she was not so comfortable with the close scrutiny. “Impossible. I have an excellent memory.”

  “So do I.”

  Emily turned and smiled at the detective coming through the front door of the station.

  Jeremy Simpson spotted her and came straight over.

  “Hi, Em. What are you doing here?” He leaned down and brushed a friendly kiss on her cheek as her “helper” backed away a step.

  A year and a half ago, Liz had gone out on a half dozen dates with Jeremy Simpson. Emily liked the detective. He was a steady kind of guy, handsome, but not too inflated by it. He was a straight shooter and had a good sense of humor. And what you saw was what you got. But Emily’s high hopes for the relationship between the two had probably been a death sentence for it. They’d broken it off before the usual month was up. Still, as with many of Liz’s exes, Emily had stayed friends with the detective. They’d even worked together on a number of civic committees regarding the village center.

  “Trying to earn my keep,” she said brightly in response to his question. “I’m the delivery person today.”

  “Earning your keep. That’s a good one.” He chuckled. “So, how is Conor liking the high school?”

  “Well enough, I think. It’s so sad, though, with what happened with the Petersons.”

  Emily felt the attention of the other man on them, and she glanced over at him. He was watching the exchange with intense interest. Jeremy too looked that way and recognition registered on his face.

  “Colter. I didn’t expect you until this afternoon.”

  “I finished up at the garage early.” The two men shook hands. “Do you have a few minutes now?”

  “Yeah, sure. Excuse me, will you, Em?”

  The dispatcher appeared at that moment with the cash for the lunches. Emily gave a half wave to Jeremy and the other man on her way out of the building and saw them start around the counter into the department offices in back. From the bits and pieces she heard as she went out, this Colter fellow was apparently involved with the insurance claims for the Petersons’ case. She wondered which side he represented.

  Scott Peterson had come out of the accident with several broken bones and a ruptured spleen. Four days in the hospital and his condition was finally stable. As bad as that was, his wife Jill had fared far worse. She was still in a coma and there was bleeding in the brain. Nobody knew to what extent her recovery would be, if any. No surgeries were planned. Everything was still touch-and-go.

  Conor had told Emily that Jake Peterson had missed school for most of this week. Jill’s parents had arrived from Atlanta, and they were all spending their time in the waiting room at the hospital. Emily had promised Conor to drive him over there after school this afternoon. He’d put together a bag of books and CDs that he wanted to deliver to his new friend.

  Emily could see from the street that the café was even more packed than when she’d left a few minutes ago. Deciding on the back door, she turned down the alleyway. The package was still there by the door. She contemplated taking it back to the post office. She could refuse delivery. As always, though, her curiosity won out. What if this was the time when he finally introduced himself? She took the rest of their mail out of the mailbox.

  Once inside, she dropped everything on her desk and went to help Liz and Sharon behind the counter. Friday lunches were always the busiest of the week.

  “That’s the only safe place for you.” Liz pushed a stool toward her and motioned to the cash register.

  “This delivery job is terrific. I got a very good tip.” Emily counted out the money she’d been given at the police station and put the extra in the tip can by the register.

  “There are some brain cells left in Steve’s head,” Sharon commented. “The boy’s problem is his lazy butt.”

  Emily wasn’t too worried about dropping the delivery service. Even without it, Eatopia Café had broken even this past year. Of course, Liz continued to grumble that she was drawing a salary and Emily wasn’t. Even though Emily kept reminding her sister that she had other sources of income, Liz was forever cutting the hours of their counter help and putting in extra hours herself. Sharon, in her forties and divorced, didn
’t particularly mind. Her ex-husband was very punctual with alimony and child support.

  For her part, Emily had never been short on cash since the day she’d graduated from college. Even after leaving San Francisco and the corporate world, her plate had continued to be full with consulting jobs. And this year, the retail electronics giant, Computer City, had offered to sponsor her Monday night online workshops, thus providing another steady stream of income. More and more people were attending the free classes, the sponsor was getting good exposure, and everybody was happy.

  “So did you run into anybody over there?” Liz asked, while making two sandwiches at the same time.

  “As a matter of fact, I saw Jeremy Simpson.”

  “Anybody interesting?” Liz asked, giving her a meaningful glare that told Emily her sister didn’t want to hear anything she had to say about the detective.

  “I think I might have recruited an out-of-towner to try out the café.” She took a couple of business cards off the counter and stuck them in her back pocket for future use. “An insurance guy, I think. Maybe a lawyer.”

  “Maybe he’ll be staying for the weekend,” Liz said with a wink. “Easy on the eyes?”

  “Just the way you like them. Tall, dark and brooding. The only problem is that he’s wearing a suit.”

  Liz leaned over her shoulder. “Maybe he’s got play clothes in the car.”

  Sharon joined in the conversation. “All I have to say is it’s about time we had some new blood in this town. The shortage of men is disgusting.”

  A middle-aged man who was paying for his sandwich chirped in. “Seems to me there’s plenty of good home-grown stock in town.”

  That, naturally, opened a floodgate, with two women behind him and Liz and Sharon letting him know in no uncertain terms the problems with “home-grown stock.” And the conversation shifted to all the troubles with dating in small-town America.

  No one seemed to be in any rush, including the provocateur who winked at Emily as he took his change. She listened to the good-natured banter, but the discussion was totally out of her league. And despite a couple of efforts to draw her into the fray, she couldn’t make any contribution. Dating was a foreign topic to her. Since her divorce, her social life had centered on her son. The men in her life had not been lovers, but friends, and she was happy with that. Happy with who she was. Her feelings of self-worth were certainly not based on somebody else’s opinion of her.