The Angels' Share by Ellen Crosby

Author:Ellen Crosby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

I WAS IN THE middle of putting Persia’s turkey casserole in the oven to warm it up when Quinn got home.

He kissed me and said, “Sounds like you had a hell of a day. How did it go with Seth … and Clayton? Red or white?”

My meeting at the bank with Seth Hannah seemed as if it happened weeks ago instead of just this morning. “White. Chardonnay, please.”

He walked over to the wine refrigerator, opened it, and started pulling out bottles and scanning labels. “Virginia Chard okay?”

“Great.”

He came back with a bottle from Slater Run Vineyards, our down-the-street neighbor. I fixed a salad and made a lemon and olive oil dressing while he warmed up Persia’s homemade biscuits.

I told him everything while we ate, starting with my talk with Seth and the documents he’d given me and ending with Clay summoning me to Hawthorne and my unsettling talk with Scotty. Quinn didn’t say a word while I spoke. When I was finished the only sounds in the room were the steady tick-tock of the antique pendulum wall clock and the occasional hiss of the gas heat coming through the floor vents.

The under-cabinet rope lights lit the perimeter of the kitchen, giving it a dreamy look against the black void of the windows. My mother’s antique silver candelabra and her Waterford candleholders from our Thanksgiving table were still on the table from last night, though the green-, gold-, and rust-colored candles had now nearly burned down to nubs. Their flickering, dwindling light made the room feel as comforting as if we were protected in a cocoon. Added to that was the effect of a couple of glasses of Chardonnay and the lingering warmth and smells from the oven, and I had the disconnected feeling that I had been telling Quinn a story that happened to someone else.

He covered my hands with his. “I hope Bobby finds out who killed Prescott soon and this ends,” he said. “Clay seemed nervous about what you might know and it sounds like Scotty wouldn’t let Alex off the hook as a possible suspect for the murder of her grandfather.”

“Un-hunh.”

He squeezed my hands. “Hey. You’re not listening to me. I know that ‘un-hunh.’ Your mind is a million miles away.”

“I am listening. But I’m also thinking about what Prescott said about the mystery he planned to reveal at the Masons meeting before the Miranda Foundation gala. And that it might have something to do with the documents Leland kept in his safe-deposit box.”

Quinn withdrew his hands and folded them together, leaning in from across the table. “I think you might want to give Clay a little credit, sweetheart. That he’s right about Prescott chasing unicorns or pirate treasure or rainbows. And your father—with all due respect—was notorious for doing the same thing.”

“I know,” I said, “but this feels different.”

“Because?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

He sat back, lips pursed together, an expression I knew well. If he opened his mouth, he’d regret whatever flew out, especially if he hadn’t thought it through first.

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