Veiled in Death by Stephanie Blackmoore

Author:Stephanie Blackmoore [Blackmoore, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

I took a few hours to cool my jets after the tense showdown with Helene. I knew Pia and Tabitha must be hurting from the loss of their grandmother, Claudia. Both women had murmured appreciative words when I’d made brief calls of condolence on Sunday, and both thanked me for the flowers Rachel and I sent to them and their mother, June. We’d given Pia the week off to help make the necessary arrangements for Claudia’s funeral and burial, and to grieve.

Imagine my surprise when I got a text from Tabitha to meet for lunch. I offered to pick up a mini feast for us to eat in her office, but Tabitha insisted on getting out and clearing her head. I selected a Port Quincy institution, Pellegrino’s. While many of the movers and shakers dined there daily, it also afforded customers high-backed, recessed booths and little tables tucked into corners for a bit of privacy.

Tabitha beat me there, and I slid into the rich leather booth across from her. The business’s air-conditioning was blasting full force. I tucked my denim jacket more closely over my sunflower-patterned dress and firmly adjusted my yellow scarf against the manufactured arctic air. I gave my friend’s hand a silent squeeze over the table. Her pretty if sharp features faltered on the way to an expression I couldn’t quite call a smile. Her gimlet-green eyes were ringed a rheumy red that nearly matched the dyed Ariel-the-mermaid jewel-tone shade she always selected for her hair.

I ordered a dinner reminiscent of a gourmet Thanksgiving, with free-range chicken baked with sage, tarragon, and rosemary; andouille sausage stuffing; and green onion and crème fraiche green beans. The chef must have tailored this hearty, hot winter meal to combat the chill created by the summer air-conditioning. My mouth formed a little O when Tabitha ordered only a simple bowl of bison chili with jalapeño cornbread on the side.

“It’s hard to eat these days.” My friend offered me an apologetic shrug. I could barely hear her voice, though Pellegrino’s was playing a soft suite of cello music. The restaurant had a pleasant ambiance, and we were blessedly tucked into a booth that would afford us some measure of privacy. Yet all around us, people craned their necks and peered around potted plants to send Tabitha sympathetic glances, then bent low, no doubt to gossip about the mysterious circumstances surrounding Claudia’s death. When our food arrived, Tabitha set down her spoon nearly as soon as she attempted to eat. I wanted to encourage her to get some sustenance, but didn’t want to be pushy.

“I usually love this dish.” Tabitha gave a rueful and mirthless laugh. “Actually, I make this bowl the first part of a three-course meal I have at Pellegrino’s, not the main event. But all food tastes like sawdust in my mouth.” My wounded friend took an obligatory three bites of the rich food. She burst into tears, her usual stoicism long gone. I thrust her cloth napkin into her hand, and Tabitha delicately dabbed at her eyes.

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