Page 8 of Alibi for Murder
“I do. You up for Chinese, or would you prefer Mexican?”
“You choose.”
“Chinese it is. See you in an hour or so.”
“Okay. Thanks, Steve. Really, thank you so much.”
“No thanks necessary. I owe you, Allie Foster.”
He placed the handset back in its cradle and called another elevator car. This late the traffic wouldn’t be so bad.
There was a great Chinese place on the way.
He smiled.Allie Foster.How many times had he thought of her over the years? Several. Why had he never called or dropped by to see her? Asked her to dinner? He should have kept up with her. She was a really nice person.
This was the perfect opportunity for him to make it up to her for all the times she or her family had helped him out.
Foster Residence
Ridgeland Avenue, 8:50 p.m.
Steve sent Alliea text to let her know he’d arrived at her street. As he navigated his SUV into the driveway, she switched on the exterior lights. The porch and yard area close to the house brightened as if the sun had suddenly risen and shone only on that spot. The over-the-top exterior lighting reminded him of something else about Allie’s family. His mother had insisted that after the accident—meaning the car crash that took the life of the Holts’ daughter and son-in-law, Allie’s parents—the family hadn’t been the same. It was as if they had feared that something would happen to their granddaughter—their only surviving family member. They’d hovered over her, keeping extra close tabs on her every move.
Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been so painfully shy. She was the quietest kid he’d known.
But then she was the only one he’d known who had lost both parents before she was old enough to go to school.
It was a tough break.
She was also brilliant and pretty and very sweet.
But that was a long time ago, he reminded himself. Things and people changed. She might not be that same wallflower anymore.
He shut off the engine, grabbed the bags of food from the passenger seat and climbed out. He would know soon enough. By the time he was on the porch, the door opened—but not before he heard at least three locks disengaging.
Maybe she had her reasons. Either way, no judgment.
“You’re here.”
The genuine surprise in her voice and her expression made him wonder if she’d been let down a lot by friends who promised to drop by or do her some favor.
“Food, too.” He held up the bags. The smell of lo mein and fried rice had haunted him all the way here.
She ushered him inside and to the dining room, which was actually a part of the kitchen. A typical L-shape allowed the smaller part, the dining room, to flow directly into the living room. It was one of those houses with a larger second floor. The best he recalled there was nothing on the first floor beyond the main living space. All the bedrooms were up one floor. No basement, if he remembered correctly. He glanced around. Definitely not much had changed about the place.
“This is like déjà vu,” he said as he settled the bags on the table.
She laughed a soft sound. “I really haven’t upgraded anything, just replaced whatever gave out. Decor isn’t my thing.”
He nodded his approval. “I like it. Your grandmother had great taste.”
Allie glanced around. “She wasn’t like the other grandmothers, that’s for sure.”
The very sixties-seventies vibe was evidence of that statement. In his opinion, the couple had been the coolest grandparents ever. Steve had always seen Virginia Holt and her husband, Gordon, as old hippies who probably smoked pot in the basement and were saving the wild parties for when Allie would eventually be away at college.
Except, according to Steve’s mother, Allie never went away to college. She’d stayed right here in Woodstock. In this very house. Allie hadn’t changed much, either. Still had that long brown hair trapped in a ponytail. He vividly remembered how her brown eyes lit up when she laughed. He would wager she had no idea how gorgeous she was. With her tee that sported flowers and I’d Rather Be in the Garden along with well-worn jeans, she looked eighteen instead of thirty-two. Her grandmother had dressed the same way and always looked far younger than the other grandmothers, even with her long gray hair that she’d always worn in a braid.
“Wine or beer?” Allie asked. “I usually drink wine, but I had beer delivered after we talked.”
