Lucy, who was bent over helping Colette and Nuala decide what kind of ribbon to apply to their drying eggs, heard me and stood upright. The JJs had been carrying on a constant, tumbling commentary on their activities in the background, and it continued unabated as Margie mopped up a mess they’d made on the counter.
Ginnie blew a raspberry. “A witch? Good heavens. Of course not. I’m a street magician—or was one. Sleight of hand, card tricks, a little hypnotism. That kind of stuff.” She leaned a little closer and grinned. “Some of those skills still come in handy in the classroom, though.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Anyway, Finn had a mime act with his sister. We got along right away. Next thing I knew, we were dating. Then we eloped.”
“Eloped?”
“Well, my parents didn’t approve of my marrying a mime, and his family didn’t approve of his marrying outside of . . . well, tradition. The exception was Orla. She was great, right from the beginning. John wanted Finn to get the marriage annulled—can you believe that? But Orla stood up for us. For love, she said. She told him we were destined to be together.”
“Good for her,” I said.
I retrieved my pink egg and set it on a rack to dry. Then I placed a bottle cap in the bottom of a ramekin, balanced an egg on top of it, and carefully poured dye made from beet powder a quarter of the way up.
Ginnie watched with interest. “What are you doing?”
“Ombré egg,” I said. “Saw them on Pinterest. I think that must just be a fancy way to say ‘striped.’ In a few minutes, I’ll add some water to dilute the dye and so it’s halfway up the egg, then do it again and again. When I’m finished, one end will have a dark stripe, and the other end will have a pale stripe, with increments in the middle.”
“Cool.”
“Was the fortune-telling more than a sideshow for Orla?” I asked. “I mean, could she really predict someone’s future?”
“Hm. Maybe. John certainly thought so. He consulted her about any big moves the family made.”
My mouth turned down in thought.
“And she gave the family a lot of good advice. They would have missed her. A lot.”
I paused in stirring the grape juice dye. “Would have? What do you mean?”
She pressed her lips together and looked over at Nuala. Her niece and Colette had moved on to the tie-dye station, where Bianca was showing them how to wrap eggs in paper towels and dot food coloring on the outsides.
Finally, she shrugged. “Well, I guess you already know she was looking at going to California.”
The book she ordered from the Fox and Hound.
“What did her brother-in-law think about that?” I asked casually.
“I, uh, I’m not sure he knew yet. He would have gone ballistic, though.” She took out the orange egg, put it on the rack, and reached for another. “See, John was in love with her.”
Stunned, I put down the egg I’d been about to dunk. “His brother’s wife?”
Another shrug. “The heart wants what the heart wants. At least I think he was in love with her. He kept asking her to marry him. John couldn’t convince her, though.”
“Uncle John says he can convince anyone to do anything,” Nuala said as she walked over. Thankfully, she seemed to have heard only her aunt’s last sentence. “He says that’s why business is so good.”
Ginnie ruffled her hair. “He does say that.”
Oh, does he, now? Could he convince someone to walk into traffic? How would that work?
Then I remembered the pocket watch he was swinging in the online photo I’d found earlier. Was John Black a hypnotist? And what about Ginnie? Only moments earlier she’d implied that she used hypnotism in the classroom.
Nuala peered into the natural-dye pots and wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t smell very good.”
My thoughts snapped back to the here and now, and I laughed. “That’s the cabbage. Tell you what. Go grab anything you want from the display case, and it’ll take that smell right out of your nose.”
“Okay.” She skipped back to Colette.
I poured more water into my ombré egg and then checked to see whether our earlier efforts were dry yet. I was debating whether to ask Ginnie one more question about the Blacks, but it was risky.
Well, no one else is going to tell you, so you might as well give it a try.
But before I could ask it, Colette said, “You know why the Easter bunny lays colored eggs, don’t you?”
Everyone turned. Nuala shook her head. Colette hopped up on a tall work stool and looked around. “Well, then I’ll tell you the story. See, there was this goddess. Her name was Ostara. Sometimes she was called something else, right, Mom?”
“Eostre,” Bianca supplied, exchanging looks with Lucy and me.
“Right. Anyway, Ostara was a spring goddess. She was all about the flowers coming up, and trees getting green, and lots of spring babies. Lambs and bunnies and chicks, you know? Anyway, there was this bird who came to Ostara and said it really, really wanted to be a rabbit instead of a bird.”
“Wait. Why would a bird want to be a rabbit?” Margie asked.
Colette shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe the bird just identified as a bunny.”
Margie looked amused. “Okay. Sorry I interrupted.”
“That’s all right. So anyway, Ostara took pity on the bird and granted her wish. The bird—who was now a bunny—could still lay eggs, though. And she was so grateful that every year she came back in the spring to lay special colored eggs to celebrate Ostara and spring and baby lambs and flowers and stuff.”
She hopped off the chair and looked around. “Pretty cool, huh?”
We all nodded.
Ginnie said, “I’d never heard that. But I always wondered about that egg-laying rabbit.”
“I hadn’t heard it, either,” Margie said. “And you did a good job telling the story, too, Colette.”
“Thank you, Ms. Coopersmith.”
I was glad Colette hadn’t mentioned—and probably didn’t know—that in medieval times, hares were thought to be witches who had transformed into animal form to take the cows’ milk and could be killed only with a silver bullet. Kind of like werewolves, but way cuter.
Ginnie looked over at the tie-dyed eggs that were now on the rack. They looked kind of messy, but interesting. Afraid she wanted to try one herself, and I’d lose my chance to talk with her alone, I asked, “Do you mind if I ask you something? About Orla?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You seem awfully curious about her.”
I smiled, trying for disarming. “What happened to her right out front was, well, strange. Tragic and sudden, but also strange. And it bothers me. Then there were the insurance investigators who came to see Lucy and me.”
Her hand jerked, knocking an egg off the counter. It hit the floor with a sick, cracking thud. Everyone turned to look.
“Oh, darn. I’m sorry. What a klutz,” she said.
I waved away her attempts to pick it up and grabbed a paper towel. “I’ve got it.”
When I had disposed of the egg, I went back to where she was still standing. She seemed to have lost interest in coloring any more eggs.
“What did you tell the insurance people?” she asked.
“Mostly they seemed to want to know whether Orla could have stepped in front of that car intentionally. Lucy and I told them that we didn’t think that was possible.”
She relaxed.
“Seems like she had an awful lot of life insurance, though. I mean, five policies?”
Ginnie grew still. Her eyes probed mine. Then she let out a long breath and glanced over at Nuala. I realized Lucy and Bianca were intentionally steering the others away from Ginnie and me so we could talk.
“There’s nothing suspicious about it,” she said. “Every one of us has multiple policies on us. It’s one of the ways the family has made money over the years.”
I blinked. “Insurance fraud?”
She shook her head vehemently. “It’s not fraud. They are all valid policies. At a wedding, a family member might give the couple the gift of letting them take a policy out on him. Or when a baby is born. Or for any reason. A lot of the families do it. It’s perfectly legal.”
And perfectly profitable. Did that make it any less of a murder motive?
My face must have revealed something, because Ginnie scowled and said in a defensive tone, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Maybe John is right. Maybe it’s better not to socialize outside the family.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to—”
“Nuala! It’s time to go. Sorry, honey, but I told your mom I’d have you home early.”
The girl seemed surprised but didn’t question her aunt. She shrugged into her coat, and Ginnie hustled her out the door.
“Oh, no!” Lucy said. “They forgot their eggs.”
“What happened?” Colette asked.
Bianca hugged her daughter to her side. “They just had to go. You had fun, didn’t you?”
The girl frowned. “Sure. I like Nuala, even if she’s already in fifth grade. Or would be if she went to school.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“She’s homeschooled.”
“Ah. She’s still in the fifth grade, then,” Bianca said. “Come on. Let’s go gather up this evening’s masterful creations.”
Before we dumped all the dyes down the drain and cleaned up the party, I had to try marbling a couple of eggs. With everyone crowded around to watch, I mixed twenty drops of food coloring—green for Jonathan’s benefit—into a cup of cool water along with two teaspoons of white vinegar. Then I melted a tablespoon of butter in the microwave and stirred it into the vinegar solution. I dunked an egg once, twice, three times, then submerged it completely for four minutes.
When I removed it, the oil had created a lovely effect very similar to the veining in marble. Once it was dry, I’d wipe off any oil that was left on the surface of the egg.
Bianca and Colette had to try a few. While they played with the technique, I started to clean things up.
Looking around, I asked, “Where’s Lucy?”
The back door opened, and I saw she’d parked her big blue convertible in the alley. She had a basket in each hand. “Surprise!”
I took one and looked inside. She’d planted grass in the bottom, and now it provided the perfect bed for decorated eggs.
“I didn’t know we’d have extra people,” she said. “I was going to give mine to Nuala.”
“Nuala can have mine,” I said. “I’ll drop it by her house tomorrow.”
A knocking on the front door drew our attention. Seeing it was Randy, I hurried to let him in.
“How’s the party going?” he asked. This evening, he wore jeans and a sport coat over a collared shirt. He smiled broadly, but I sensed a little nervousness.
Colette waved at him from the kitchen. “Come see what we did.”
“Okeydoke,” he said, and went back to admire the racks of eggs ready to go into Lucy’s baskets.
Bianca sidled over. “She likes him already.” She sounded worried. “I try to be so careful, so she doesn’t get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. It’s better that Colette likes him, don’t you think? She’s not going to get attached that fast.”
“No. You’re right. I’ll try to remember to take it one step at a time.”
“You ready?” Randy asked, returning. “The gallery opens at seven. We can walk if you’d like.”
“Lucky for you I wore comfortable shoes for this little shindig,” she teased.
“Or I can drive,” he said quickly. “My car is out front.”
“What kind of car?” she asked.
A defensive look crossed his face. “It’s a—” Then he caught on and stopped himself. “It’s a perfectly serviceable Durango that will get you from point A to point B.”
Bianca smiled. “Sounds perfect. Colette, you have fun with Lucy. I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”
“Okay, Mom.” She was busy arranging eggs in her basket.
Jonathan loaded his green-lined basket with his multitoned green eggs while Margie helped Julia with her more traditional array of colors. Soon they were on their way, and Lucy and Colette left for home and Caribbean food. I gathered Mungo into my tote bag, put Nuala’s eggs into the last basket, and tucked it in the fridge, then locked up.