“Say Bradley Stroden wasn’t murdered because of blackmail or the inheritance,” Joanna said. “What other reasons might there be?”
“Honey, dinner’s about ready.” Crisp’s wife appeared at the door, her face flushed from heat. “Would you like to stay? It’s not fancy, but there’s enough chicken Caesar salad for all of us.”
“Thank you, but I should be getting home. Paul’s expecting me.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, June.” Then, to Joanna, “I wouldn’t discount the secretary. Who else had access to his memoir?”
“His sister could have read it.” Joanna was already plotting a return to the Stroden mansion. This time she’d come prepared to meet up with his grief-stricken sister.
Crisp rose. The sun slanted low over the back lawn now, streaking it with long shadows. “Don’t worry about it. I guarantee you this is a line the police are following up on. They have more tools than I do. Access to bank accounts, for one. If there’s blackmailing involved, they’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Watching Paul and his uncle cooking dinner side by side, each wearing one of her vintage aprons, was a pleasure. She might as well savor it a moment before she dropped her bomb.
“The thing with goulash,” Gene said, “is that you’ve got to be choosy about your paprika. Not too sweet, not too spicy. And fresh. It pays to get the real stuff from Hungary.” He wiped his hands on his turquoise apron with its pattern of tiny hearts.
“I’d ask you where you learned that, but I have a feeling I’d get that line about kissing and telling.” Paul was dicing a pile of carrots and onions. His apron was mustard colored with pink rickrack trim and a pattern of brown clovers.
“A gentleman never does,” Gene replied.
“So I’ve heard,” Paul said.
Their banter was easy, comfortable. She could imagine when Paul was in high school and Gene taught him to use the tools he was expert with now. More sawdust, less old calico.
“I have an announcement,” she said.
“Pink is the navy blue of India,” Gene said.
A Diana Vreeland quote. “Where did you hear that?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” said Paul and Gene at the same time.
Gene tossed cubes of pork into the iron skillet. They hissed as they hit the hot fat.
Joanna laughed. “No, as serious as that is, this is even more important.” Despite herself, her heart beat a bit faster and she felt her face pinkening. “I hired a private investigator this afternoon.”
Gene turned off the heat and pulled the skillet off the burner. “What?”
Paul set down his knife and turned, too.
She swallowed. “To help us figure out how to get the Greffuhle jewels back to their owner. I told you I’d help solve this.”
The silence that greeted her reply had more force than shouting would have. Standing next to each other, Paul and Gene’s family resemblance was plain. So was their apparent feeling that no one but family should be involved in family trouble.
“Oh, no,” Paul said.
“What?” Joanna said. “We need help. We need to know our options and the least risky legal path.”
Gene shook his head. “This is my problem to solve. Bringing an outsider into it opens the door to more trouble. No. No good can come of this.”
Joanna stood. “That’s the thing. It isn’t just your problem anymore. You brought stolen property into my house—”
“Our house,” Paul said.
“Yes.” A second passed, then two. Her voice faltered. “Our house. Now we’re all at risk.” Pepper rubbed against her legs. Joanna picked him up. “It’s my problem, too. So I hired help to solve it.”
Paul shot a glance at his uncle. “I wish you would have talked to me about it first.”
Joanna forged ahead. “The P.I. I hired—it’s Foster Crisp.”
“Oh, no,” Gene said, and Paul groaned.
“No, listen. It’s good. If I’m his client, he can’t divulge anything I tell him that might incriminate me.”
“I was the thief, not you,” Gene said.
“I know, but you’re protected by association, since Paul’s and my crime is knowing about—and harboring—stolen property without reporting it.”
“She has a point,” Paul said. Slowly, he returned to chopping vegetables.
“Crisp was all right with this?” Gene asked.
“He wanted to know how you pulled off the original heist with such a solid alibi, but, yes, he took the case.”
Paul reached past his uncle and put the skillet back on the burner. Sensible man. Whatever else happened, they had to eat.
“What’s next, then?”
“He’s looking into who would have inherited the jewels and thinking things through. He said he’d get back to us.” She raised her gaze to Paul’s. He looked away. Pepper wriggled to be let down.
“I guess Crisp is an okay guy,” Gene said. “He’s a man of his word, anyway. If he says he won’t turn me in, he won’t.”
“He promised,” Joanna said and sincerely hoped he’d meant it.